Page 14 of Four Tattoos

I’m pleased to see that even though I sometimes catch the men arguing at the shop, they seem to have an easy rhythm in the way they interact with one another here, getting out dishes, passing food, handling the flow of conversation. Only Hutch and Christian do much talking, and Zipper seems his usual grumpy self, but I can sense the camaraderie among the men. For the most part, they also seem more at ease here, but I guess that makes sense.

“This food really is incredible,” I say when I’m halfway through my pasta.

“It’s easy, actually,” Christian says.

“I bet you’re just saying that. It tastes like you spent all day cooking this.”

“It’s all about good ingredients.”

I twirl my fork in the noodles and bring a small bite to my mouth, savoring the rich creaminess of the sauce. I must be enjoying it a little too much, because when I look up, I find Hutch and Mace both watching me, their eyes on my lips before they see me looking.

“So I noticed a lot of different styles of art at your shop,” I say, feeling the need to say something, even if only to distract me and help me stay calm. “Do you each specialize in a different style?”

“Somewhat,” Christian says. “We all do a variety of styles, but we each have our favorites.”

As we eat our meals, I keep them talking about their work. Hutch and Christian give me the most information, and Mace contributes to the conversation once or twice. Zipper is quiet, but he appears to be engaged in listening to everything.

When my wine glass is around half full, I accept more from Christian, another tool to help calm my nerves. The men all eat heartily, and when we’re done, they bring out dessert.

“Don’t tell me you made this, too?” I ask. It appears to be tiramisu, with layers of creamy filling dusted with cocoa.

Christian nods.

“Are you going to tell me this was easy, too?”

Hutch laughs, and Christian says, “Not as easy as the dinner.”

I’m guessing they don’t eat like this every night, and I’m very flattered that they went to the trouble. No one’s ever done anything like this for me.

The tiramisu is even more delicious than the dinner, and that’s saying something. My fluttery heart and my nerves probably don’t need the caffeine that’s soaked into the cake layers, but the dessert is worth it.

Zipper may not like coffee, but he apparently makes an exception for tiramisu, because he eats two helpings while the rest of us each have one.

Afterward, I offer to help clean up, but Hutch won’t hear of it.

“Do you still feel like going for a walk?” Christian asks.

“Sure.” If I wasn’t with these men, I’d feel like taking a nap after such a filling meal, but a walk in the fresh air might be just what I need right now.

“Will you be comfortable in those shoes?” Hutch asks, looking down at my feet.

“Oh.” He has a point. I chose tonight’s footwear for style, not for comfort. “I think so.”

“If your feet hurt when you’re out, we can carry you back,” he says.

Is he serious? I immediately envision myself in his arms, and let’s just say that the image doesn’t do anything to help regulate my heartbeat.

I’m almost surprised when Zipper comes along on the walk. He’s so hard to read.

It’s not far at all down to the beach, and I’m surprised I didn’t realize they lived so close to the ocean when I drove to their house; I guess I was preoccupied with all of my nervous thoughts.

“Want to take your shoes off and walk on the sand?” Hutch asks.

I nod, but when I start to bend to unfasten the straps, he stops me. “I got it,” he says, crouching in front of me.

If an entire body can blush, mine is doing it as his fingers work at my shoes. He slides a hand down the back of my calf before gripping my heel and sliding the shoe off. It all feels so intimate that it seems like he shouldn’t be doing this in public. Not that anyone’s around. Only the five of us. To keep my balance, I brace a hand on the solid muscle that is his shoulder as he repeats the motion for my other shoe.

I expect him to hand me my shoes, or maybe leave them in the sand for us to pick up when we return, but he carries them in one hand, while he keeps a steadying touch on my elbow with the other.

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