The piece comes together, bit by bit. The thick black words. The deep red petals. The sharp green thorns.

Wes sighs as I turn off the gun.

It's weird, seeing him this vulnerable.

Treating him like any other client.

He's a hell of a lot more bossy and difficult than any of my clients.

I clean him up, give him the standard after care speech, take him to the mirror.

The pretenses fall from his expression. "Fuck, Hunter." He traces the design in the air. "This is good."

"Thanks."

"Seriously. All that time in rehab was good for you."

"You figure?"

He looks up at me and shakes his head. "Fuck, dude, you're so serious now."

"Now?"

"Hell yeah, now. You even remember how you used to act?"

It's farther away every day.

I can't wait until that phase is a distant memory.

At the moment—"I see your point."

He nods hell yeah you do. "I get the whole brooding tattoo artist thing. I'm sure the chicks dig it. But you gotta tone it down."

"I'll keep that in mind."

He shrugs. "Trying to help you, dude."

In his way, he is. "You really working here or you fucking with me?"

"I start next week."

"We’re doomed."

He flashes me that classic Wes Keating smile. "Would you expect anything less?"

I walk him to the register.

He flirts with Emma enough to make her blush.

Insists on paying. And leaving a generous tip.

Tries to high-five me goodbye.

I pull him into a hug instead.

He's right.

I'm not the guy who was blackmailed into rehab.

I'm a better version of myself.

Maybe I'm not at a hundred percent yet.

But I'm getting there.

Bit by bit, I'm getting there.

With my thoughts on Emma, the day is a crawl.

I want to be done.

To be alone with her.

To figure out what the fuck we're doing.

She leaves a little after five.

I finish touching up a short dude's back piece. Walk him to the counter. Print his receipt.

Except for the moan of some miserable musician, the shop is quiet.

It's just me and Ryan.

I guess this is his music.

How am I surrounded by people who like this whiny shit?

Don't get me wrong.

It's not all bad.

And I certainly understand torment in the soul.

Hell, this is actually a pretty fucking great band. Catchy melodies. Awesome riffs. Epic solos.

But hearing music Emma loves to play isn't doing shit to speed time.

When I close my eyes, I see her singing along. Blushing. Smiling to deflect the attention. Digging her nails into her skirt.

Fuck, I need to be there.

This is it. Our last day alone.

I need to make the most of it.

"Fuck, man. This is nice." My client finishes checking out his freshly blackened back piece. He holds up his hand.

I high-five him. "Thanks."

"I barely groaned too."

I can't help but chuckle. He grunted though every stroke. Classic tough guy. Insisting it doesn't hurt despite his frequent grunts. "Gotta save that for your girl."

He laughs. "Gotta save it, but not for a girl."

"Oh."

"Get that a lot."

"Wouldn't guess."

"Boyfriend tells me the same thing."

I let him gush about his boyfriend.

It's sweet.

But it only makes me want Emma more.

After I walk him out, Ryan heads to the counter.

His blue eyes fix on me. Fill with Ryan like intensity.

He's wearing all black, same as always.

Only he's smiling.

Which is…

Well, that's pretty fucking normal at this point.

He's crazy about his girlfriend.

I finally get that.

How one person can change your outlook on the entire world.

It happened to him.

It's happening to me.

It's better than any drink I've ever had.

And I've tried them all.

He raises a brow you ready for this?

I'm not.

But I want to be.

I move to the counter.

"You sure you know what you're getting into?" he teases.

"Yeah." My fingers curl around the pen. It's a normal plastic thing. One of the gel rollers Emma loves.

It's not a thick fountain thing reserved for special occasions.

But that's perfect in its own way.

"You sick of us yet?" he teases.

"Getting there."

"Give it six months. You'll be clawing at the walls," he teases.

"Yeah, you look ready to get out of here," I tease back.

His low chuckle bounces around the room. "I love this place."

I do too. "Have any advice?"

"You know that shit they say about honesty being the best policy?"

"Yeah."

"Not everything is everyone's business."

Fuck, it's like he knows.

I study his expression. Try to find a clue. But the man is a brick wall.

I shake it off.

Pick up the pen.

Sign on the dotted line.

He does the same.

Then he offers his hand.

We shake.

"Congrats, Hunter. You're officially a part of Inked Hearts."

I nod.

"You're fucked."

I can't help but laugh.

Not yet.

But with what I'm going to do after this…

This is the best decision of my life.

Or the worst.