“A guy, most likely.” Victoria placed a steaming mug beside Rosie. “Or a girl? I shouldn’t assume.”
Rosie bit her lip hard as she fought for control. “This guy.” She tapped the tattoo.
“Ah.” Magda nodded. “So that’s why you didn’t want to work on this design. Ex-boyfriend?”
Did she even have the right to call him that, after such a short time? “I’m sorry. This is so unprofessional.” She clutched a handful of tissues to her soggy face.
“Don’t apologize.” Magda rubbed soothing circles on her back. “Tattooing is an emotional business. People get inked to commemorate lost loves, family members who’ve passed, places they loved and had to leave.”
“Like me.” The customer thrust out her ointment-smeared arm. “Lost my Johnnie to cancer last year.” By now Rosie’s vision had cleared enough to recognize the numbers on her arm as dates. Below the design, inked in looping script, “Always in my heart until we meet again.”
A fresh wave of tears shook her, churning her stomach. Was she really going to cry until she puked? Way to make a good impression on her boss.
Magda gently shooed the other two women away, then pulled up a rolling stool and crossed her arms over the chest support. “Still raw, huh?”
“Just last Saturday.”
“Well, you can’t expect to heal in a week. Not if you really loved him.”
“I guess I did.” Rosie scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “But he was all wrong for me.”
“Why?”
“Oh God, Magda, I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“You’ll feel better if you do.”
Rosie snorted. “I tried talking it out with my sister, my best friend, even my mom. Just makes it worse.”
“What does make you feel better, then?”
She lifted the tattoo machine and pressed the power switch to make it buzz. “This. I can’t sleep, but I can practice. I used up a dozen sheets—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Magda’s scarlet lips curled in a smirk without venom. “Figured you didn’t get this good just practicing on fruit.”
“You’re not mad?”
Her mentor shrugged. “Shows you’re motivated, passionate about the art. That’s not a bad thing, hon.” She pointed. “Line’s a little thick here. Otherwise, this is excellent. I think you’re ready for some real skin.”
“Whose?”
“Yours, of course.” She smacked her own thigh. “Here’s a good spot. Something small and simple will give you a feel for needle depth and…” She chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’ve already done that too.”
Rosie huffed a watery sigh. “I know it’s supposed to be unprofessional, but I couldn’t resist trying. Just a tiny shooting star.”
“Well, let’s see it.” She pulled the velvet privacy curtain.
Rosie unfastened her jeans and slid them down. Magda set tiger-striped reading glasses on her nose and leaned in close. “A bit fuzzy in this corner.”
“Yeah, went too deep.”
She sat back with a chuckle. “Well, now you know. Tell you what—next time someone asks for simple line work, I’ll let you try.”
Rosie’s jaw dropped.
“Just a line or two. I’ll be right there. Now—” She tapped the eagle. “Let’s see you add some gray wash shading here and here.”
An electronic beep sounded. Someone coming up the stairs. Rosie yanked her jeans up and quick-stepped to the reception desk. She skidded to a halt when she saw the customer standing there, twisting a snow-dusted beanie in his hands.
“Eddie?”
****
Eddie clutched his beanie tighter, hoping it would stop his hands from shaking. “Hi.” His voice came out strangled and squeaky. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I, uh, want to make an appointment. For a tattoo.”
He and Rosie blinked at each other for a long, awkward moment. God, she looked beautiful. Her sapphire curls glowed extra bright in the pale winter light streaming through the high windows. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, if a little puffy, and her nose—
Shit. She’s been crying. He took a step back. “Is this a bad time? I could come back later.”
A petite woman with abundant silver hair and neck tattoos stepped through the curtain. “Problem, Rosie?”
Rosie gave her shoulders a little shake. Or was that a shiver? “No. He wants an appointment.”
A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Just being this close to all those needles had his stomach rolling and his knees jiggling like Jell-o. But after a week of Rosie avoiding him at work and refusing to answer his texts, he had to try. Hopefully, he wouldn’t spoil the moment by puking. Or fainting. Or—What was I thinking? Run!
He strangled his inner chicken and pointed to his belt buckle. “I’d like this design. On my shoulder, I guess. Or maybe on my chest?” He hadn’t given much consideration to where, since thinking too long about the whole proposition made him nauseated.
The older woman dropped into a squat and peered at this belt buckle—as if this weren’t already awkward enough. She raised an eyebrow and glanced up at Rosie. “This the guy?”
“Yeah.” Rosie clutched her middle with clawed fingers.
“Holy shiitakes.” The woman rose. “That’s the mother of all coincidences.”
She’s been talking about me. That’s good, right? His greatest fear hadn’t yet come to pass. Rosie hadn’t put it all behind her.
Glamour Grandma looked him up and down like a buyer appraising a horse. Or a pony, in his case. “I got time now.”
He gulped. “Could Rosie do it?”
The woman’s blood-red lips scrunched to the side. “Rosie’s an apprentice. A good one, but she’s not ready to do something this elaborate.”
Damn it, that’s the whole point. He had to show Rosie he was taking an interest in her work, facing his fears, trusting her. Too late to back down now. “I don’t mind. It’s my skin, right?”
“But it’s my shop and my reputation.” While Rosie’s gaze darted between them, the artist stalked a circle around them both, tapping her pursed lips with her finger. “Tell you what. Rosie can assist, maybe add a few lines.”
Rosie grasped her boss’s arm and gave a strangled croak.
“Give us a minute, would you, hon?” The
