Page 9 of Keeping Kaitlyn

“Nope,” I tell her, crossing the shop to leave her in the waiting area while I work my way behind the counter. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’rereallyhere.”

Hands still dug into the back pocket of her jeans, Tess spins around to face me on the heels of her boots, heaving out a long, put-upon sigh. “You know, things would be a helluva lot easier if you were hotanddumb.”

“You still think I’m hot?” I give her a lopsided grin because that’s what I do. I flirt. I flirt shamelessly with everyone because it’s expected, but I flirt with Tess because I like to watch Declan spin off into orbit. It’s not nearly as fun when he isn’t watching. “Better not let your boyfriend hear you say that.”

“Objectively, yes—of course I still think you’re hot. I’m taken, not blind...” she says with a matter-of-fact shrug. “But Dec knows I’m not looking to ride anyone’s dick but his.” She gives me one of those deceptively sweet smiles. “Besides, we both know it never would’ve worked between us.”

“Yeah?” Crossing my arms over my chest I give her a smirk. “Why’s that?”

She pulls her hands out of her pockets and holds them out, gesturing around the waiting room full of framed drawings of a faceless woman before letting them fall. “Because you were just as taken as I was.”

It’s the truth.

Hell, I was thinking the exact same thing no more than five minutes ago but that doesn’t matter. The moment she points outthe painfully obvious, I feel my chest tighten. My stomach drop into my boots. I don’t try to deny it because I can’t. Not with her. She may not know who the woman I can’t stop drawing is, but she knowswhatshe is.

She is to me what Declan was to Tess. The reason I’m stuck. The reason I can never move on. Having it thrown in my face makes me more than a little angry. “What do you want, Tess?”

“I want to throw Hen’s Bachelorette party.” The smile on her face, turns into a wince. “Here. Tonight.”

No.

Hell no.

“I’m busy.” Looking away from her, I pick up a spray bottle of disinfectant and drop into a squat so I can clean my tattoo chair. “I don’t have time?—”

“You had time forCon’sbachelor party,” she reminds me, her tone telling me she’s not going to give up untilIgive in.

Scrubbing the chair in front of me like my life depends on it, I shake my head. “Tess?—”

“Went.”

Letting my hands drop away from the chair on a sigh, I slowly stand, trying to get myself together before I turn around, forcing myself to look at Tess and not the shop waiting room full of memories behind her.

“Didn’t you already have Henley’s bachelorette party?” I can see them behind her—framed drawings lining the walls of my shop. Over a dozen of them. All of the same person.

My wife.

The woman in the drawing—that’s who she is.

She’s my wife.

That’s what I told Ryan last week when he and the rest of them were here for Con’s bachelor party. I’m not sure why I told him other than the fact that I’d been a complete dick to him and I felt guilty about it.

As soon as I said it, I regretted it.

“That wasn’t a bachelorette party,” Tess tells me irritably. “We planned Cari’s baby shower while she fell asleep on the couch and I got sick.” She gives me an exasperated sigh because I’m being entirely too difficult for her liking. “Look, I?—”

“Alright…” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Fine. When?”

Now Tess scowls up at me. “Like I said…” She says it carefully like she thinks I reallymightbe having a stroke. “Tonight.”

“It’s Friday,” I remind her, scrambling because tonight is too soon. Fuck—next yearis too soon. “You have a shift at the bar. Weallhave a shift at the bar, remember?” I started working security at Gilroy’s last year because Con said he needed my help.Because as usual, his dickhead brother has his head up his ass.

In hindsight, I should’ve said no to him about that too.

“Patrick is closing the bar,” she informs me with a shrug. “Does eight work for you? I know Hen—she’s going to want to go home after work and do a complete wardrobe change before we?—”

“Since when?” I ask, talking over her. When she just stares at me like she has no idea what I’m asking her, I sigh. “Since when is Patrick closing the bar?” I work every Friday night without fail. We all do. It’s our busiest night, even with the usual influx of college kids gone home for the summer.

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