As I enter the door, I think of him.
He’s thinking of me too.
Lunch is sitting on the counter. Grilled chicken and cherry tomatoes over arugula. A lemony vinaigrette on the side. Wonderful cool food for another sweltering July day.
Ryan nods hello. Motions to the salad.
“I can’t take your food.”
“Had my own.”
“Still.”
“Then don’t.” He disappears into his suite.
I sit at the counter and log into the shop computer. There isn’t much to do today. There isn’t much to do most of the time.
Technically, I work the counter. I help customers check out. I keep the shop clean, keep the schedule organized, keep the snacks stocked.
And, yes, I wear figure-flattering outfits that attract the attention and tip-money of our male clients.
The guys are plenty charming. They don’t need help extracting money from women.
Even Ryan… well, he is charming in that tortured bad boy kind of way.
Not that I actually think of him as a bad boy.
More that I’m acutely aware of the stereotypes of many of our customers. The clean-cut ones who want tattoos to show off their rebellious streak.
No judgment. I only have a little ink—the cherry blossom on my forearm, the cartoon dragon on my wrist, the Latin quote on my ribs.
alis volat propriis
She flies by her own wings.
It meant something to me when I got it.
Now…
It’s another ugly reminder of why I needed to ink encouragement onto my skin.
Of how impossible it is to trust anyone.
At least that convinced me to stop schilling booze. I’d never have quit bartending without extra motivation. The money was too good.
The money may be worse at Inked Hearts, but everything else is better.
I love this place. The big win
dows, the smell of the ocean air, the red and pink heart string lights, the friendly smiles from Walker, the paternal glances from Brendon (currently in his suite, working on some equally quiet guy’s tattoo), the dumb jokes from Dean.
And Ryan.
Everything from Ryan.
I keep half my attention on him as I catch up on bookkeeping. And lunch.
It’s amazing. Tender, crisp, lemony. The best lunch he’s made me in a while—he always brings me his leftovers.