Cary Nakamura walked into the shop and paused just inside the door, looking around and nodding. “This is good.”

“Yeah?” Ox walked over to shake his neighbor’s hand. “You like it?”

“I do.” He glanced over behind the book counter. “There any coffee made?”

“No. You want a latte, go down to Daisy’s. I’m not your mom.”

“My mom could beat you up.” Cary was about fifteen years older than Ox, but he’d been a client as long as Ox had been tattooing. He was a neighbor from Oakville and had orange groves just north of their acreage. When Melissa had started planting, she’d turned to Cary for help. Ox had more than once wondered if the older guy had a thing for his sister, but he didn’t ask. It was none of his business. Cary had been friends with Calvin. It was complicated.

“How’s your crop looking this year?” Ox asked.

“If I wanted to talk about my oranges, I’d call your sister. That’s all she wants to talk about. Ever.”

“Fair point.” Ox sat down on his rolling stool. “I know jack shit about oranges.”

“Stick with what you know.” Cary flipped a chair around and pulled out a piece of paper. “So this is the only picture I have of my dad’s shoulder. You can see the chrysanthemum is pretty faded, but—”

“I can definitely see the look you’re going for.”

“He got it for my mom. It was her favorite flower. Now that he’s passed, I want to get one too.”

“That’s beautiful, man. We can definitely work something up.” He glanced at Cary. “The traditional Japanese designs are not my specialty. I just want to warn you. I’ve done a few, but I’m not a master.”

“Man, I’ve seen your sketches, and the dragon turned out perfect. I’m not worried.” He handed Ox the paper. “Sketch it out. See what you can do. For now let’s keep going on my back.”

“Cool.”

Cary had been working on a full back tattoo for over a year. The dragon was almost done, and it was one of Ox’s favorite custom pieces. It wasn’t strictly a Japanese dragon, but it was inspired by classical art with a few modern tweaks that Cary had asked for. The clean lines and deep shading made it a striking piece, and it would blend well with the more traditional Japanese pieces Cary already had.

The needle started buzzing, and Cary relaxed into the chair, and Ox started to shade his left shoulder.

“The place is nice. Your pop would like the jackalope.”

“You remember Brewster’s?”

“Are you kidding? I always passed by that place as a kid, wishing my dad would take me there, but my mom refused to spend the money. Barber shops were for men. She buzz cut my head every month until I was sixteen.”

“They had a stuffed jackalope in there. I found one online.”

“How about the chair? Online too?”

“Nope, that’s from Brewster’s. Salvage.”

“Very cool.”

“Thanks.”

“This is a good place, man. Business going well so far?”

“So far.”

They chatted for the next thirty minutes, and Ox tried to imagine what it would be like to tattoo a client like Cary when the bookshop was open. Emmie would be sitting behind the counter, probably reading a book unless a customer wandered in. Or making coffee, letting the coffee grinder and bubbling machine join the buzz of the tattoo needle.

Quiet music played from the speaker on his counter. It was nice. None of the pounding metal that was common across the street at Bombshell. No one was cursing and yelling or whining about how big a cut Ginger was taking. It was just peace and quiet, minimal conversation, and a buzzing tattoo needle set to Johnny Cash.

Ox lifted the needle from Cary’s back. “This shop is exactly what I want.”

Cary said, “That’s good. That’s great, man.”

It felt like a revelation, even if it was a quiet one.

A couple of high school kids passed by the Main Street door and pulled on it, not trusting the CLOSED sign. Emmie had made the decision, like most of Main Street, to stay closed on Monday. It was a good move and allowed Ox some peace and quiet in the shop. At least one day a week he would be free from the distraction of her presence.

“That wasn’t a kiss, so I didn’t break the rules.”

“You didn’t?”

He had broken every rule. He couldn’t get the taste of her off his tongue. Her lip had been soft. Delicious. He’d wanted to devour her.

I was always shit about following the rules.

Ox had stepped back, immediately regretting his actions. And not regretting them. He regretted muddying the waters between him and Emmie, and he also regretted not backing her into her apartment, stripping her naked, and finishing what he’d started with a bite. He’d had a taste of her now, and he couldn’t get the idea out of his mind when she was anywhere near.

Hell, she was gone and he still couldn’t get the idea off his mind.

Ox muttered, “Cary, my friend. I love this place, but I am so fucked.”

“Let me guess. A woman?”

“How’d you know?”

“Because I’m older and smarter than you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But also your sister said something. And your mom. And Abby.”

Ox didn’t know whether to be annoyed with the women in his life or flattered that they cared.