Page 11 of Challenged By the Ex-Military Tattoo Artist

"Oh, no, Mrs. Flores. This is Max, he's, um—"

"The building's newest tenant," Max interjects smoothly, flashing the older woman a charming smile. "I'm renting out the storage room in the back to use as a workspace."

"Is that so?" Mrs. Flores hums, her gaze sweeping over Max in a way that makes me squirm slightly. "Well, isn't that interesting. And what sort of work do you do, young man?"

"I'm a tattoo artist, ma'am," Max replies, not missing a beat.

The older woman's eyebrows shoot up in obvious surprise, "A tattoo artist? My, my, how... intriguing."

I can practically see the innuendo dripping from her words, and I resist the urge to groan. Thankfully, Max seems unfazed, his easy confidence never wavering.

"Yes, ma'am. Been at it for quite a few years now." He pauses, flashing me a sidelong glance. "In fact, I just recently had the pleasure of inking a lovely little butterfly on Maria's wrist."

Mrs. Flores' gaze darts between the two of us, her expression positively gleeful.

"Is that so? Maria! I was here yesterday and you never mentioned getting a tattoo! How delightfully... misbehaved of you."

I want to sink through the floor. Of course Mrs. Flores would pick up on the implicit flirtation between Max and me. The woman has a sixth sense for that kind of thing.

"It was, um, a spur-of-the-moment decision," I mumble, clearing my throat awkwardly.

"Hmm, I see." Mrs. Flores accepts her bag of yarn, leveling Max with a pointed look. "Well, young man, I do hope you'll be a good influence on our Maria here. Heaven knows she could use a little more excitement in her life."

With that, she turns and shuffles toward the door, pausing to throw one last wink in our direction before exiting.

The moment she's gone, I let out a long, exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry about that."

Max chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest.

"Ah, don't worry about it. Mrs. Flores seems like a real character."

I can't help but nod in agreement.

"That's one way to put it. She's a sweetheart, but definitely likes to... meddle a bit."

"I noticed." He grins, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"So, tell me - how did a woman like you end up owning a shop like this?"

I blink, caught off guard by the unexpected question, "A woman like me?"

Max gestures around the cozy storefront, "Yeah, you know - prim, proper, definitely not the type to get spontaneous tattoos." His gaze drifts to my wrist, where the delicate butterfly inked there is hidden by my sleeve. "At least, not until recently."

I can't help but laugh at his assessment.

"Fair point. Although I'll have you know, I'm not nearly as prim and proper as I may seem."

He arches a brow, a slow grin spreading across his face, "Oh? Do tell."

Shaking my head, I lean back against the counter.

"Well, the short version is that this place has been a dream of mine for a long time. Ever since I was a kid, actually." My expression softens with fond nostalgia. "My grandmother taught me how to sew and embroider when I was very young, and I justfell in love with it. The process, the creativity - it was like magic to me."

Max nods, his gaze attentive as he listens.

"But my parents..." I trail off, lips twisting into a rueful smile. "They weren't exactly thrilled when I told them I wanted to open a craft store instead of, you know, pursuing a more 'practical' career path."

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