Page 3 of Axel

“Everything all right boss man?” Leeann, my cousin and one of the artists who rents space from me, asks as she shoulders her purse.

“Fine.”

“Doesn’t look fine,” she fires back.

“Cancellation,” I grumble.

“Shit. Another one?”

“Yeah.” I scrub a hand through my hair, trying not to stress out. It was a gamble opening a tattoo shop in a small town. Leeann warned me of all the risks, despite her willingness to take the leap and move to Daisy Hills with me. It takes time for a new business to find its way into the green and stay there. But knowing the reality doesn’t make the journey there any less stressful. “You headed out to pick up Keigh from school?”

“He aced his spelling test,” she says proudly. “I’m taking him out for ice cream.”

“Sugaring him up before sending him off with his dad for the weekend?”

A devilish gleam twinkles in her eyes. “You know me so well.”

“Get him a double scoop on me.”

Leeann gives me a mock salute, heading out the door and leaving me with a quiet shop. Though we’ve had a semi steady stream of business since opening a couple of months ago, it’s not near what I’d hoped. Which means I need to strategize ways to bring in more clients.

I reach for my navy blue Moleskin notebook and flip until I find a blank page near the back. The damn thing looks like it’s been run over a few times, but I refuse to buy a new one until every last page is filled. And even then, I won’t get rid of it. It contains every idea I’ve ever had aboutGet Inked.

I’m in the middle of scribbling down a promotional idea when I hear the bells jingle overhead. “You forget something?” I ask without looking up.

“Probably my sanity, but I’m here anyway.”

I look up, locking eyes with a woman leaning her elbows on my counter. She’s…gorgeous. Honey blonde hair hanging over her shoulders, amber eyes that twinkle with mischief, and a smile that has me fucking speechless. Her shoulders are bare, and the soft pink tank top dips lower than I should notice. I force my gaze up to her eyes.

“I’d like to get a tattoo.”

“A tattoo?”

“That’s what you do here, right?” she asks, lifting one eyebrow in question.

“Yeah. Yes.” I reach toward the tray that holds our consent forms and find it empty. “Have you done a consult yet?”

“No. What’s a consult?”

Christ. She’s a newbie. Probably wants some cutesy butterfly or something small. But beggars can’t be fucking choosers. Aclient is a client. And she might become a repeat customer or convince her friends to schedule work in the future. Best I keep her happy. “We can do one now if you have time.”

“What’s a consult?” she asks again.

“It’s where we sit down and discuss the work you’d like done. The design and all the elements. Where you want it. How big or small. The cost. When I can fit you in.”

“Oh.” Her cheerful expression falls. “I was really hoping you could fit me in today. But if not, that’s okay. Just need something in the next two weeks.”

“Why two weeks?”

“Because I’m moving.”

The confession shouldn’t have any effect on me. I don’t know this woman. Hell, I don’t even know her name. Yet, there’s a new twist of turmoil churning inside me at the thought of this curvy beauty leaving town, never to be seen again. Fuck, I need another cup of coffee. And probably three days to catch up on sleep. I’m losing my goddamned mind.

“Let’s start with the consult and see what we can figure out.” After a couple of failed attempts, I finally get the printer to cooperate. “I’ll need you to fill out this new client form first.” I walk her through the basics, explaining the disclaimers. Each one seems to conjure at least one or two questions. The way she thinks about each answer, processing it and seemingly tucking it away, has me curious.

“Now what?” she asks after signing it.

“Now you tell me what you’d like to get.”

---