Page 23 of Perfect Harmony

A few other hands rose into the air andAddison said, “That’s good. Mr. Preacher owns a tattoo shop called ‘The CrimsonDoor Tattoo’ right downtown.”

“It’s the one with the red door,” a littleblond boy named Eric said excitedly. “I seen it when me and Mommy went to theWalgreens.”

“That’s right,” Addison said. “Now, I wantall of you to give Mr. Preacher your full attention while he talks to you abouttattooing. No interrupting please. When Mr. Preacher is finished, you’ll haveyour chance to ask questions.”

She turned to Preacher and smiled at him. “Goahead.”

She returned to her desk, leaning againstit and watching as Preacher set the black tackle box on the small table at thefront of the room. Prepared for a five-minute spiel at most about what it waslike to be a tattoo artist, she was pleasantly surprised when Preacher spokefor almost fifteen minutes.

He was actually pretty good with kids, shemused. He didn’t talk down to them, but he used easy to understand words and hispassion for what he did was clear.

She listened as he talked to the kids aboutthe importance of art and how it related to tattooing. He explained how atattoo artist needed to apprentice first to earn a license to tattoo and gave abrief description of what it looked like inside a tattoo shop and why it wasimportant to keep everything clean.

By the time he opened up his tackle box,every kid in the room was completely enamored with him. Addison couldn’t blamethem. She could listen to Preacher talk about tattooing all damn day.

When the kids slid out of their seats andcrowded around Preacher to get a closer look at the different inks and equipmenthe’d brought with him, she didn’t have the heart to send them back to their seats.

“Did you do your own tattoos, Mr. Preacher?”Isabelle’s small hand traced the tattoos on his right forearm.

“No. You shouldn’t tattoo yourself. It’s easyto make a mistake,” Preacher said.

“What’s the biggest tattoo you ever made?”A brunette girl named Rachel asked.

“Back tattoos are the biggest,” Preachersaid.

“What’s your favourite tattoo?” One of theshyer kids in her class, a boy named Tarek, said.

“I like tattooing animals,” Preacher said.

“Like dogs and cats?” Eric asked.

“More like lions and bears and tigers,”Preacher said.

“Oh. I have a bulldog. His name is Rocket,”Eric said.

“Does your girlfriend have tattoos, Mr. Preacher?”Isabelle leaned against his leg and hit him with her most charming smile.

Addison covered her mouth with her hand tohide her smile. Isabelle’s immediate and obvious crush on Preacher was delightful.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Preacher said.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Isabelle said.“You could probably be my boyfriend.”

“Don’t be stupid, Izzy,” Eric said. “He’s tooold for you.”

“Shut up, Eric,” Isabelle said.

“Isabelle,” Addison said.

The little girl glanced at her before lookingat Eric. “Sorry,” she said. “But Mr. Preacher could be my boyfriend if hewanted. Right, Mr. Preacher?”

“Uh, I guess,” Preacher said.

Isabelle’s face lit up and she hugged hisleg. “That’s great. I’ll let you know in a couple of days if I want you to bemy boyfriend.”

Preacher glanced up at Addison, the confusionon his face one hundred percent out of character and one hundred percent adorable.

“Can you give me a tattoo, Mr. Preacher?”Isabelle held onto his leg and swayed back and forth, her double dimples cominginto play as she turned the charm to full power.

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