Page 8 of Who Pissed Off Ivy Dell?

“He’s never asked.”

“Wait a minute. You showed up at my door with your kit, saying you desperately needed to tattoo someone like it was an addiction. You’ve never asked him?”

“He has an artist. A talented one. I don’t know.” She shrugs and looks away. “He might not think I’m good enough.”

“You won a competition on a TV show. You’re business partners with a famous tattoo artist, and if that guy thinks you’re good enough, why wouldn’t Cujo?”

“He doesn’t really pay attention to other people’s standards. He has his own.”

“But he’s never said he doesn’t think you’re good enough, right?”

“And I don’t want to give him the chance.”

“You’re good enough, Josephine. For anybody and anything. You’re good enough.”

“Thanks. But coming from someone who won’t let me tattoo her . . .”

“I don’t let anyone tattoo me!”

“I’d probably never question my worth again if you’d trust me to be the first.”

“Nice try.”

“Dammit.”

“April might need some ink.”

“Sure. I’d definitely be her first choice.”

Josephine needs to know Cujo thinks she’s good enough. I think his opinion might hold more weight than anyone else’s. I wonder if he realizes that.

It’s not like I’m going to tell him. Not outright, anyway. But maybe he’s good at picking up clues. If someone were to justdrop a few hints, he’d probably catch on in no time. He probably just needs a little nudge.

Jensen

Dinner Talk

The septic work atDice’s would’ve been so much worse without Cujo’s help. If we’re lucky, it was the last time any of us will have to patch a field line. His system is old, but the repair will keep it functioning for a while longer.

Ivy’s been quiet today. I check my phone again. Still no new texts, not even a link to a video she’s sure I’ll find as funny as she does. She’s usually right. Her silence either means she’s catching up on work or hatching a plan. The last time she went a whole day with no contact, she was repainting signs. She might’ve been a little pissed off at me, too.

I can’t think of anything she’d be mad at me about today, though. And there’s no sign left untouched.

You got plans for dinner?

What did you have in mind?

Popcorn?

Come on over.

Oh, you expect me to deliver it?

I tip very well.

Can’t argue with that point. I search my fridge and freezer for something that could actually count as dinner. We’re definitely starting with popcorn, but I’m going to want something more substantial afterwards. All I’ve got is eggs. And cheese. Omelets? Not that I can make a fucking omelet. I can scramble them, though. Cheesy scrambled eggs it is.

I add a bottle of wine to the bag and head out.

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