Page 82 of Falling for my Brother's Best Friend

“Oh.” They lean back and cross their legs, snickering to one another.

Ignoring their juvenile behavior, my mind drifts to that night I came in here, lost in my grief.

Liam had opened Smokin’ Guns a year prior, but his reputation was such that people were coming down from Anchorage to have him do their tattoos. When a friend of mine showed me a tattoo she’d gotten, it planted the seed in my head, but I rolled it around for a few months because I wanted something unique.

When I walked into Smokin’ Guns, Liam and Rhys were at the front desk. Rhys’s Vans-clad feet were up on the edge of the desk, and Liam had a sketchpad in his hands. He wasn’t as muscular as he is now, but he still made my heart race. Maybe because he’s always looked at me like he was thirsty, and I was his favorite thirst-quenching beer.

Walking in was risky, because of my brothers—Denver was known to spend the majority of his time at Smokin’ Guns. Not to mention anyone could walk in and see me and I’d be fodder for gossip. The president of Bailey Timber shouldn’t be getting a tattoo.

But that night, after Liam dropped the sketchbook on the table and rounded the desk, I didn’t care. I wanted to do something for me. Something I wasn’t supposed to. Something I could look at in years to come.

“Savannah?”

Liam came so close, I backed up. He shoved his hands into his pockets and my nerves surfaced, doubts leaking in past the strong pep talk I’d given myself in the car. What was I doing? I should be anywhere but there. I should be at Bailey Timber or at the house, helping Austin with the twins.

“Hi,” I said.

“I’m going to head to the back for a second.” Rhys’s feet fell to the floor and he disappeared into the back.

“Hold on a sec.” Liam rushed past me, flipped over the ‘Open’ sign, and locked the door.

I held my purse tighter by my side. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you closing?”

“Are you here for a tattoo?” He lowered his head to look straight into my eyes.

I swallowed and nodded, unable to say the words. Seriously, what had happened between the car and the shop? I had been all strong and confident before walking in. Who the hell cared if I got a tattoo? To hell with everyone’s expectations of me.

“And you want me to do it?” He pointed at himself as if he’d be the last person I would trust.

“Yeah, but if you’re closing, I can come back.” I turned.

He lightly grasped my elbow—similar to how he does now. Not a lot of pressure, but the surge of electricity I felt that night still happens today. “No. We’re open… for you. I just figured you’d feel better if no one came in while we were doing it.”

I smiled and my shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He waved me forward. “Come on over to my station. Do you know what you want, or do you want to look through some books?”

“I don’t want something from the book. I want something original, I think.”

His smile widened, and he grabbed his sketchpad on the way to his station. He didn’t have nearly the amount of stations set up that he has now, and there was no privacy room back then. Although he did put up a partition for me after he got started.

He patted his bench and I slid onto it, putting my purse next to me. Sitting in his rolling chair, he propped his ankle on his knee and grabbed the pencil from behind his ear. “What do you want it to represent?”

“My parents. Something to remember them by.”

“Names?”

I shake my head.

“Date?”

“Date?” I ask.

He clears his throat. “Death date? Some people want it.”

“No.”

He nods. “Anything personal about them?”

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