Page 12 of Reckless Harmony

“You’re the one,” she murmured, smiling a little at the sheer delight she could hear in her voice. “You’re perfect.”

The bell above the door jingled, and a blast of cold air swept through the shop. She glanced toward the door as Nix - the very man who occupied way too many of her thoughts - walked into the shop.

He carried a Nan’s Diner bag in one tattooed hand, and his nose and the tips of his ears were red from the cold.

“Christ, it’s colder than a fucking -”

He abruptly stopped when he caught sight of Nola, and for absolutely no reason at all, she turned scarlet. There were nearly thirty seconds of silence before Nola, her brain screaming at her to say something, stood and said, “Oh, um, hello. It’s nice to see you again. Nix, right?”

He nodded, glancing at Preacher, before turning back to her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m getting a tattoo,” she said.

“You’re getting a tattoo,” he said.

“That’s right. A bird. Back in the spring, Preacher offered a tattoo for a silent auction prize, and I, um, won the bid. So, here I am. Are you here to get a tattoo also?” Her gaze flickered to his arms. They were covered by a leather jacket - the same one she’d worn for a brief, glorious half hour that night he’d saved her life. The coat had smelled so good - like sandalwood and amber. Later that night, in her bedroom, she had pressed her cardigan to her face and, like a teenager in the throes of her first crush, repeatedly inhaled the faint scent of his cologne that lingered on the fabric.

“I work here,” he said.

“Oh, uh, right, I knew that. You mentioned that… before… when we first met,” she said.

How could she have forgotten that?

Because you’re too busy wondering what it would be like to have his face buried between -

She cut that thought off quickly, but it was too late. She could practically feel the heat burning her face to a crisp.

Preacher joined her in the seating area as Nix continued to stand by the door with a look she couldn’t decipher.

“You find one you like?” Preacher asked.

“I did,” she said and showed him the dove. “I’d like this one, please.”

Annoyance flickered across his face. “That’s not my binder.”

“I’m sorry?” she said.

“That binder isn’t mine. I told you to look through that one.” He pointed to the other one.

“Oh, I did, but I didn’t see one I liked, so I thought…”

“That’s Nix’s book,” Preacher said. “His tattoos.”

“Oh… um,” her gaze flickered to Nix and then back to Preacher. “Could you still tattoo this one, though?”

“I never tattoo another artist’s work,” Preacher said, his tone suggesting she had just insulted him in the worst way. “Pick one from the book I showed you.”

She stared at the dove tattoo before taking a deep breath. “Could I book with Nix instead?”

“You paid money for Preacher to tattoo you. He’s a better artist than I am, and you should get what you paid for,” Nix said quickly.

“I want this tattoo, and I want you,” she said.

There was an awkward silence, and oh God, why did she say that? She studied the door, wondering if there was any way she could gracefully run by Nix in her rubber slippers and out the door, never to think or speak of this humiliating moment again.

Her cheeks were back to a bright, fiery red, and she realized with confusion that Nix’s cheeks were a bit red, too.

Amusement tinged the annoyance in Preacher’s voice. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just as good of an artist as I am, so if you want Nix to do the tattoo, I’m fine with it.”

---