Until December (Until Her 5)

“I can’t wait to see it when it’s complete.”

“Me neither,” she agrees then looks at Blossom. “Thank you, it really is perfect.”

“You know I love you, girl.” She smiles then picks up her cell when it dings. After she reads the message that pops up, she smiles at me. “My nephew is coming in. He said he’ll be here in about twenty minutes. While we wait for him, I’ll get started on April’s tattoo. By the time I’m done with hers, the design for yours should be complete and we can get to work.”

“Sounds good,” I tell her as my stomach starts to knot.

Am I really doing this? Crap. I am. I’m actually getting a tattoo. Feeling a little nauseous, I take a seat across the room, watching April take off her jacket and tie up her hair before getting on what looks like a low massage table. She lies like Blossom instructs, with her head down and her chin over the edge, seeming completely relaxed.

Not sure it’s wise for me to watch what happens next, I pull out my Kindle and try to read. It’s a lost cause when the sound of a soft buzz fills the silence, making me hyperaware of what’s going on. Just as I’m about to stand and get closer to watch Blossom work, there’s a knock on the door before it opens. Instinctively, I turn toward it, and when I do, my stomach bottoms out.

No.

No way.

The sound of the buzzing ends as Blossom turns to look at the door, but I still hear and feel the vibration of the tattoo gun. “Hey, honey.” She smiles widely as Gareth walks across the room toward her, not noticing me sitting a few feet away.

When he’s close, he leans down, kissing her cheek and saying “Hey, Auntie.”

“Where are my boys?” she asks, and I wonder if April—who is still lying face-down—knows who Blossom’s nephew is. If she does and if this was a set up, I’m going to kill her.

“With Mom at a movie.”

“Got it,” she says, and then she looks at me and I feel myself freeze when he follows her gaze. “That’s December. December, this is my nephew Gareth.”

“Wait… what?” April’s head jerks up quickly.

Okay, seems she didn’t know that Gareth is Blossom’s nephew. Good to know I don’t have to figure out how to hide her body.

“Shit,” Gareth hisses.

“Umm….” I look from April, who looks shocked, to Blossom, who looks confused, and then back to Gareth, who looks a mixture of surprised and annoyed.

“Do you two know each other?” Blossom asks, glancing between Gareth and me.

“Umm….” I repeat, my mind so overwhelmed by seeing him again that I can’t seem to form a thought, let alone words.

“You could say that,” Gareth answers in a low voice that sends a chill across my skin and through me.

“Well.” Blossom frowns. “She has a tattoo she needs designed. Are you cool if she explains it to you?”

I watch him closely and can see his mind working. I can tell by his expression and body language that he doesn’t want to talk to me about a tattoo, or about anything at all.

“It’s okay. Maybe I’ll—”

“No problem,” he cuts me off before I can get us both out of this awkward situation. “Let’s go to the drawing room.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” April snaps, and my gaze goes to her. I can see she’s still pissed about his text and is getting ready to pick a fight.

“It’s fine. I’ll be back.” I stand, trying to give her a reassuring look, which she doesn’t catch because she never pulls her eyes off Gareth, even as he turns his back to her to open the door.

With a deep breath, I follow him into another room, watching him flip on the lights and then the computer. I wrap my arms around my middle and wait, not sure what I’m supposed to do or say.

“You can sit over here.” He doesn’t look at me; he just motions with his hand to an empty chair cattycorner to his.

I don’t want to sit. I want to find a bathroom and throw up. My stomach is turning with a mixture of nerves and anxiety as I stare at the side of his face. Lord, he’s still gorgeous, and seeing he’s still mad at me about what happened doesn’t sit well.

When I don’t move, he turns his head and our eyes lock. “Come sit down.”

My stomach knots at his rude order, and my mouth opens without my mind telling it to. “Please.”

“What?”

“Come sit down, please. Is the polite way to ask someone to sit.”

“Come sit down, please,” he repeats with his jaw clenched. I move then and take a seat, twisting my hands in my lap. “My aunt said you want a tattoo designed and that it’s detailed. Tell me about it.”