Page 62 of Love at First Ink

“Oh, she definitely has a boyfriend?—”

“Antonio!” Paul interrupted his partner. “Don’t assume her sexuality.”

“Oh, right, sorry. I hate when people do that to me,” he said sheepishly.

“No, it’s okay. I, uhm, do have a boyfriend. It’s new though. His name is Cisco,” Marisol said.

“No fucking way.” Blaine slapped the table, causing the dishes to rattle. Marisol jumped, startled by the outbursts and worried she might have said something wrong until he said, “Cisco the tattoo guy? The one who owns Golden City Tattoos? He’s damn good. I’m a little in love with him too.”

“Oh! That’s why he looked familiar!” Stella exclaimed. “When I”—she paused, offering Marisol an apologetic smile—“ran into him at your place, I swore he looked familiar.” Marisol was glad she didn’t expand on why Stella ran into him, since it was the night she lost Snowball.

Marisol only smiled as they continued to chat. She sipped on the water a waiter brought for her, shoveling some salad onto her plate. It was nice being out like this where there were no expectations. She didn’t have to be anyone other than herself.

Eventually, the conversation died down, and Stella took that as an opportunity to dive into the reason why they were all here. “So, let’s talk about fundraising.”

“Yes, please. And can we all agree that inviting the local marching band is a bad idea? The number of traumatized pets I had to soothe last year still haunts me.” Izzy shivered.

“No, we want to do something big to get the community involved. Our shelter needs the funds, especially if we want to raise money for the expansion,” Paul said.

Marisol cocked her head to the side. “Expansion?”

Stella nodded. “Yeah, the shelter is at capacity. We are a proud no-kill shelter, but we also can’t keep taking pets in because there’s no room. We have the land though to add extra kennel rooms.”

“Yeah, but the only problem is that we’re working with no money to put this fundraiser on. We just have us,” Blaine sighed as he pushed around a crouton on his plate. “I can’t paint faces another year in a row. I made that little girl cry, and I’ve never recovered.”

“It was a truly awful pony,” Paul said sympathetically.

“It was a bear!”

“Yikes.” Paul made a face before taking a sip of his water.

She pulled out a small pink notebook and pen from her purse and opened it to a new page. She titled the top “Shelter Fundraiser” and looked up, surprised to see five sets of eyes all looking at her. Never liking being the center of attention, she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.

“Sorry, I just work best when I write things down,” Marisol said to the table.

She expected looks of contempt, a response from years of disapproval, but that never came. If anything, everyone around the table scooted in closer, intrigued. Clearly she had the spotlight now.

“I’ve planned a few events for my family and their friends,” she said modestly. “I would love to plan this one. With all of your help, of course. I don’t want to overstep. But maybe if you could tell me things you’d love to see at a fundraiser.”

“Keep in mind, we have no money. Hence the need for a fundraiser,” Izzy added.

But Marisol shook her head. One perk of having the last name Roberts was that people were eager to fulfill requests in hopes that strengthened their relationship with her family. “Let’s just say I know people.”

“You are officially the coolest person. If I were straight, I’d kiss you. With your consent, of course,” Antonio said, causing Marisol to laugh and Paul to smack his chest.

“Agreed. Minus the kissing part. You seriously are the coolest right now. I’m so glad we connected.” Stella reached for her arm and gently squeezed it.

Her touch felt…nice. Like a friend. Like maybe, after thirty years, she might have found a real, genuine friend group.

Everyone at the table listed things they wanted to see, ranging from dunk tanks, to face painting by a real artist, to food trucks. Marisol made a note of each suggestion. She couldn’t deliver on everything, but she already had ideas of contacts she could call.

“Do we have a date for this?” Marisol asked.

Stella bit her lip. “Ideally? A month from now.”

So, short notice. But she had worked under more limited time constraints in the past. It wasn’t impossible, but rather a challenge she liked to take on.

“That’s doable.” She heard the sighs of relief around the table as she made note of the date. Marisol looked over everything, knowing she had her work cut out for her. “I’m going to get started on this. I want to keep you all as informed as possible, so is there a good way to do that?”

---