“Can I ask you something?” I say before taking a seat across from him.
“Sure.” He pauses, “you know you can come to me with anything.”
I take a deep breath, trying to find the words I want to say without offending him. But end up blurting out, “Why haven’t you let me tattoo anyone else?”
I expected to see some sort of surprise on his face, but I guess he could see it coming. “I was wondering when you would ask again.”
“Then why not just come out and say something. My drawings have gotten better. I’m ready for this. I feel like I’ve been ready for a while.”
“This is what I was waiting for, Charleigh.” He sets his burger down. “I wanted you to come to me and demand answers. I wanted you to show me that you had the confidence.”
I put my fork down and lean back in the chair. No fucking way. He mind tricked me. “Seriously, that’s why you haven’t let me claim my workspace? Because I didn’t confront you sooner?”
He nods. “That’s exactly it. I needed to know that you wanted it. That you wouldn’t settle for just cleaning the shop.”
“That’s actually a relief.” I pick up my fork again. “I was beginning to think my mother put you up to not letting me take my place in the shop.”
He cringes. “Actually…she approached me about that very thing.”
Nearly choking on my spaghetti, I gasp. “And youlistenedto her.”
“Hell no,” he laughs. “I’ve never let your aunt push me around. Do you honestly think I’d let your mother tell me what to do in my own shop?”
“You’re right.” I take another bite. “I’m glad you didn’t give in. That may have ruined you being my favorite uncle.”
We finish the rest of our lunch in companionable silence. That’s what I love about him. We can talk and goof around, but we can also just enjoy each other’s company. This is how I know I can work with him.
* * *
I’m puttingup the last of the cleaning supplies. Even though Corey said I can start tattooing, there are still things that have to be done around the shop. I’m no longer angry cleaning the place. The windows are now clean, and I’ve restocked everyone’s workspace.
I walk across the shop and toward the room where I’ll be working. Visions of how I’m going to decorate it dance through my head. I’m not sure if I want to go dark and broody, or the complete opposite and keep it light and fun. Bianca walks across the shop, and I automatically scratch off the whole broody feel. I’d rather it feel more like me anyway. A lot of turquoise, grays, and black. All of my favorite colors. People aren’t going to know what to expect when they enter my area.
Heading to the counter to see what sketches I have to hang up in my area, I’m stopped dead in my tracks when the door opens. The little ding announcing a new visitor. Jake is standing in the doorway, looking around the shop until his eyes land on me.
He’s not with any of his friends, and I’m curious as to why he’s here.
Nine
Jake
I stop rightafter walking into the shop. Charleigh looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Mouth gaping open and eyes as wide as saucers. Even in this moment of surprise she is beautiful. Her long blonde hair is piled on top of her head in some sort of bun. She also looks lighter, like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.
“Jake,” she finally shakes off the shock. “What are you doing here?”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I shift on my feet. “I, um, actually came to talk to you.”
Coming here seemed like a great idea when I was making the thirty-minute drive to Dallas. Now…I feel like a moron for even thinking she’d be willing to talk to me after our interactions the previous two times. But I want this done right, and I’ve seen her work.
“Oh yeah?” Charleigh places her arms on the counter and leans forward. “What could you possibly want to talk to me about?”
There’s a teasing in her voice that I haven’t heard before. I almost wonder if she’s been abducted by aliens or replaced with a changeling. Both would be more believable than our interaction right now.
“We-well,” I stutter. Jesus, I can’t even talk around her. “I want you to design a tattoo for me. I’m not sure what, yet. But I know you have amazing skills.”
“Are you sure you don’t want another surprise tattoo?” She questions.
“Definitely,” I smile. “I don’t need to wake up one morning with SpongeBob tattooed across my forehead.”