One month later

I’d been tattooing at the Philly Tattoo Convention for practically a decade, but this year it felt entirely new. Yesterday my booth had been so busy I’d barely had time to take sips of water between schmoozing, tattooing, and catching up with other industry folks I only ever saw at this con. I’d slept for maybe two hours last night, after raucous post-con karaoke, and was currently standing near the side entrance, trying to figure out on my phone where the nearest coffee in the sprawling convention center was. Of course, the con app didn’t do anything so useful as point out coffee or bathrooms, and I shut it in disgust, resigning myself to wandering aimlessly until I found it, or stalking someone walking with a cup.

An arm snaked around me from behind and Christopher’s smell washed over me, as comforting and calming as ever. Then the smell of coffee hit me and I whipped around, twisting to get at the cup in his other hand.

“Jeez,” he said, shaking his head after my hair slashed him in the face. “I guess I know where I stand.”

I nodded, took a huge sip of coffee, and closed my eyes in relief. “Thank god.” I kissed him in thanks, then let myself relax in his embrace for a moment before I faced the chaos of the con.

“Ready?”

We walked to my booth hand in hand, but when we got there, all I could see was a chattering mob of people. “What the hell,” I murmured, bracing for some drama. The fallout after I’d posted my thoughts on gender in the tattoo industry had been mostly positive, after the initial onslaught of trolls and assholes, but now that I was firmly entrenched in social media, I was constantly primed for the next inevitable flare-up.

The group fell suspiciously silent as I approached, people elbowing one another and turning to look at me. It felt like the time in tenth grade that Nancy Watson had spread the rumor I was sleeping with our chemistry teacher and groups of students had paused in their conversations to stare at me as I walked down the hall, clueless as to what was going on.

But then Christopher squeezed my arm, and a woman standing in front of me smiled huge. I recognized her. It was Sally, the woman whose tattoo I’d used to kick off United Ink.

“Hey, Ginger,” she said, and I grabbed her in a hug. She unpinned her sleeve to show me and the rest of the group the tattoo of half a best friends necklace above her amputation. The woman standing next to her rolled up her own sleeve to reveal the other half.

“It’s so good to see you again,” I said, overwhelmed.

Then, as I looked around the crowd I saw that a lot of the women were holding pictures.

“Some folks here to meet you,” Sally said, and I realized who they were.

They were people who had posted pics of their tattoos in the United Ink campaign, holding printouts of their posts.

“Holy shit,” I said, recognizing one after another. Carmen Montez was there, with her sisters and her mom, and her arm around her grandmother. There was heavily tattooed woman who’d posted a picture of the tattoo she’d gotten with her best friend after they’d run their first Spartan Race. And others, so many others. Everywhere I looked was strength, camaraderie, support.

Evidence that when we lifted each other up, we all benefitted.

My throat got tight and I felt a suspicious burning in my eyes. “I can’t believe this! I—how did you all—”

“Talk to your man,” a low voice said to my left. “He set it up.”

“Holy shit,” I breathed. Because that? That was Etta Blake in the damn flesh.

She smiled, as striking in person as she was in pictures, if shorter than I’d imagined. She embraced me, said we’d get dinner later, and then started talking to others in the crowd.

After meeting everyone, I turned, searching out Christopher. He’d stayed on the outskirts of the crowd, giving me my space. Now, though, I could feel his eyes on me.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” I said, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said.

Aaaaand, shit, it was Valentine’s Day, wasn’t it?

“Oh my god, you total cheese ball. I hope you know I didn’t get you anything.”

He snorted. “Right, because I’ve never met you.” Then he gave me that grin that never failed to make me feel like I was held in the warmest, fiercest hug.

I went up on tiptoes, and whispered in his ear, feeling him shiver against me. “I love you.”

“Damn right,” he said, and kissed me.

I could hear voices around us, and heavy metal music from down the hall, but Christopher was more vivid than any of it. His mouth on mine, his arm around me, and my hand resting on his arm, right over the fresh tattoo—Synergy—that matched my own. He’d carry that piece of me with him, marked forever as mine.

But not for long … Small Change #2 is coming next! If you want to receive an announcement when it’s released, sign up !