Page 1 of Challenged By the Ex-Military Tattoo Artist

Chapter 1 - Maria

I wander around my craft store, Double Stitch, making sure everything is in order before we open for the day. I adjust the handmade scarves on the display rack, straighten the stack of sketchbooks on the front counter, and ensure the chalkboard sign highlighting our latest sale is legible.

As the owner of this little shop, I take pride in ensuring everything is perfect. This store is my passion project, my creative outlet, and my livelihood. I pour my heart and soul into it every single day.

The bell above the door jingles, signaling someone is entering. I turn around, expecting to see one of my regular early bird customers, but instead, I'm met with a sight that stops me in my tracks.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark, piercing eyes and a handsome face steps through the doorway. He's covered in tattoos, from his muscular arms to the intricate design peeking out from the collar of his t-shirt.

This man is not one of my usual customers. In fact, he looks completely out of place in my quaint, pastel-filled craft store. My heart rate picks up as our eyes meet, and I find myself suddenly tongue-tied, unsure of how to greet this unexpected visitor.

"Good morning," he says, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. "I'm looking for the owner. Is Maria around?”

I nod, finally finding my voice, "That's me. I'm Maria."

He gives me a small smile.

"I'm Max. I just moved to town, and I've been looking for a place to rent a room for work."

A room to rent? I glance toward the back of the shop, where the tiny storage space is located. It's not much, but it could potentially work as a small studio.

"What kind of work do you do?" I ask, still a bit flustered by his imposing presence.

"I'm a tattoo artist," he replies, pushing up the sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal even more intricate ink designs covering his arm.

A tattoo artist. That certainly explains his edgy appearance. Not exactly the type of person I pictured inquiring about renting space in my cute craft store.

"I, uh, I have a small room in the back," I stammer, suddenly feeling self-conscious about my shop's very feminine, crafty vibe. "It's not much, more of a storage area really, but I could clear it out if you'd like to take a look?"

Max nods, "That would be great if you don't mind."

I lead him towards the back, my mind racing. Having a tattoo artist working here seems like an odd fit, but then again, extra income is always welcome. And there's something about Max that has me intrigued despite his rough exterior.

We reach the door to the small back room, and I unlock it, pushing it open to reveal the cluttered space packed with supplies and unsold merchandise. Not exactly an inviting workspace, but it has potential.

"Like I said, it needs some work," I say apologetically, "But it's available if you're interested?"

Max scans the space, nodding slowly.

"I can make this work." He turns his gaze back to me. "You got a deal for the monthly rent?"

"You know, I've never actually rented this space out before," I admit. "We can figure out a fair price later on, if you don’t mind?"

He seems to consider this for a moment before giving me a half-smile.

"Works for me. Speaking of tattoos..." He trails off, his eyes roaming over my bare skin. "You don't have any ink, do you?"

I shake my head, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks under his intense stare, "No, I've never gotten a tattoo before."

"In that case, how about I offer you a free tattoo as part of our rental agreement?" Max suggests, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Think of it as an introduction to my work."

My heart skips a beat at the thought of this mysterious man permanently marking my skin with his needle.

"I—I've never really considered getting a tattoo before," I stammer, unable to tear my gaze away from his.

"There's a first time for everything," he counters smoothly. "And I happen to be very good with first-timers."

The double meaning in his words isn't lost on me, and I feel a flush of heat spreading through my body. Who is this man, and how did he manage to so easily rattle my usual composure?

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