Page 81 of Yours Truly

It changed me, too.

But as long as we’re honest with each other, we can move past his hurt. Together.

And I think we’re on our way to doing that very thing.

TWENTY-FOUR

Howdy, hodwy.

Trace

I haven’t been nervous about a design in a long time. Years, even. When you have the name recognition that I have, with that comes trust. But being in Bluebell has instilled a sense of need in me.

I want to make them happy in a different way than I wanted for my other clients while traveling.

If someone in Bluebell isn’t happy with their ink, I’m gonna see them day in and day out. At Goode’s, at the farmers market, down the street at the credit union, or at the baseball field for Bear’s T-ball games.

We’re going to know each other because Bluebell is small and intimate.

After the stencil comes off the printer, I hold it up, bouncing the idea off of Ivy. We’ve been working together now for so many weeks, I look forward to her take on my designs. She’s got a keen eye for detail, but more than that, she offers a perspective I can’t. She knows these people, so when she tells me I’m missing a great opportunity on my new design, I listen. Because I trust her.

“I mean, Kenny’s mom owns the Big Bun Bakery down the road, so here,” she says, leaning over me, her dark hair swishing over my shoulder. I grab it, holding the silky strands as she talks, an intimate gesture that Deuce couldn’t pull off with her. Only me. Only I know her this way. Ivy points to the spot in the mandala where the design will curve, since he wants it on the back of his bicep. “You can hide a little piping bag here, or maybe even just a whisk? Either way, we all love that bakery, and Kenny’s so proud of his mom.”

Still leaning over me, she turns her head, our faces close together. “She was a single mom and built the bakery from the ground up with two recipes.”

Her plump lips have my cock hard. “That’s incredible,” I breathe, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. “Kiss me,” I whisper, unable to fight my desires for her. It’s getting that way now. The more we’re around one another, the more I need to touch her, hold her, laugh with her, kiss her. She gives me a small peck as the front door jingles open.

“Do the piping bag,” she whispers with a wink.

Kenny checks in at reception, and Deuce walks him over. Ivy is busy setting things up: my tray, the ink caps, my pen, restocking my cartridges, and reprinting the new stencil with the Easter egg added into the design.

Once we’ve got the stencil placed where Kenny wants it, the music is low and the lights are on him, I get started, Ivy in the corner watching.

“My girlfriend didn’t really want me to get this tattoo,” Kenny says as I begin the delicate work of outlining his design.

“No?” Ivy asks, and I can’t help but let my gaze flicker in her direction, stealing a glance of her tucked away in my space. “Isn’t she tattooed, too?”

Kenny sighs, and I continue working as I listen to people who’ve known each other forever have a nice chat. Bluebell is comforting in that way.

“She does have tattoos but it’s not about that. I think… well, she’s wanting to move forward and if I spend my money on anything but a ring, she won’t admit it, but it bugs her.”

“How long has it been?” Ivy asks, getting to her feet to steal a photo of me working for the Ink Time website.

“Six years,” Kenny sighs.

I clear my throat right as Ivy groans, “Oof.”

“I know,” Kenny drones, “I know, I need to propose. It’s just… I don’t know. I always thought I’d have my life together more than this when I became someone’s husband.”

“You have a job that you work hard at. A home you love in a town you love,” Ivy says, “what else is there?’

“I guess a better job? More money? A bigger place? I don’t know. I just… didn’t think I’d still be in the same place I was at eighteen.” He sighs, turning his head to face Ivy.

“But you love her?” she asks softly, her eyes staying on his despite the fact I’ve changed needles and moved to shading the design. She always finds the right mix of engaging with clients and shadowing me. Deuce wasn’t wrong—she was ready to be on her own weeks ago.

“Love her? God, Ivy, there’s gotta be a bigger word.”

“Tell me,” she says.

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