Page 12 of Sing For Me

“The scent is supposed to be calming,” she says, her voice softer. More shy. “And it’s supposed to help you sleep.” There’s something in her tone that has me looking up from the drawing to meet her eye. She shrugs, expression sheepish. “Staying calm and sleeping well are two things I have a hard time with. I thought it would be nice to have a reminder.”

I watch her for a moment, trying to read her face, before returning to my sketch. “Sounds like a pretty good reason for a tattoo.”

It’s quiet then, the only sound in our space the scratching of my pencil on the page. “Have you been doing this for long?” she finally asks. She chuckles softly. “I probably should have asked that first, huh? Asked to see pictures or something. I don’t even know if you’re any good.”

I smile to myself. “Grab that photo album behind you,” I say, never taking my eyes from the sketch.

“Oh, wow,” she murmurs a second later. “Did you do all these?”

“I did indeed.” I reach back into my cabinet and pull out some markers, comparing the different shades of green. “I started my apprenticeship when I was a teenager. Been tattooing ever since.”

I glance over at the book in her hand to see that an image has caught her attention. Her fingers trace lightly over a photograph of a yellow sun. The piece is set on the back of a broad, muscular shoulder, the outline of the sun composed of an elegant script—four names repeated over and over.

“This is gorgeous,” she murmurs.

“Thanks.” It’s probably stupid to feel a swell of pride at her words—I barely know the girl. But my chest is definitely feeling a lot lighter. I chuckle. “That’s actually my dad. First time he ever let me put ink on him.”

She looks up at me, eyes wide. “That’s a lot of trust to put in your kid.”

I shrug with one shoulder, adding shading to the purple flowers now. “He’s got plenty of tats, but there’s a regular guy he sees, out in New York. I never thought he’d let me do one.” I nod at the picture. “He was my first customer when I opened this place.”

“Youopened this place?” There’s no mistaking the surprise in her voice. “This is your shop?”

“Sure is.” I give her a cocky grin. “Still worried you got stuck with the dud artist?”

Her cheeks color a little. “You seem pretty young to own your own shop.”

Those words hit a little close to an uncomfortable truth, and it takes a lot to keep from tensing up. “I’m pretty lucky,” I say, because that’s basically what it comes down to.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her lowering her face over the photo to peer a little closer. “This script…are these names?”

“Wyatt, Will, Silas, and Cecelia.” I look up from my sketch to see she’s watching me. “Me and my siblings,” I clarify.

She’s quiet for what feels like a long time. “That’s…that’s really nice.”

I want to ask her what the emotion I hear in her voice is. I can’t tell if it’s envious or sad, but I suddenly want to know everything about her. Want to ask about her family—siblings, parents. Her job. Her friends.

I want this stranger to open up her head and her heart for me until I know all there is to know about her.

Jesus, dude,I think to myself. Talk about getting carried away.

Trying to get myself back on track, I hand her the sketchbook. “How’s that look?”

My style is a little different from the one she showed me. That piece had been delicate, light. I tend to work in bolder strokes, brighter colors. I hold my breath as she looks over my work. I can always make changes if it’s not what she wants, but I find myself wanting her approval.

“This is great,” she says, her tone more excited than I’ve heard from her so far. “This is just what I want.”

I don’t bother to temper the huge grin that breaks out on my face. “Great. Let me go get it on a stencil and we can look at placement.”

Quinn and Hannie, another employee, are in the printer room when I get there. Quinn gets a look at my face and takes a step back, eyes wide, hands coming to his chest in surprise. “Holy shit, boss. Are yougrinning?”

I roll my eyes, trying to recapture my usual scowl. “I didn’t know he had that many teeth,” Hannie says to Quinn in a loud stage whisper.

“You’re both hilarious. Don’t you have clients right now?”

Quinn points at me. “Ah, there’s the boss man we all know and love.”

“Get the fuck out of my way,” I mutter as I push my way between them to the printer.