Page 128 of House of Ink & Oaths
“Yup.” I clean her up and bandage her arm with the clear, medical-grade adhesive bandages I always use on my clients. “This acts like a protective second skin. It’ll keep germs out and allow the oxygen in to help it heal.”
She twists her arm, studying the design. “It looks so red and angry.”
“It is right now. It’ll settle.” I gesture to the bandage without touching her. “I want you to leave this on for at least five days.”
“But I live with this amazing, very knowledgeable man who knows all about tattoo aftercare.” Her lips curve into a coy smile. “I’m sure he’ll take care of it for me.”
I lean down and brush a kiss against her inner wrist. “Damn right I will.”
“I can’t wait to show Wren when she gets here.” Emery stares at her arm as she sits up and swings her legs over the side of the chair.
Twisting my wrist, I glance at my watch. “She should be here soon, right? Finished just in time.”
“Yup. I can’t wait for her to see all the changes we’ve made at the house.” She beams at me.
Sterling House isn’t a shadowy relic anymore. Emery’s touch is everywhere—brighter lighting, refinished floors that don’t creak in protest, plants lining the windowsills. The walls are drenched in color now, layered with art and personal pieces that blend into my family’s history seamlessly.
Emery didn’t come in and erase the past. She helped me stop it from dominating each room.
Her enthusiasm for making the space ours has been contagious. I reclaimed what used to be my father’s workroom and turned it into my art room. Together, we carved out a space for Emery—a quiet, dedicated studio where she can work on her videos whenever she wants.
For the first time, the place doesn’t feel like a burden I inherited.
Someone knocks on the door to my room. Most likely Lucy. I shout for her to come in.
The door swings wide and she stands there with an approving smile. “I didn’t hear a single scream. How’d you do, Em?”
Emery jumps up and hurries to show Lucy my work.
Lucy studies it closely, her lips twitching with amusement. “I’d love to pick it apart just to mess with D, but it really is flawless work.”
Emery’s eyes narrow just slightly. While she’s gotten close to Lucy, she’s protective of me and my art.
Lucy follows us out into the rest of the shop. “Wren’s coming today, right?” Lucy asks casually. “Is she meeting you guys here or at the house?”
“Here,” Emery says, casting a sly glance my way. “We’re going to take her to dinner at Hollow Hearth. Do you want to join us?”
Emery’s convinced Lucy and Wren are sweet on each other.
“Uh, sure.” Lucy shrugs. “If I’m not intruding?”
“Not at all.” Emery reaches out and squeezes Lucy’s shoulder. “You’re always welcome.”
Outside, the sidewalk radiates with late summer heat. The afternoon sun brightens Main Street, glinting off shop windows. Emery tips her head back, staring at the sky.
Halloween decorations line the street, including a twelve-foot skeleton statue in the town square that the crows have already turned into their own personal bird house.
“Crowsbridge Hollow breaks out the Halloween decorations early. The kids haven’t even gone back to school yet, but the town’s gearing up for another season of costumes, tourists, and spooky tales of half-remembered legends,” Emery says. “I better write that down. That might be a good intro.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out her small purple notebook where she jots down ideas as soon as they pop into her head.
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Are you doing another series?”
“No, I told Mrs. Applewood and Mr. Baxter I’d film a quick feature on the town for tourist season.”
“That was nice of you,” I say carefully. Emery’s formed a working relationship with the town board—well, working isn’t quite the right word, she does it for free. As if she hasn’t done enough for the town.
But it makes her happy and that’s the only thing that matters to me. She’s embraced Crowsbridge Hollow as her home, and the town treats her like she’s always belonged.
“And,” she continues with a wide, devious grin playing over her lips. “We’re getting together tomorrow to nail down myValloweenidea.”
“You’re kidding.” I let out a playful groan. Emery’s more than excited about the possibility of extending spooky season all the way to Valentine’s Day.
“Nope.” She lifts her chin. “Mrs. Applewood wants me to present it at the next town board meeting.”
“I don’t think you’ll have any problem getting approval.”
Emery stops and glances at her arm, flexing her fingers, testing the movement, as if she’s cataloging how the art fits onto her body. She lifts her gaze to mine. “I really love it. Thank you.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever put ink into the skin of someone I love. A mark she chose. One that ties us together for the rest of our lives. Not because of the ink. We chose each other long before the needle ever touched her skin.
