Gallery B was exactly like I thought it would be, except smaller. I guess from all the press and the huge clientele lined up to see him, I thought Beck’s place would be a lot bigger inside than it looked from the outside. It was, in fact, even smaller than it looked from the outside, if that was at all possible. Even though we had called and made the arrangements over the phone, Jolene and Gerta wanted to come anyway, just to make sure the appointment exchange was okay with Beck.

I’d spoken to a woman named Chessie on the phone who had assured me it was okay. I had mentioned wanting something small so I didn’t even need to come in for a consult, which I thought was cool. And after thinking really hard about it, I did come up with something small, but meaningful to me. The question was whether or not Beck would actually do the artwork. From what I heard from Regina, he only did artwork he approved of. Hell, she told me he made her keep her eyes closed through the whole process. I didn’t know if I could do that myself.

It was a bit of a gamble, the work I wanted to get done, but it was pretty damn special to me and I was hoping that would translate when I tried to explain it to Beck. I could have drawn it out, or found something on the internet, but I also heard he liked to do things freestyle. When you get an appointment with an artistic genius, you work within his parameters. I’d been excited since Gerta and I had made the arrangements, now I was nervous as shit.

Sitting on the couch in the lobby of the tattoo shop I signed my life away filling out medical forms on a black tablet. They requested everything but a blood sample and my firstborn child. I mean, it was thorough as hell, but instead of being aggravated I was strangely relieved. Something was comforting about a company that wanted to make sure they were taking care of you properly. Good job, Beck.

The woman I had talked to on the phone, Chessie, was working the front desk along with a young man named Cody, who introduced himself as the piercer on staff. He was cute in a young kind of way, with artfully messy hair and a pierced lip in two places. It seemed a little excessive for me, but when he smiled and started talking I couldn’t see him any other way. He was a bit of a character and had started flirting with Gerta and Jolene right away.

“Ladies, how nice to see you again. Gerta, so boss of you to give your appointment time to our little tattoo virgin Angel today.” He nodded to me as I looked up from filling out my information in time to see him wink at Jolene. “Miss Jolene, when are we going to get you in for a tattoo? Or what about a piercing? I can do your eyebrow for you while you are waiting on Angel.” As he flashed that charming smile both women blushed and laughed at his attention. He certainly was a charmer, this Cody. I looked up at the receptionist desk, which sat against one of the walls completely covered in paintings done by local artists. This room was the “gallery” part of Gallery B. The receptionist was leaning on her elbow and watching Cody, a faint smile on her lips.

I knew a crush when I saw one and I silently sent good luck vibes Chessie’s way. Crushes are amazing, I should know, I had one. I had loved him fiercely when we were younger, with my whole heart and soul the way only an emotionally compromised teenage girl can. But this grown-up Gabe. This man, he was a completely different person, and I found the emotions I was experiencing new and exciting, even though they slipped and slid on the graves of the feelings I had harbored before.

Those feelings I had spent years compacting and burying in the bottom parts of my heart. Gabe was dancing on those. He was disturbing the dirt. I could very well be flirting with disaster, falling in love with Gabe again, but after listening to Gerta and seeing her tattoo, I couldn’t help but be optimistic, no matter what happened. Gerta’s dirt had been disturbed so many times, and she was still surviving, still capable of so much love. I wish I could be strong like her, and maybe after this tattoo, I could say I was trying. In my own way.

The black curtains lining the wall to the side of me parted, and Beck appeared as if he had just completed a magic trick. “Do I hear Jolene and Gerta?” his loud voice boomed through the small space.

“Hello, Beck,” said the two women in unison, and they both walked up to him and stood expectantly, waiting for a hug. He bent low and hugged both women gently as if he were bestowing upon them a gift. He kind of was. I mean, if I didn’t know he was about to become my friend Regina’s baby daddy I would be lining up for a squeeze, too. Beck was book boyfriend material, for sure, and I made a mental note to add someone with his physical description in my next book.

If I can ever manage to get any more words in.

Speaking of baby daddy, I wondered if Regina had managed to find a way to tell him yet?

“Hello, fresh meat,” Beck said, flashing me a wolfish grin. Whoa. Where had he been hiding that dimple? I was pretty sure that thing had destructive powers. “It must be pretty good, Angel, if you got Gerta to give up her spot for you. We’ll get you back in soon Gerta, you are my favorite.” And he winked in Gerta’s direction. She laughed and so did I. I bet Beck told everyone they were his favorite. By the way Chessie rolled her eyes and smiled I was willing to bet she thought the same thing.

“Unless you need us to stay and hold your hand, we are going to be at Nasta’s having a cocktail,” said Jolene, who was already halfway out the door and pulling Gerta behind her. I was glad she didn’t want to stay with me. I was struggling enough with showing Beck what I needed, I didn’t need my downstairs neighbors getting an eyeful too.

“It’s only three in the afternoon ladies,” Cody said with a knowing grin, obviously giving them a hard time because he knew them well enough. Did everyone know Jolene and Gerta? Did I live under a rock? As a writer, I did tend to live a solitary life, but I got out sometimes. I played at Nasta’s, I wasn’t a complete hermit.

Jolene didn’t hear him because she was already out the door, but Gerta paused in the doorway to straighten the sleeves of her lilac blouse and smooth away any invisible wrinkles that may have formed in her stylish white slacks. “A little cognac in the afternoon is good for your digestion,” she said primly and headed out to meet Jolene, her walk more of a slow shuffle than anything else.

For being old, those two sure get around.

“Are you ready?”

I jumped. Somehow Beck had snuck right up next to me and spoke right in my ear, which scared the shit out of me because I had been paying attention to Jolene and Gerta and not to him. I couldn’t wrap my brain around how someone that big could have been so silent next to me anyway.

“Yes,” I squeaked out and followed him behind the curtain he held open for me.

The tattoo area looked like a doctor’s office, it was that sterile. There was a little artwork on the walls, but nothing compared to what was on display up front. These pieces must not be for sale, I thought. This must be his personal collection.

One small canvas, probably about the size of a piece of paper, hung lower on the wall, closer to his workstation. It was a brightly colored picture of a woman sitting at a vanity, putting on her makeup. She was luminous and I recognized her immediately.

“Holy shit, Beck, is that Regina?” I asked on a hushed breath. “This is amazing, she looks amazing.”

“Well, I mean I am an artist,” Beck said, although he was clearly pleased with the compliment.

“But this is beyond.” I bent over low to get closer to the painting, for its size the detail was astonishing. “Does it have a name?” I asked. I didn’t know if artists even still named paintings anymore, or maybe just the big ones. I didn't know shit about visual art, but I did know pretty things and this painting was gorgeous. She was sitting sideways on a stool in front of a vanity made from some sort of dark wood. Her skin glowed with an inner light and her diaphanous gown seemed to float on her body. It was a timeless portrait, and the closer I looked at the dress the more I wondered if this was something she would actually own—or wear in real life.

"Where in the hell did she get that dress?" I whispered, mostly to myself because I didn't expect Beck to know, much less care.

"Oh, I just thought she would look beautiful in a dress like that, she wasn't actually wearing one." Beck chimed in from across the small room as he busied himself grabbing supplies out of a cart and wheeling it to the center of the room.

"Wasn't wearing the dress or wasn't wearing anything at all, Beck?" I asked the question slyly, as a joke, but that damn dimple popped out right before he gave me a toothy grin.

"Don't tell her I told you, she'll be embarrassed."

What was it with people and sharing their secrets with me? Did I look that trustworthy? Oh well, since I was keeping a pretty big one for Regina she didn't get to be mad that I knew about this. And I assumed, because he didn't say anything to me about it, that he still didn't know Regina was pregnant. Although, with all that hot/cold, eat, barf nonsense, I don't know how he could miss it. I bet he was going to be the type of guy who made her take monthly belly pictures for his scrapbook or something. It was so mushy I kind of wanted to cry about it a little. What they had...it was nice. I wished I could have something like that.

"While I'm checking stock on supplies why don't you tell me what you came here for, Angel? I can only assume it has something to do with the issues you were talking about at Regina's the other day?" He was right, and I took a deep breath before I gave my explanation, hoping against hope he wouldn't think it was stupid. It might have been a decision made on the fly, but the feelings behind it were real. I kind of needed this, for some weird reason I couldn't quite explain, even to myself.

Beck didn't think it was stupid. He just sat there and listened while I used too many words to explain what I wanted and why, and when I finally wound down and stopped rambling he took a deep inhale in and let it go in one long breath.

"I love it," he said, wheeling his cart over to what looked like a massage table. Slapping one large palm on the black cushion, he gestured for me to have a seat. "Assume the position," he said ominously, but I was used to his theatrics by now and got up on the table, which had me lying flat on my back while he washed his hands at a small sink in the corner. My pocket began to tingle and I pulled my cell phone out.

Handsome Devil.

He wasn't texting, he was calling. Oh God, I should probably take this. What had he found out about Melody? Did he get his money back? I wasn’t kidding when I told Gabe I had forgotten about her. He had completely consumed my thoughts since the moment I saw him again. Jesus, what kind of bad shape was I in that I was able to space out the entire reason for that to begin with? I don't know why I was so nervous in answering the phone, but suddenly my palms were sweaty and the phone threatened to slip from my hands.

"Hello?" I answered, and damn my voice for trembling.

"Are you at home right now?" His voice was hard, he sounded pissed.

"No, I'm not. What's going on? Did you find Melody? You sound upset." I sat upright on the bench as Beck wheeled a small stool over and sat down, still fiddling with instruments on the cart.

"Yeah, I found her, but the money is a dead end. Sorry, Angel, looks like you aren't getting out of my debt anytime soon." I don't know why those words shot a thrill through me, but they did, and I would pick apart what that said about me as a person later.

"Looks like you are stuck with me for a while, then." God, I was sick. This was not the relationship I wanted to have with him, and I know he wouldn't hold that over me. I know he wouldn't. Part of the privilege of being filthy rich was not getting bent over losing six hundred grand. Some people lost that much money gambling. As far as I knew, Gabe didn't gamble unless you counted him spending time with me. That seemed pretty risky right about now, at least to me.

Gabe sighed on the other end of the phone, and after a pregnant pause where I wasn’t sure if he was done with the conversation or not he continued.

“Actually, that Melody is a garbage human being, and I left her to rot in jail. The only good thing about that woman was she was indirectly responsible for putting you in my life again. Other than that, anything that happens to her is a direct result of her shitty life choices. I should have never even went to Atlantic City. I thought I was doing it so you could get some closure, but realistically it was probably just my need to solve a puzzle. She was a loose end and the investigator in me just couldn’t let it go until I figured her out. That was selfish of me.”

I was so shocked at Gabe’s words I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t know much about Gabe’s life between the time he joined the service and the time he took over Anderson Investments. I mean, I knew his mom bragged about him but it was clear he loved what he did. How long would he be happy as a civilian? Albeit a filthy rich civilian.

“You were probably thinking it was about the money, even though I told you it was never about recovering the money.” He was right. I totally thought his flying out to Atlantic City was about the money.

“I never thought that,” I lied.

“Liar,” he laughed. Then the laughter died abruptly like he physically stopped himself mid laugh. “I have something else I need to tell you.”

Jesus, why did he sound like he was giving me terrible news? I squirmed on the massage table while Beck continued to arrange his tools.

“Tweak is dead.”

What? Holy shit that was big news.

“How do you even know that?” I asked, although part of me knew the answer before he even responded.

“Dino texted me. Said Chaz wanted to make sure I knew your issues with him were over. The Blade article said he was a jumper. I’m not buying he suddenly gave up on life and took a leap off the High Level, but it is what it is.”

Oh man, I had heard about the jumper, but I hadn’t put the name together with Tweak. Someone jumped off that bridge every year or so. It was tragic, but not really a shocker anymore.

“Well, I guess there is no need to watch me so closely anymore, huh?” I asked, trying not to let the weird sadness I felt be heard in my voice. It wasn’t Gabe’s fault I was a weirdo. I couldn’t just feel safe, I had to be sad that Gabe didn’t need to keep such a close eye on me anymore.

"I just got off my flight, I'm in Detroit right now. Where are you? Will be you home in an hour? I need to see you."

"I'm not going to be home for a while, Gabe," I answered truthfully, although I hated having to tell him I couldn't see him when he had been so honest about wanting to see me. "I'm at Gallery B, I'm getting my first tattoo." I may have sounded a little geeked when I said that, and it would be because I was totally geeked.

"A tattoo? Where did that come from?" What did he mean, where did that come from? I was a wild and unpredictable woman in my early thirties. A tattoo wasn't so hard to imagine, was it?

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Gabe." I had meant it to come across as a lighthearted remark, but may have missed the mark.

"Not as many as you might think," he mumbled into the receiver, almost like he was talking under his breath. He sounded exhausted.

Beck interrupted. "Angel, I’m going to need you to unbutton your jeans and pull them down a bit. And hang up the phone, I can't have you wiggling around while I'm working on you."

"Holy shit, what are you having done?" Gabe asked, astonishment clear in his voice. He must have overheard Beck, who was in his professional zone and had no clue how his overheard words came across on the phone.

"Gabe, I have to go, I'll talk to you later."

"You'll talk to me in about an hour, Angel." As he hung up, I tried to figure out why those words sounded so much like a threat.

I didn't have time to pick apart the weirdness of that phone call, though, because my attention was diverted by a small blue something Beck was getting ready to run over the skin on my hip.

"Why do you have a razor in your hand, Beck?"