Page 12 of Challenged By the Ex-Military Tattoo Artist

"Let me guess - they wanted you to be a doctor, lawyer, or something equally stuffy and respectable?" Max interjects dryly.

I laugh.

"Exactly. They thought I was ridiculous, wasting my potential on something as trivial as running a little craft shop." Shrugging, I glance down at my hands. "It was a bit of a battle, to say the least. But in the end, I just couldn't let go of my dream. So, I saved up, took out a loan, and made it happen."

When I look back up, I'm surprised to find Max watching me, fully focused.

"What?" I ask self-consciously.

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Nothing. I'm just... impressed, is all. Sounds like you've got some serious determination to make this place work, despite the odds."

I feel a flush creep up my neck, "Well, it's certainly been a challenge at times. But I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"I can tell." Max's gaze softens, a hint of admiration in his voice. "You must really love what you do."

"I really do," I affirm, a smile tugging at my lips. "It's been my passion for as long as I can remember."

Max nods, his expression thoughtful, "And your parents? They still give you a hard time about it?"

I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

"Not as much these days, thankfully. Although..." I trail off, huffing out a wry laugh. "My younger sister Luisa managed to 'one-up' me, so to speak." At Max's curious look, I elaborate. "She decided to pursue a career in photography instead of the 'respectable' path my parents had envisioned for her. Needless to say, that didn't go over too well."

I can't help but chuckle at the memory, "They were enraged. I think they were secretly hoping Luisa would talk some sense into me, but instead she just piled on more fuel to the fire."

Max laughs, shaking his head in amusement, "Sounds like your family's got a bit of a rebellious streak."

"You could say that," I agree with a rueful smile. "But at the end of the day, I'm just glad my sister and I have each other's backs. Even if it means driving our parents crazy in the process."

“That’s great. Guess I can say I’m lucky that my parents have always supported me. Although… I always feel like they liked me a bit more when I was in the military.”

Glancing up, I meet Max's gaze, a hint of curiosity rising within me.

"Interesting… So, what made you choose the path you're on?"

His expression shifts, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his features.

"The military or the tattoos, you mean?"

I nod, studying him intently.

"The military. I have to admit, you don't quite fit the mold of a 'typical' military man."

Max huffs out a laugh, the sound laced with a touch of bitterness.

"Yeah, well, I guess you could say I've got a bit of a rebellious streak of my own."

He pauses, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"Growing up, I was always a bit of a hell-raiser, you know? Didn't really have much direction or purpose. The military gave me that - a sense of discipline, structure, purpose."

Reaching up, he traces the intricate sleeve of tattoos decorating his arm, his gaze distant.

"And the tattoos? Well, that came a bit later. After I got out, I realized I needed something else, something creative to balance out all that structure and order." Glancing back at me, his lips curve into a wry smile, "Guess you could say I'm a bit of a walking contradiction."

I can't help but smile back, feeling an unexpected kinship with this intriguing man.

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