Page 66 of The First Spark

But with Asher Hammond, that’s my only option.

Chapter 13

A League of Her Own

Ori

So much for champagne and chocolate.

What was supposed to be a quick dash into the store to check on the staff swiftly turned into an all hands on deck situation.

Seems we aren’t the only ones craving a bit of warmth. One More Page is hopping, with a steady line for both the register and the coffee bar. Plus, another dozen customers mill about the store’s interior, engaging in the age old pastime of browsing.

Is there anything better than scanning the shelves of books before settling into a leather-backed chair by the pot-bellied stove?

I mean, besides play time with Asher Hammond. Despite the hustle and bustle, my mind continues to wander to Mr. Tall, Dark & Infuriatingly Handsome. If Braden hadn’t interrupted us in the tent, would Ash have made good on his offer?

Better question is, would I have taken him up on said offer with a string of townsfolk within earshot?

We all know the answer to that question. I have the backbone of a marshmallow where that man is concerned.

After ninety minutes, the hubbub settles down, and my stomach growls with an urgent plea. I need food and chocolate will not cut it at this point.

Maybe I should grab a slice of pizza. Hey, Ash offered me some earlier.

Besides, that keeps me close to the store in case anyone needs me.

It’s not like I’m desperate to see him or anything. Not at all.

But to get said pizza, I will have to wander back into Black Lotus’s tent.

Plus, I am moonlighting as Ash’s bodyguard, so regular check-ins are imperative to ensure the man’s well-being.

Nothing else to see here, folks.

As luck would have it, Ash is nowhere to be found, and neither is that now cold pizza. So, to avoid looking like I’m tracking him down, I whisper a silent plea to my stomach for a few minutes of cooperation and focus my attention on the tattoo portfolios sitting atop a long table.

I’ll give it to the men of Black Lotus. They are seriously talented artists. Each one possesses their own style, but the quality throughout is impeccable. My fingers drift over pictures of Ash’s work—large scale photorealistic portraits and landscapes with as much intricate detail as a photograph. Even when I lean close, examining the artwork, I fail to find one line or dot out of place.

They’re perfect, much like the man himself. Perfectly unattainable, at least.

“Looking for some ink?”

I cut my gaze to Braden, who’s lounging in a chair at the far end of the table. “Just browsing.”

He waves me over, patting a chair next to him. “Come on, sit down.”

“Oh, I?—”

A smile cuts across Braden’s features as he holds up a paintbrush, pointing to a sign above the table offering custom body painting. “Don’t worry. It’s temporary.”

“No way. It’s far too cold to strip down for body painting.” I hug myself tight, earning a guffaw from Braden.

“How about your arm? Think you could bear baring it for me?”

His upbeat attitude is infectious, and I relent to his request, sinking into the empty chair. Pulling off my glove and shoving up my sleeve, I offer my arm up as Braden’s canvas.

Braden sets to work, opening a few paint colors before grasping my wrist to draw an outline of a lily on my forearm. He focuses on his craft, which allows me a few minutes to focus on him.

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