her mind occupied by focusing on the physical anchors of the here and now—the sharp scent of the alcohol as she swabbed Leo’s skin, the soft snick of the razor as it traveled over the blond hairs on his arm, the warmth of Leo’s body heat as she leaned in close to examine the lines she’d be tracing. And the scent of his skin, like amber-resin oil and pumpkin spice and—Wow.
Rhea got up and busied herself readying supplies to get herself under control. What the heck was that about? He was kinda hot, sure, but not so-hot-that-smelling-him-makes-you-wet hot. Except, clearly, he was.
She worked to keep from blushing as she gave him a smile after setting up the machine and ink caps. “Okay, ready?”
Leo smiled back, and it nearly melted her. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
She managed to act like a normal person as she sat and got to work on the outline. When the needles made contact with Leo’s skin, the image bombarded her psyche: blood spattered across a dazzling field of snow, like a giant cherry slush spilled on a white rug.
Leo was looking at her funny. “Are you okay?”
She’d taken her foot off the pedal. “Hmm? Yep, sorry, just thinking for a sec. I might want to use round needles for the line work instead of flat. Give it some more depth, since some of these strokes are really fine.” She hoped she wasn’t babbling nonsense. She could barely remember the words as they left her mouth. Rhea took a breath and went back to work. “I’ll start on the thicker lines on the three parallel columns.”
“Staves.”
“What’s that?”
“The columns are called staves, like in the tarot.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” And like the tarot, they were drawing pictures she couldn’t unsee. Running through thick overgrowth in an ancient wood, tree branches scoring limbs and face. After someone. On the hunt. A pause in the here and now to wipe the blood. The enemy emerges from the darkness. Now the hunted. Swinging the blade to block the blow and missing. Stumbling headlong into the snow as the light grows dim.
Somehow, she got through it without botching the original work and actually managed to make the tattoo sharper and bolder while giving the lines a bit more definition and character—a subtle woodiness to the staves, with ridges and bumps of texture in the outlines if you looked closely.
“This looks fantastic.” Leo studied his tattoo in the light, obviously pleased, as Rhea cleaned up.
“I hope you don’t mind the little extras I added. If you prefer the lines smooth, I can go over it again.”
“No, it’s great.” Leo looked up, his eyes shining behind his glasses. “I hope I can earn it.”
“It took me a little longer than I expected, but I’ll honor the estimate. So ten hours of work should do it.”
Leo shook his head. “Nope. I’ll pay for the time it took. Plus, there’s the tip, which you’ve totally earned. This is excellent work.”
Rhea felt her cheeks warm, as if he’d complimented her on her body instead of praising her skill. “Well, thanks. But you don’t have to tip.” Yes, he does, Rhea. Shut up and take the money. Even if the money was paid in labor, she had earned it, and she needed to stop devaluing herself if she wanted to make a living as an artist.
“But I want to. So what would twenty percent bring it to?”
“An hour and a half at one fifty an hour would be two twenty-five—”
“An hour and a half?” Leo’s brows drew together as he drew his phone from his pocket.
“Yeah, I know. Really, I’m absolutely cool with charging what I originally estimated. It’s not your fault I got fancy. Let’s make it one fifty plus anything else you think is appropriate.”
“No, that’s not it.” He was still looking at his phone, his expression slightly worried. “I’ll happily pay for the work. I just didn’t realize how late it was.”
Rhea glanced at the tablet on its stand. She’d spent a little extra time setting up, but it wasn’t even six o’clock yet.
“Sorry. I should have let you know what time it was when we got started. Did you have somewhere you needed to be?”
Leo slipped his phone into his pocket and gave her a slightly forced smile. “No, it’s cool. I’m just not a night person. I like to be home before it gets dark.”
“I suppose you turn into a pumpkin?”
Leo’s laugh was nervous. “Something like that.”
Rhea couldn’t figure out what faux pas she’d made, but she’d definitely made one. “I shouldn’t have assumed you’d want to jump right into it after your first day of work. We can schedule the rest of your touch-ups for whenever you want.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal. And I love the tattoo, so it’s all good.”
She still felt she’d upset him somehow. Maybe a gesture of trust would smooth things over. Rhea twisted an extra door key off the shop ring.
“In case I need you to open or close sometime.”
Leo stared as she placed the key in his palm. “You’re giving me a key?”
“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?” Damn, she really hoped there wasn’t.
Leo’s smile this time was genuine and a little heartbreakingly adorable. “Absolutely not. You’ve got my Social Security number, so you can track me down. Not that you’d ever have to track me down. Because you won’t need to. You can count on me.” Leo looked flustered at his own rambling. He held out the key. “Maybe you should keep this after all.”
Rhea laughed. “No, take it. Just know that I will hunt you down if you ever screw me over.” He looked a little worried. Which was perhaps a little worrying. Why hadn’t she just taken the key back?
“Well, I thank you.” Leo gave her a dramatic little bow and slipped a length of ball chain out of his shirt from around his neck. He unhooked the clasp to slide the key onto it to hang next to the pendant he wore, an image of a wide-branching tree with roots that mirrored them. “I shall keep it close to my heart.” He patted his chest after he’d slipped the chain back into his shirt, emphasizing the firm definition of his pecs.
* * *
After Leo headed out, Rhea tidied up and checked to make sure all the valuable equipment was locked in a cabinet. She was almost home when she remembered she’d left the damn tablet.
A strong wind drove the light snow still falling across the highway, making Rhea more cautious than usual—while also keeping an eye out for wayward ghostly riders. Luckily, she saw none of those, but it was almost seven by the time she got back to the shop.
She’d left a light on in back. Had she let Leo Ström’s soulful eyes and potent scent rattle her that much? She grabbed the tablet off the counter without bothering to turn on the light and headed into the back to switch off the lamp—and gave a little yip of surprise. Leo Ström, speak of the devil, was sitting in her chair.
Correction:
