Miles

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“I still can’t believe this piece, man. Some of your best work yet.” Winston studies the tattoo I sketched out for him a couple of days ago while I lay the outline on his right shoulder.

It’s a pretty basic design; angel wings twined together with the name ‘Joni.’

“I thought you’d like it.” I dab more ink onto the needle before pressing it to his skin.

“Sometimes it’s like you know what I want even before I do.”

“Made sense. Figured it was only a matter of time before you’d want something to represent your mom,” I say, briefly locking eyes with Harlow.

She’s sitting in the chair to my left, positioned, so she’s next to her brother, but can still watch me work.

A small glimpse of sadness washes over her face but it’s gone almost as quick as it came.

Winston and Harlow’s mom died in a car accident when they were kids. Even though they were young, especially Harlow, I know they felt her loss immensely. It has always been something that has tied them together beyond just being siblings. A loss like that changes people in a big way.

“It’s amazing,” she agrees with her brother, speaking for the first time in a while.

“Thank you.” I wipe the excess ink off of Winston’s shoulder with a towel, my eyes lingering on Harlow’s face as I do.

She was always pretty as a teenager, but now she’s a fucking lot more than pretty. My gaze has fallen to her a hell of lot more than I have intended over the last several minutes. Almost like I can’t help myself.

Her strawberry blonde hair is a little darker than it used to be. With it pinned back, away from her face it puts her big, green eyes on full display. And then there are the adorable freckles that pepper her nose and cheeks. The same ones that she used to cake makeup over when she was younger but now on full display.  

“It’s perfect, dude. Seriously. Perfect.” Winston breaks into my thoughts causing me to refocus on his shoulder quickly. “I’ve been trying to talk Harlow into getting one, but she doesn’t seem too keen on the idea.”

“Oh yeah.” I chuckle, dabbing the needle in ink continuing with the outline of the left wing. “Got something against tattoos, do ya?” I briefly flip my gaze to Harlow’s.

“No.” I see her shake her head in my peripheral vision, but I keep my eyes on Winston’s shoulder. “I just don’t want one.”

“That’s fair. Tattoos aren’t for everyone.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I think tattoos are amazing. Especially this one. But I don’t know that it would look good on me.”

“I think you could pull one off,” I smirk, throwing her a wink before refilling my ink and refocusing. I can tell by the shocked reaction she tries to hide that she thinks I’m flirting with her, and maybe I am, but not because I’m into her. It’s how I am with most of the women that come in here. It’s almost a habit.

“All different types of people have tattoos,” I quickly continue. “It’s not like you have to fit into a certain mold to get a little ink done. I’ve tatted people you never in a million years would guess to have tattoos. Of course typically they’re placed where they aren’t visible to just anyone, but still, that’s not the point.”

“She doesn’t want one now, but if she ever gets one, she’ll be one of those people that get the itch and two years later don’t have a visible patch of skin left,” Winston jokes, taking a moment to readjust as I switch out colors and prepare to shade the wings.

“Yeah, that would never happen,” Harlow quickly disagrees.

“Maybe two or three. I’d stop you after that,” I tell her.

“You’d have to get me to agree to one first,” she quips, the left side of her mouth twitching as she fights a smile.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that not only is Harlow Cabell, or whatever the hell her name is now, buying into the act I’m selling, but she’s enjoying the attention.

A slight twinge of guilt twists in my stomach, and I make a mental note to dial it back a bit. She isn’t just any other woman, and I can’t treat her as such. She’s my best friend’s little sister. My best friend’s incredibly beautiful, recently separated from her husband, little sister.

I’ve dealt with enough women going through a break-up or divorce to know how unpredictable they can be. The last thing I want is to give her the wrong impression or lead her on in some way.

Hell, for all I know she could only be playing nice for her brother’s sake. But I don’t think that’s it. We may not have gotten along in the past, but it was clear to me from the instant my eyes landed on her that she’s not the same girl I knew all those years ago. Not that I expected she would be. Almost eleven years is a long ass time. I can’t even begin to comprehend how much I’ve changed in that time.

I honestly never understood what her problem was with me. It was like one minute we were all friends and the next she hated my guts. I don’t know if it’s because we got older and started leaving her out or if she truly came to dislike me. Whatever it was, I don’t sense anything like that coming from her now. Then again, this all very well could be an act.

Yeah, maybe she’s just as good of an actor as I am. Not that I’m purposely acting where she’s concerned. More like my entire fucking life is one big act. One I’ve gotten so good at putting on, some days I can’t tell if I’m still acting or if this is who I am now.

“We’ll get you there.” Winston’s response pulls me back to the subject at hand. “You should at least get something small,” he continues. “Like a heart on your ankle or some shit like that. That way if you hate it, it’s small enough that no one can see it.”

“If I’m going to go through the pain of having a tattoo done, I sure as hell am not going to get a heart on my ankle.” She shakes her head at her brother, that familiar Harlow sass making its first appearance of the night.

I was starting to think she’d lost it – that fiery part of who she used to be. Now, I’m wondering if it isn’t just buried under whatever hell she’s been through over the last decade.

“Is there something specific that you don’t like about tattoos?” I ask, just out of curiosity.

“Alan,” she starts, stumbling over her words for a moment. “My ex-husband. He hated tattoos. Considering he was the one who had to look at my body, I made the choice that they aren’t for me.”

“They aren’t for you, or they aren’t for him?” I challenge, never having pictured her as the type of girl that would let any man tell her what she can and can’t do.

“For him I guess,” she answers like she’s embarrassed by this fact.

“Well fuck that.” Winston jumps despite the needle pressed to his skin.

“Dude. Sit the fuck still,” I warn, pulling the tattoo gun back.

“Sorry, man.” He shifts, turning toward his sister. “What better way to show that mother fucker that he can’t control you anymore?”

“You might be right.” She shrugs. “But I’m still not convinced I want one regardless.”

“Tell you what,” I cut in. “You think about it, and if at any point you decide you want to get one, you come see me. I’ll hook you up.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” She gives me a genuine smile, and it highlights just how fucking pretty she is.

“Now sit the fuck back.” I turn my attention to Winston. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to be out of here before four a.m.”

“Sorry, man.” He laughs, readjusting so I can resume working on his piece.

We spend the next two hours talking about random shit. From things as simple as the weather to heavier topics like Winston’s on again, off again, girlfriend that can’t seem to commit.

I keep telling him that if she’s still this back and forth after nearly two years, he needs to cut her loose, but for some reason, he can’t seem to let her go. It seems ridiculous to me, but then again, I can’t say I’ve ever cared for someone the way he cares about Stella, so what the hell do I know.

Harlow eventually moved to the tattoo chair at the next station so she could sit more comfortably. It was less than thirty minutes later that I looked over and she was out, curled into a ball with a mess of loose hair falling around her face as she slept. After that, I couldn’t help but glance back at her every once in a while.

I finished Winston’s tattoo just after three, slathering his new ink in Vaseline before slapping a piece of plastic wrap over the top of it for protection.

“You are all set, my friend,” I tell him, standing to stretch out my back.

“I seriously can’t thank you enough for this, man. It’s incredible.” Winston turns to look over his shoulder in the mirror on the wall.

“Glad you like it,” I say, already starting to disassemble my station so I can head home for the night. Not that I’ll get any real sleep once there, but for right now all I can think about is crawling into my bed and shutting my eyes for a few minutes. “Would you mind sticking that in the fridge in the back?” I ask, gesturing to the still nearly full case of beer he brought with him.

I won’t have more than a couple when I’m working, and since Winston is driving, he only had one earlier in the night. I’ll keep them here that way the guys or Delia can snag one if they feel like having a beer after their shift.

“Only if you handle that.” Winston hitches his thumb toward his sister. “She’s mean as shit when you wake her up.” He chuckles, snagging the case of beer off the floor. “Or at least she used to be.”

“All the more reason for you to do it,” I holler after him, hearing him laugh in the distance.

“Sorry, too late,” he calls from the back.

“Asshole,” I grumble under my breath, shoving my tattoo gun onto the shelf before making my way toward Harlow.

I hear her soft intakes of air as she breathes, her body barely moving under the action. She looks so peaceful, and an instant wave of longing washes over me. Not for her specifically, but for the kind of peace, normal people find in sleep. Something I haven’t known for years.

I imagine what it would be like to crawl into the chair behind her and pull her toward me. Feel her warmth against my skin and the steady thump of her heart against my chest. I wonder if it would rub off on me. I wish I could piggy back onto her dreams and for once be able to shut my mind off enough to find a moment of silence.

“Harlow.” I reach out and run my hand gently down her forearm, trying not to startle her.

Her eyes immediately shoot open and a wave of confusion washes over her face.

“Winston’s ready to go,” I tell her, hoping that will remind her where she is.

“I fell asleep?” Her face calms and she sits up, stretching her arms over her head.

“About two hours ago,” I confirm, taking a full step back.

“Sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well recently,” she says, sliding her legs over the side of the chair before pushing into a stand.

“No problem.” I shrug, resisting the urge to tell her that I understand the feeling.

“Okay, beer is in the fridge, and I dropped some cash on your desk.” Winston reappears from the hallway.

“Cash?” I question. “I thought beer was my payment.”

“Yeah, like I’m not gonna give you one hell of a tip.” He snorts.

“Man, how many times have I told you not to do that?” I scold.

“And yet I still do it every time.” He smirks, turning his attention to his sister.

“You ready, sleepy head?”

“Yep,” Harlow answers on a yawn.

“Thanks again for this.” Winston gestures to his shoulder. “I really can’t even begin to explain what it means that you thought of Mom.”

“Don’t even mention it. It’s the least I can do.”

“If you two are done bro-ing out, can we go?” Harlow cuts in, humor in her voice.

“Bro-ing out?” Winston laughs.

“Bro-ing out,” she confirms, crinkling her nose at him.

“Yes, we’re done.” He chuckles, throwing a nod my way. “We’ll talk soon,” he says, leading his sister toward the front door.

“Sounds good. You guys be safe on your way home,” I call after them, grabbing the sanitizer so I can clean my station.

“Hey, Miles.” I look up to see Harlow in the doorway that separates the work area from the lobby. “It was really nice to see you again.” She smiles, and the weirdest fucking sensation settles in my stomach. “I just might take you up on the tattoo,” she adds.

“It was good to see you too, Harlow,” I say, not sure how else to respond. “And I hope you do.”

With that soft smile still on her lips, she gives me one last look and turns to disappear into the lobby, the front doorbell ringing seconds later.

I shake off the odd feeling still prominent in the air and refocus, almost thankful that I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Because if I could sleep, if I could dream, I have no doubt that Harlow Cabell would be the very thing I would see.