Page 1 of The First Spark

Chapter 1

The Thorn in My Side

Ash

“A

sh, youknowthe rules. You need the approval of the other tenant. According to the lease, it’s a shared space.”

I scrub my face with my hands, releasing a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl, primarily because that isnotthe answer I want to hear. “Give me anything else—a hike through the Mojave at high noon, a quick swim in a vat of sea snakes, Russian roulette with bullets in every chamber—just don’t tell me I have to work a deal withher.”

“Contrary to what you think, Oriana is a lovely woman.”

Glancing up, I catch Kiki’s smirk. Glad she’s enjoying my predicament.

“Like hell she is. She’s a snob who thinks she’s better than us inked hoodlums.”

I’m not kidding. For the past six months, Oriana Thorne has been a literal thorn in my side, ever since the day she moved next door to my tattoo parlor, Black Lotus.

At first, the woman intrigued me. After renting therundown space beside me, a renovation crew gutted the entire thing, turning the dank hovel into a bookstore, complete with a gourmet coffee bar and a stage for open-mic nights.

It was a night and day difference.

Anyone who owns a small business knows that vacant shops adjacent to yours arenota good calling card. No matter how successfulyourbusiness may be, a half-empty strip mall screams of unstable financial futures. So, it thrilled me to have a new neighbor.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that Oriana was damn easy on the eyes. She was adorable—a tiny wisp of a woman with long dark hair and enormous eyes hidden behind glasses. She was an offbeat mix of rockabilly and geeky chic, with a killer body to boot.

Things were looking up.

Until they weren’t.

I planned to stroll into her store and welcome her to the neighborhood. Maybe even offer to buy her a drink at the local watering hole.

That’s how it is in small towns, and I’m a lifer here in Sparkwood. I know every inch of this sleepy mountain hamlet, so named because it has views which would make Ansel Adams weep.

The beauty of the area comes with a high sticker price, so locals hang on to their property with every ounce of strength they possess. They’re also wary of newcomers, but that comes with the territory.

My brother Braden and I took over our parents’ micro farm when they tired of New York winters and headed for the sunny shores of Florida.

Since we had no desire to deal with humidity or alligators, we stayed put and kept the farm open and running.

But farming, despite being my birthright, wasn’t my passion. Ever since I was a kid, I had been obsessed with the art of tattooing and spent years honing my skills. My parents shook their head at my career choice, but they never stopped me from pursuing my dream.

They’re awesome like that. Hell, they even footed the bill for me to attend college in Manhattan and obtain a fine arts degree. I dedicated the days to the masters, but at night, I studied a different type of artistic genius—apprenticing at some of the hottest tattoo parlors in the city.

After four years, I was ready to return to Sparkwood. It just so happened that’s when my folks decided to move, so I set up camp at the family homestead and opened Black Lotus.

Some artists I knew from my Manhattan days flocked to the parlor, eager for an opportunity to work as visiting artists. After six months, two of them stayed on permanently.

It didn’t take long for the word to get out that there was a new name in tattooing—mine. I insisted upon the utmost in quality and professionalism from the artists in my employ, and my strict standards paid off.

Black Lotus has an impeccable reputation. My parlor isn’t some backdoor chop shop. It’s art on skin.

It’s been a mainstay in Sparkwood for over a decade now, drawing tattoo aficionados from across the globe, all clamoring for ink.

But that’s not the crux of the matter.

I’m not only a successful business owner, but I’m also alikable guy—the type who helps ladies with their groceries or plays ball with the neighborhood kids.

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