Page 71 of Business Casual
No tension. No secret looks of longing.
Just me and Nova sharing some space.
“Thanks for the pizza,” I tell her.
She nods and shrugs on her jacket. “Thanks for the movie.”
I walk her to the front door and prop it open with my palm. She hops down the stairs to her car parked behind mine, a Chevy that is more or less seventeen times her size.
“I’ll see you this week?” she calls.
I lean against the door. I feel like I need the support. “For what?”
She kicks her boot up on the footboard of the truck and swings herself in the driver’s seat. She rolls down her window with three cranks of her arm. It makes me smile that she drives this old thing. I bet it was a hand-me-down from her dad or brother.
“We’ll do those business visits,” she says, bossy as ever. “Pick me up at the shop when you want to go.”
“As you please,” I yell back.
She smiles at me through the windshield. “Always.”
I wave as she drives off. She rumbles down the path in her gargantuan truck, kicking up dirt as she goes, her red taillights disappearing around the bend. I stand there until it’s just me and the moonlight, the slowly settling dust and the odd lightning bug, flickering in the darkness.
And for the first time in a very long time, I don’t mind the quiet.
16
NOVA
I almost kissedCharlie in his kitchen.
I wanted to kiss him, and I have no idea what to do with that. It’s been three days and I can’t stop thinking about the look on his face. Earnest and tired. Vulnerable and honest. His thumb at my bottom lip and our faces so close, all it would have taken is one press of my toes to bring my mouth to his.
I liked it. All of it. The pizza and the talking and the movie and his hand around my ankle. It’s the closest I’ve come to cuddling with another person in years and it was…nice.
Good.
Confusing.
But nice.
Jeremy knocks over something at the front of the shop with the end of the duster he discovered under a stack of boxes. He’s been doing a whole lot of nothing since he showed up this morning.
“When is the grand opening?”
I close one file and open another, double-checking the numbers on my screen with the numbers on the sheet. Everything seems like it’s in the right place, but instead of feeling calm and confident, I’m just paranoid that I’ve forgotten something. Especially since I’ve been spending most of my morning staring into space and checking my phone for texts from Charlie.
“We officially open October fifteenth. But we have a soft launch coming up.” I glance up when Jeremy makes a confused sound. “A party for invited guests only,” I explain. “Influencers and other tattoo artists so they can spread the word and hopefully bring in more business.”
I wasn’t sure about the concept at first, but I hit capacity for the event ten minutes after I sent the invitations. Layla is making little cakes shaped like succulents for people to snack on, and I rented a taco truck to serve food out front. Cake and tacos and tiny tattoos from a preselected offering list I printed out on fancy cardstock,Ink & Wildin looping print across the top. I pull the stack out of a drawer and trail my thumb over it. The tattoos I’m offering are all trademarks of my style—a bouquet with a trailing red ribbon, a hand holding a palm full of stars—color and delicate line work that I can replicate quickly and easily.
I’m excited for it. Excited and nervous. Charlie told me last night that I don’t have to be perfect, but I do. I do. This needs to work. Not only because it’s my dream, but because so many people have given up the things they’ve loved to get me here. If I fail now—if I lose focus for even a second—my house of cards could come tumbling down around me.
I wish it were easier to believe in myself. I wish it were easier to believe that all of this is going to stick around. That I’ve earned it. But imposter syndrome hangs over my head like a storm cloud I can’t chase away.
I close the folder and dig my thumb into the middle of my forehead. Apparently even when things are going well, I’m going to panic. Awesome.
“Oh. Can I come?”
