“No, I wanted to come. I’ve been looking forward to this. Plus, my son is with his father for the weekend, and my daughter had plans tonight, so I would have just sat home in an empty house anyway.”

Leaning carefully over her body with the tattoo gun in my hand, I realize how bummed I would have been if she had cancelled. “I’m glad you came,” I admit, glancing up at her. She catches my gaze and then quickly looks away. Her shyness intrigues me even more. “So how have you been?” I ask her, hoping some conversation will help her relax a little. I can feel by how taught her body is that she’s wound up like a top.

“Good. Crazy busy at work, as always, but I like it because it makes the time go by and keeps my mind busy so I can’t dwell on things. “

“I like that, too. Things have been really busy here the past few weeks, and I love it. I’m never bored.”

“Do you work here alone?” she asks.

“No. My brother, Vandal, works here, too, but he’s also in a band, so sometimes he’s not able to come in for a while if he’s practicing or on tour. I may have to hire someone else to help keep up with all the appointments we have.”

“That’s great. So many small businesses are struggling right now. It’s a nice change to hear that someone is doing well.”

“So true. I feel kinda blessed and lucky.” I gently turn her to her side a little bit and bend her knee up so I can get a better angle, and the feeling of my arm leaning against her bare thigh sends a rush of heat to my cock. Fuck me. I never get turned on when I work on a female client. Ever. I shake my hair out of my eyes and peek up at her, but she seems lost in her own thoughts.

“Speaking of small business, I have to find someone to come and fix the roof on my shed. During the last snow storm, a big icicle pulled a few of the shingles right off,” she says, oblivious to my attraction to her. “Paul was still coming by to do little things like that, but I guess, obviously, he’s not going to keep doing stuff around the house now that he’s shacked up with someone else.”

“I take it Paul is your husband?”

“Yes. Now, he’s saying we may have to sell the house, too, because he moved into a new expensive condo with his girlfriend. It’s really stressing me out.”

“Shit,” I say, feeling the muscles in her leg tightening as she gets more upset. “That sucks.” Her husband sounds like a first-class asshole to me.

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry I’m venting to you. It’s just been one of those weeks, ya know? And I guess I’m just an idiot because I didn’t think this stuff would ever be happening to me.” Her voice cracks a little, and I stop working to look up at her. Her eyes are watery and her cheeks are flushed, the sight tugging at my heart.

“Ivy, you’re not an idiot.” I gently squeeze her leg, aching to comfort her but not knowing how without crossing a line. “I’m pretty sure, when people get married, they don’t expect that they’ll be shafted by that person years later, and have their entire fucking life uprooted.”

“No.” She sniffles. “I never even imagined it.”

I wheel my stool across my small work area, grab the box of tissues on my table, and hand them to her.

“You must think I’m a mess,” she says, taking a tissue and wiping at her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re not a mess.” Actually, I think she’s beautiful, and it’s way more than just her looks. I can tell this woman has a heart of gold, and it shines right out of her like a spotlight. “You can vent on me all ya want. I’ve been through a lot of crap myself, so I understand. Trust me. I’m a good listener.”

I pick my gun up and continue my design on her, trying to be as gentle with her as I can be. Knowing that I’m inflicting even the slightest amount of pain on her bothers me.

“Are you married?” she asks suddenly.

“Nope.”

“Well, you’re young. You have tons of time.”

I wipe her leg with a cloth. “True. I think I’m one of the few guys that actually wants to get married. I just can’t find the right girl.”

“That’s hard to believe. You seem like a really nice guy, and you’re very talented. I’m surprised women aren’t lining up for you.”

I laugh. “Not the right ones, that’s for sure. I tend to attract the crazies or the wrong ones in general. I just broke up with a girl a few weeks ago that I still feel bad about. She was a great girl, really pretty, and we had a lot of things in common. I think she actually cared about me, too. She was the most normal girl I’ve dated in a long time.”

“That’s a shame. What happened?”

“She slept with my brother a few times before I hooked up with her.”

Ivy scrunches up her face. “Oh.”

“Yeah, exactly. I just couldn’t get past it. Do you think that’s wrong of me? Do you think I should be able to just forget about that?” I ask, wondering if there’s something wrong with me, or if maybe I’m too picky.

She thinks about my question before answering. “No, I completely understand. I think, for a lot of people, it’s awkward to be intimate with a person someone else you are close to has also been intimate with. Some things aren’t meant to be shared.”

“Exactly! I couldn’t see myself having dinner with her over at my brother’s house, sitting at his table, knowing he screwed her. It would make me crazy thinking about it, and I don’t think I could not think about. I can’t un-see that shit in my head, ya know?”

She laughs. “I totally agree. I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. It just sounded funny, the way you said it,” she says. “I feel sick every time I think about the fact that Paul was having an affair for a whole year before I found out. Just thinking that he was having sex with another woman, and then coming home to me, pretending he had been at work and acting all normal, is disgusting.”

“Fuck yeah it is. Was he sleeping with both of you? Not at the same time, obviously, I mean, while he was married to you?”

“Apparently so. He’d stopped having sex with me for months. Almost a year.” She turns her head away from me, her face reddening with embarrassment. “I just thought he was tired from working. I didn’t think he was getting it better someplace else.”

“Shit. That sucks. I absolutely cannot stand cheaters. I feel really bad for you.”

She sighs and faces me again. “Please don’t feel sorry for me. I feel lame enough already.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I just feel bad for you because I don’t think you deserve it. He’s a shithead.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

I add a few more flowers to her design before I get up the courage to ask her my next question. “Did you eat dinner today?”

“No . . . I didn’t have time to.”

“When we’re done here, we could go to this little cafe down the street. They’re open ’til midnight. I haven’t eaten yet either.”

Her leg muscles stiffen again beneath my hands, and I silently beg her to say yes.

“I don’t know . . . I should probably just go home,” she answers nervously, chewing her bottom lip.

“To the big empty house? Forget that and come with me. They have killer soups and sandwiches, and their lattes are awesome. Do you really want me to eat alone like a loser?”

She smiles shyly at me. “No. Of course not.”

“Then grab a bite with me. Save me from my impending loser-dom.”

She squirms in the chair. “Lukas, I’d love to save you from your loser-dom, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

I flash her my best chick-melting smile. What the hell am I doing? Am I really trying to hook up with a chick a decade older than me? Yes. I am. “It’s just a sandwich. No strings, I promise.”

She sighs and laughs, and I love how pretty her lips look when she smiles. Like a little doll. “Okay. I am hungry, actually.”

“Cool. Let’s try to put in a little more design time, and then we’ll go, okay?”

She nods. “That’s perfect.”

I have a strict no-dating-the-customers-rule that I imposed on myself when my brother and I opened the shop four years ago. And even though this technically isn’t a real date, I’m growing more and more attracted to Ivy, and I really have no idea why. I work on all kinds of attractive women every day but remain detached from them, even though a lot of them literally throw themselves at me and offer me everything from blowjobs to threesomes. There’s just this thing about her. Maybe it’s her shyness. Or the ache I feel in her. Or maybe it’s the crazy tingling feeling I get every time I touch her or look into her eyes. Either way, I just know I want to spend more time with her without jabbing needles in her.

“How long have you worked here?” she asks me.

“My brother and I opened this place four years ago after we inherited some money from our grandfather.”

Her eyebrows rise in surprise. “Oh! I didn’t realize you owned it.”

I smile as I add delicate shading to the tender spot just above her knee. “Yup. I own the building, too, and I live upstairs.”

“Wow, I had no idea. I’m very jealous of your commute,” she teases. “What was here before you moved in? I love the uniqueness of the building. I know it was a church or chapel at one time, right?”

“It was quite a while ago. Before we moved in, an older couple lived here that sold antiques. They were cool enough to let us keep some of their antique furniture and artwork, too. The furniture in the waiting area is all antiques, and a bunch of the furniture in my apartment is, too. I love vintage decor, especially anything Victorian Gothic.” I pause working on her design. “I’m fascinated with the history that’s attached to certain objects. I feel like antiques have a story to tell, and that they carry with them a little piece of each person who owned it. Like an imprint, I guess. Sometimes, I like to run my hand over the old wood and just try to feel the past seep into me.”