Page 3 of Jimmy

“She does know we have her phone number from the booking?” Kurt said. “And I won’t call her because she’s a client?”

“She knows.” Jimmy closed the appointment book. “She doesn’t care.”

“I can tell.” Kurt tipped his head. “You look happy. What’s going on?” Where Jimmy loved to evoke the feel of the fifties, Kurt had the punk look going for him. He’d spiked his dark hair, and piercings glittered in his eyebrow. He wore eyeliner and thick leather bands on his wrists.

Jimmy hated the idea of anything on his wrists aside from a watch. “I could be on the verge of meeting someone.”

Kurt frowned. “Wait. On the verge? Huh?”

“That woman who walks by the store every afternoon around two. Do you know her?” Jimmy asked.

“Yeah, that’s Karey. She works over at Last Exit. She’s quiet.” Kurt sat on the stool behind the counter. “Why? Does she want a tattoo? I tell you, it’s always the quiet ones.”

“No. She hasn’t come into the shop.” Jimmy leaned on the doorframe. “She’s never spoken to me.”

“Oh.” Kurt’s scowl deepened. “Are you going to talk to her? You might scare her.”

“Why?”

“To some, you look dangerous.” Kurt shrugged. “Oh, well. Go talk to her. She might be wild once she opens up.”

“Might be.” He couldn’t help but be drawn to her. Something about her called to him, and he wanted to get to know her better. “I think I’ll stop down there.”

“You should.” Kurt smiled. “I think she’d like it.”

Couldn’t hurt to find out. “I’ll be back in an hour.” He left without another word and strolled down to the bookstore. Once he stepped into the shop, he spotted her at one of the bookshelves with a customer.

Karey pointed to a red book and fluttered her free hand. “If you love the classics, then try Dickens. It’s heavy reading, but worth it.”

The buyer, a woman who appeared to be in her fifties, took the book and left.

Karey might be shy -- at least she seemed shy to him -- but she was more self-assured around the books. She seemed to know enough about Dickens. He’d never read Dickens or much else for that matter. His dyslexia made reading a pain and drawing was easier, but he did enjoy a good Poe short story.

He hesitated by the magazine rack. If he approached her, would she be interested? Or would she see him as a freak? She might only be staring at him from the sidewalk because he scared her.

Shit. He’d better go before he made a fool of himself.

As he rounded the corner, he collided with a stack of books, knocking every volume onto the floor. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Damn fool.” He had knelt to pick up the mess when he spotted Karey coming toward him.

“Let me help you.” She picked up a few of the books. “I keep telling them this display is dangerous.” As she stood, she locked gazes with him. “You.”

“Me?” He tucked the books under his arm.

“You’re him.” She blushed, and her eyes widened.

Shit. This usually turned into him being escorted out for potentially causing trouble or being accused of theft. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“No.” She put the novels on a nearby table. “You’re the man from the tattoo shop.”

“Tattoo You? That’s me.”

Her blush deepened. “You’re quite the artist. I admire your work.”

“You do?” Did that sound dumb? “Thank you.”

She hesitated. “Would you like some coffee? I’m lousy at brewing, but I can pour it for you. On the house?”

“I’ll gladly pay for it. I’m the one who caused the trouble by knocking over those books, but yes, I’d love a cup.” He followed her over to the coffee counter. “Thank you.”

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