A few minutes after Ginger and Ox walked across the street, Ox walked back carrying a bundle of clothes. His expression was weary. And annoyed. This time when he opened the door, he poked his head in politely. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

“I’m sorry about the scene earlier.”

“Not your fault.” Emmie waved him in from the stool behind the counter she’d set up when she moved the desk back to the office. “I put a couple of boxes by the door.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” He dumped the armful of clothes in one then walked outside again and began picking up the clothes that Ginger had flung on the sidewalk.

“Things look a little calmer over there,” Emmie called.

“For now.” He walked back in. “You know the thing about artists being temperamental?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ginger likes to play into that.”

Emmie smiled. “You called her Yvette.”

“That’s her real name, but don’t use it. She told me in confidence and I shouldn’t have called her that in front of other people.”

Emmie leaned her chin on her hand. “You know, for an ex-boyfriend whose clothes are currently being thrown out a window, you seem awfully considerate.”

Ox’s head spun around. “The fuck?”

He stormed out the door and nearly walked into traffic before he made it across and started catching his stuff. After a few more shouts, he walked back to the store.

Emmie was trying really hard not to laugh. “So, I’m guessing this will not be another break up and make up, huh?”

“No.” He let out a rueful laugh and tossed a sweatshirt in a box. “I am not cut out for that level of drama… Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Emmie.”

“I'm Ox. Miles Oxford, but everyone calls me Ox. You’re a friend of Daisy’s, right?”

“I am.”

“She’s a sweetheart. Spider’s a lucky guy.”

“You know Spider?”

“Everyone knows Spider. How many guys have a giant spider inked on their head?”

“Only one, as far as I know.”

“Exactly.” Ox narrowed his eyes. “I’m surprised you know Spider.”

Emmie raised her eyebrows. “Why?”

“I…” He motioned vaguely to her. “You just don’t seem like…”

…the type to know a quiet legend in the tattoo world.

Emmie didn’t say it. It was none of Ox’s business that Spider had been her tattoo artist for seven years and Emmie was the reason that Spider and Daisy had met. “Daisy and her family have rented Café Maya from my grandma for years.”

“You’re Betsy’s granddaughter!” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Of course you know Daisy and Spider.”

“You knew my grandma?”

“Yeah.” He gave her another half smile. “Betsy was friends with my mom. She’s a big reader.”

“Yeah?”

“She taught middle school out in Oakville.” Ox wandered over to the bookshelves to peruse the books Emmie had been sorting. He picked up a battered copy of Hatchet. “Man, I loved this book hard. First book I really got hooked on.”

Emmie was silently shocked and delighted. “You’re a reader?”

Ox glanced down at his jeans and undershirt, then back up to Emmie. “Don’t I look like one?”

“Everyone looks like a reader to someone who sells books.” Emmie wondered why she was completely comfortable with this giant guy who had barged into her shop and brought so much chaos. His clothes were still flying out the window on the second floor across the street, but he was calmly perusing her books. “I try not to make assumptions.”

He scratched the top of his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve read anything other than trade magazines. When I was a kid, I lived in the country, so there wasn’t much to do other than read.” He tapped the paperback in his hand. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been hooked on anything like I was hooked on this book. I got so into it I forgot to eat. I stayed up all night—”

“You were in another world,” Emmie said. “Who wants to leave an adventure like that?”

Ox smiled slowly. “Exactly.”

His smile did things to her stomach, and Emmie’s nerves decided to reappear. “Sounds like you need to start reading again.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Clothes were still flying out the window. “Since I don’t have a girlfriend anymore and I’m unemployed, I’ll probably have the time.”

“I bet I could find something you’ll love as much as Hatchet.”

“Really?”

“Okay, probably not. I mean”—she gestured to the paperback—“you never forget your first love. But there are some pretty great modern survival stories. Is that what you liked?”

“Yeah, I read ’em all. Hatchet. Island of the Blue Dolphins. My Side of the Mountain.” He tapped the book and stared at the bookshelves. “Man, I wanted a pet hawk. But who doesn’t want a pet hawk, right?”

Emmie was shocked and charmed. Who was this guy? He looked like the last person on earth who would reminisce about childhood reading, but he seemed just as comfortable talking about books as he did joking with the bikers who parked in front of Bombshell.

“It looks like she might be winding down,” Ox said, glancing out the window. “I didn’t keep that much stuff at her place. Let me go grab the rest and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

You can stay in my hair.

“Sure.” She waved her hand. “I’m just here. Sorting stuff. And cleaning. I needed some excitement.”

“Yeah, there’s no lack of excitement over at Bombshell. That’s probably why I stuck it out for so long.”

Emmie sighed as she watched her excitement walk out the door.

That’s why she couldn’t find a guy who kissed her the way Ox kissed Ginger. Emmie was the opposite of exciting. She was sensible and dependable. She was the comfy sweater on a rainy day, not the glamorous cocktail dress or the sexy shoes that looked so amazing you wore them even when they pinched your toes.

She watched Ox picking up the last of his clothes, chatting and laughing with people who passed him on the street, and wondered what it would be like to have just a little of that excitement in her life. Would it be invigorating or exhausting?

By the time he returned, Emmie’s nerves had calmed down because she was resigned to never seeing Miles Oxford again. He’d move on and find some other exciting person to kiss, and Main Street would be much less scenic, if a little quieter.

“So I was thinking,” Ox said as he dropped the rest of his clothes in the boxes. “Would you mind if I left these overnight? I have a truck out at my sister’s ranch, but I rode my bike here this morning.”

“Oh sure, that’s cool. What kind of bike do you have? I sold my car, so I was thinking about getting one of those cruisers they sell down at Valley Cycle.”

He grinned. “Mine’s a Harley type of bike.”

“Oh.” Her face heated up. “Of course.” Of course he drove a motorcycle. Because guys who were tattooed muscle gods like Miles Oxford drove rumbly motorcycles with lots of chrome. Probably.

“I also need to box up my gear over at Bombshell. Can I bring it over here to store until I can get my truck? If it’s a pain in the ass—”

“No, it’s fine,” Emmie said. “Like I said, I’m just cleaning and stuff. I’ll be here.”

He pulled out his phone. “Let me get your number. That way if I get delayed at the ranch, I can let you know so you’re not waiting around.”

“Who said I was going to wait around for you?”

Ox’s eyebrows went up. “Fair enough. I’d still prefer to get your number. That way I can make sure you’re here when I come back.”

She walked over, took his phone, punched in her number, then waited while he dialed her phone to grab his. “There.” She held up his digits on the screen. “We’re connected.”

“So we are.” He took his phone and started typing. “And I am saving your number as… Emmie. Last name… Book Girl.”

Her face went hot again. “For future reference, I prefer texting to calling unless it’s an important conversation, and then you probably shouldn’t be talking on the phone anyway because face-to-face conversations are better.”

He looked down. “Are they?”

“A lot of nuance is lost over the phone.”

“But not in texts?”

“That’s what emojis are for.” Emmie suddenly realized how close they were standing. She could feel the heat from his body.

Ox’s voice was quiet. “You’re kind of a little thing, aren’t you?”

“I was going to say you’re overgrown.” Her face was on fire, but she couldn’t stop her mouth. She didn’t even come up to his shoulder. If he lifted his arm, he could probably rest his elbow on Emmie’s head.

“I need to go pack up my gear,” he said.

“Okay.”

“Do you have any tattoos? Do you want any?”

Emmie backed away and went behind the counter. “None of your business.”

His eyes narrowed. “If I texted you the question, would you answer?”

“No, it’s not…” Her nerves had come back with a vengeance. “If I got a tattoo, I’d get it from Spider. So it’s really none of your business.”

Ox gave her another half smile. “Fair enough. Who wouldn’t go to Spider?”

“He’s family.” Emmie flipped open the impossible espresso machine catalog and sighed. There was an old-fashioned copper machine she desperately wanted, but it was two grand, even on sale. It would match the shop perfectly, but she just couldn’t afford to spend that kind of money on coffee, especially when she wasn’t charging for it.

She heard the doorbell chime behind Ox as he walked back to the tattoo shop. She glanced up and watched his back as he walked away, half expecting Ginger to make her amends with Ox before he could pack up his gear. After all, Ginger might have been pissed at him, but even the most exciting girl didn’t have a guy like Ox walk into her life that often.

Emmie looked back at the worn catalog and imagined the tall copper espresso machine polished and shining on the bookshop counter.

Why did she always want impossible things?

The pain lanced through her as the needle crossed her spine. She tried not to wince, but Spider sensed the movement.

“You better keep your ass still. If you mess up my design, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Isn’t this my back?”

“Yeah, but it’s my design. So keep still.”

“Fine.”

“I told you color was going to be the hardest part.”

“I thought you were full of shit because the outline hurt so much.”

Spider chuckled. It was his low, evil chuckle. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“No.”

“That’s right, Mimi. Don’t forget it.”

Spider Villalobos was the closest thing Emmie had to a big brother even though they were polar opposite in looks. She was a pale gringa and Spider had been born in the heart of Sinaloa. His copper-brown skin tanned dark in the valley sun while Emmie’s burned. His hair—when he didn’t shave his head—was thick and black while hers was a weird brown color that was reddish sometimes. With black tattoos covering most of his body—including his neck and head—Spider looked fierce to nearly everyone while Emmie was often overlooked by her own friends if she didn’t wave at them in a crowd.

But they were family.

Spider had immigrated to LA when he was a baby named Manuel. When his dad passed away, he was thirteen. A tough age for anyone, it was even worse for a smart, bored kid in East LA. Within a few years, he’d fallen into gang life where he’d become the most skilled tattoo artist in a very specialized form of ink.

Then his mom had been killed in a drive-by shooting, and Spider ran.

Emmie didn’t know the details like her grandmother had, but she knew twenty years later Spider still didn’t go to Los Angeles. Ever. And he said he never would. He also wouldn’t go to parts of Oakland and was wary in San Francisco.

He’d fled north, grown his hair out and covered his ink, living on the margins as an agricultural worker until he’d wandered into Emmie’s grandmother’s store asking about work in the winter.

Within weeks, Betsy had managed to set him up with a permanent job on a friend’s ranch. He spent every holiday with Betsy, Emmie, and her mom, becoming part of the family. To ten-year-old Emmie, Spider was the coolest.

It was Emmie who’d seen his drawings first, but it was Betsy who loaned him the money to start his own tattoo business. Spider built a steady and discreet clientele over the years and even started shaving his head again, revealing the tattoo that had given him his nickname. Eventually clients started coming to Spider, some of them from a very long way away.

He didn’t talk about his customers even though Emmie knew some of them were pretty famous. He didn’t Instagram or Snapchat or Facebook. He didn’t even have a mobile phone. He had a home phone and an answering machine.

It drove his wife absolutely crazy.

“Where’s Daisy tonight?” Emmie stayed completely still as the needle moved back and forth over the same small area. He was shading on her lower back and it hurt like the devil. Tattoos were something Emmie loved, but not because of any kind of endorphin rush. She liked having them. She hated getting them.

“Taking dinner to Sandra tonight.” He lifted the needle. “Do you need a break?”

“I’m okay. Sandra have the baby?”

“Yeah, last week. Little boy.”

“Cool.” Emmie knew Daisy and Spider had been trying for kids for a while. Daisy hadn’t confided in Emmie, but she knew Spider worried. “That’s cool for them.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty excited. Cute kid. Lots of hair. Danny keeps talking about the kid playing football, and he can’t even lift his own head.”

Emmie smiled. “Good to have dreams.”

“I guess so. Dan played in high school I think.”

“Did you?”

“Didn’t have time for sports, Mimi.”

And that was all he’d ever say about that.

“Do you know a guy named Miles Oxford?” she asked.

“Ox? Yeah, I know him. He’s pretty good. Works for Ginger, right?”

“He did. They broke up. She was throwing his stuff out the window of her apartment yesterday.”

The needle lifted, Spider sat up, and he busted up laughing. “She didn’t.”

Emmie smiled over her shoulder. “She did. He came into my shop to get some boxes to put his stuff in. Then she started throwing his stuff at my shop.”

Spider was still laughing. “Welcome to Metlin.”

“When did it turn into reality TV?”

“More like one of Eddie’s telenovelas.” He nudged her back into position. “More fill on this wing.”

“Any of the purple yet?”

“It’s not time for the purple. Be patient.”

“Fine.” Emmie turned her back and braced herself on the back of the chair. “So you know Ox.”

“He’s not a bad guy. Kinda stupid about women. He’s a good artist, but not as good as Ginger.”

“Ginger’s good?”

“Yeah, she’s more than good. After me, she’s the best in the area. She’s just moody as hell and can’t get a handle on her temper. But her portrait work is fucking amazing.”

“Do you do portraits?”

“Nope. I’ve sent her some business over the years.”

The needle was burning long lines in her back. Emmie bit her lip and closed her eyes. “What about Ox? You said he’s good?”

“He’s damn near as good as Ginger, especially in black and grey. His work is really… three-dimensional. Architectural. He’s not as good at portraits though.”

“Good thing I don’t want to get a face on my ass then. I don’t think Ginger likes me very much.”

Spider snorted. “She’ll get over it. She’ll get over Ox too. Both of ’em oughta know not to shit where they eat.”

“Not everyone is as wise as you.”

“I know.” He lifted the needle, set it down so he could rest, and reached for his beer. “And ain’t that a fucking shame?”