Page 4 of Four Tattoos

I hurry over to the screen and instantly deflate when I see that the order is from the veterinary office.

Why am I so eager to see those men again? I felt so out of place when I was in their shop …but also so intrigued. The men didn’t seem to want me there, but maybe they were all too preoccupied with their work.

Maybe it requires a lot of focus. I don’t know the first thing about what goes into creating tattoos, except that those men seem to be very good artists, based on all of the photos and artwork on the walls.

As I’m preparing the drinks for the delivery, my brother appears from the back. “What’s left for the order?” he asks. He gets notifications on his phone when orders come in too.

“Two iced teas, and the bakery.”

I’m fitting lids on the espresso drinks when the tablet chimes again, sending my pulse back into its quickened pace.

“Another one from Brothers in Ink,” Patrick says.

“Oh?” My voice comes out as a funny little squeak.

My brother scans the screen. “Looks about the same as yesterday. Perfect timing. You can take both orders at once.”

“Great,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“Were they okay at Brothers in Ink?” Patrick asks as he puts muffins into small paper bags.

“Yeah, sure. They were fine. Sounded like they might become regular delivery customers.”

Nancy reappears then, and Patrick sounds distracted as he says, “Good. Good,” and I’m glad the crinkly bags are making noise, because otherwise I feel like he might be able to hear the sound of my heart thumping in my chest.

4

ROSE

Adeep cut from the ‘90s rock era greets me when I open the door to Brothers in Ink. It’s the sort of track you’d only hear if you went searching specifically for it on a streaming service, not a song that would be included on a typical playlist from the era.

One of the two men Hutch introduced me to is behind the desk. I’m pretty sure it’s Zipper, the one who got the cookies. Christian is sitting on the couch, and his eyes are on me from the moment I walk in.

Even though my heart hasn’t stopped its erratic pace and my palms are sweaty with nerves, I force a cheerful greeting. “Coffee’s here. How are both of you today?”

I get two single nods in return, and not particularly friendly ones.

“Do you get the macchiato?” I ask Christian.

He gives me another nod so brief it would be easy to have missed it, but he does murmur “thanks” when I hand the cup to him.

“Did you order a coffee?” I ask the man at the desk. I’m surprised I have the ability to speak, because the deep cut of his cheekbones and the steel gray of his stubble are doing things to me.

“Don’t like coffee,” he says, his eyes piercing into mine.

“You’re the one with the sweet tooth, right?”

He frowns and lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. My eyes are drawn to the thick, spiky lines of ink that creep out of his t-shirt and up the side of his neck. Echoes of the same pattern frame one side of his face, where those mouthwatering cheekbones meet his hairline.

All of the thorny-looking ink makes him look like someone I’d probably cross the street to avoid, just for safety’s sake, but instead, I’m drawn to him.

“Cookies again?”

Zipper nods, and I get the opportunity to see that his eyes are gray. When he takes the bag from me, I’m left standing awkwardly again. “Should I … go back and find the others?”

“They’ll be up,” Christian says.

Okay. I guess I’m meant to wait. It occurs to me that I could leave the remaining items on the counter—I don’t typically distribute cups of coffee to each individual recipient when I make deliveries—but I can’t deny that I’m interested to see Hutch again. I’ve been daydreaming about how his muscles looked in the sleeveless shirt he was wearing yesterday, and I’d like to confirm that they’re really as big as I’ve been remembering.

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