Page 11 of Reckless Harmony

She would have to take the chance, she decided. It had taken her forever even to work up the nerve to book the appointment, and then she’d had to wait over three months for it. If she cancelled now, she knew in her heart that she would never have the courage to rebook the appointment. It would be a waste of the money she’d spent at the silent auction way back in the spring.

There were three doors at the back of the shop, all of them closed, and she studied them for a few seconds before loudly clearing her throat. The doors didn’t magically open, and she finally decided to sit on the couch and wait.

She hung her coat on the coat tree near the door, stuffing her hat and mittens into the pockets before sinking gracefully onto the couch. She tugged at her cardigan and then her long skirt before readjusting her thick tights. She was reaching for the closest black binder when one of the three doors opened, and a giant of a man with thick dark hair stepped out. She recognized him, of course. They might not have traveled in the same social circles, but she didn’t think there was anyone in town who didn’t know the owner of Crimson Door Tattoo.

Preacher.

She had no idea what his real name was or even his last name. She suspected that not many people did. But it didn’t matter. Everyone knew who he was. Even someone like her, sheltered from the town gossip and unaware of almost everything that went on, knew who he was.

If his size, tattoos, and intimidating manner weren’t enough to make a name for himself in town, his incredible tattooing talent - a talent that, according to Nola’s Googling, had him on more than one top ten list of best tattooists in the country - was more than enough.

She knew damn well how lucky she’d been to win the silent auction bid for a tattoo by Preacher.

She stood up, her nervous smile fading when Preacher stared silently at her. “Hi, I’m, um, Nola. I have an appointment with you.”

“You’re early,” Preacher said.

“Yes, I thought I had to take the bus, but then I was given a ride, so I didn’t… that is… sorry.” She knew her cheeks were bright red, and Preacher was staring at her like she was a fool, and she really wished she wasn’t so awkward and inept around people.

She tensed when Preacher walked over, her anxiety nearly getting the best of her when she realized how big he really was. He reminded her of another man, that one just as broad shouldered and covered in tattoos as well.

Nix.

His image was flash-fried into her brain despite her best efforts to forget all about him. Only an inch or two shorter than Preacher, with dark hair and the most gorgeous blue eyes surrounded by thick lashes. A broad chest and muscular arms covered entirely in tattoos from his wrists up to where his t-shirt sleeves had started mid-bicep. The tattoos would go all the way up to his shoulders. She was sure of it. Heck, Nix’s entire body was probably covered in ink.

The muscles in her lower belly tightened, and her core ached with an unfamiliar pulse. She took a deep breath. She might have been on the naive side about sex, but she knew what she was feeling. Lust. One of the seven deadly sins her father was always going on and on about from his pulpit.

She lusted after a man she’d only met for a few minutes, and how terrible did that make her? She was in a relationship with a good, solid Christian man, but it was a tattooed atheist who occupied her fantasies.

But could God really blame her? Nix was basically a hero. He’d not only given her his jacket when she was ministering to the less fortunate in the cold, but he’d saved her from some very unsavoury characters not even twenty minutes later. If he hadn’t been there…

She shivered at the memory. If he hadn’t been there, she would have been kidnapped and raped. She could try to sugarcoat what happened that day, try to pretend that her father hadn’t put her in terrible danger by forcing her to minister alone in a dangerous section of the south side, but she was only lying to herself. If it hadn’t been for Nix, she…

“Lady? Hello? Are you even listening to me?”

Preacher’s exasperated tone jerked her neatly from her memories. She stared at him, her cheeks flaming red again before another apology tumbled from her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I was, um… sorry.”

“Right,” Preacher said. “So, you understand that the silent auction prize is for one of my flash designs, yes? Not a custom design?”

“Yes,” Nola said.

“And that the auction prize is for a two-hour tattoo maximum? I won’t be doing a full sleeve tattoo or anything super elaborate.”

“I understand,” Nola said.

“Then we’re good to go.” Preacher pointed to the closest black binder on the coffee table. “Look through the binder and choose a tattoo.”

“Right, okay,” she said.

Preacher walked away, stepping behind the counter and picking up the tablet next to the laptop. Nola grabbed the binder and sank onto the couch, flipping through it page by page as she studied each tattoo. She had already decided she wanted a bird, and when she turned to a page that had various bird designs, she studied them with excitement.

The excitement dimmed when she couldn’t imagine any of them on her body for the rest of her life. She turned the last page in the binder and, with a glance at Preacher who was still absorbed with the tablet, set it down and reached for a second binder. She wondered if maybe she needed to re-evaluate what kind of tattoo she was getting. She had her heart set on a bird, but the tattoo was permanent, and she wanted to love the bird she chose. Because she was getting a tattoo even if her father would lose his mind over it. And, yeah, maybe this was a sad act of rebellion for a twenty-five-year-old, but she’d wanted one since she was eighteen.

Besides, her father would never know because he would never see it.

She flipped idly through the pages, scanning each tattoo. She needed to stay open to a tattoo other than a dove. She couldn’t afford a custom tattoo, at least not from someone of Preacher’s talents. She’d lucked out in winning the silent auction bid, but it had cost her a ridiculous amount of money, and it had been silly for her to think that she would find her perfect tattoo from a book of pre-drawn…

Her breath caught in her throat, and she leaned forward eagerly, her nose nearly touching the page as she studied the dove tattoo at the bottom of the page. It was a fairly simplistic tattoo, she supposed. Just a black and white drawing of a dove with its wings stretched out in flight. But it was its simplicity that drew her in, and she studied each carefully drawn line, tracing the wings with the tip of her finger.

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