Page 15 of Exposed Ink

“You don’t know that because you don’t know him. What if he was only looking for something casual? Would you have said yes then?”

God, that’s so hard because the truth is, I miss being intimate with someone, but the thought of being intimate with anyone but Brandon feels wrong.

“I don’t know,” I admit truthfully. “But it doesn’t matter because I said no and he left.”

“It still matters,” Julia says, “because this is part of you moving forward. I want you to think about what you see your future looking like. I know I asked you to do this before, but that was over a year ago. And a year ago, had a man asked you out, you wouldn’t have even considered it.”

“I said no,” I remind her.

“But you still considered it. We as therapists like to call that progress.” She winks, and I groan. “Speaking of which, you should check out the book I’m reading. You might find it … enlightening.”

She holds up the paperback, and my heart clenches at the couple on the cover. I used to love reading romance. It was my mom’s and my thing. We could talk about the books we’d read for hours while checking out all the bookstores in our area. We attended book signings to meet our favorite authors, and my mom has an entire library of signed paperbacks we’ve collected over the years.

The day I lost Brandon and our daughter, I lost my desire to read romance. The first time I picked up a romance book to try to escape, I bawled my eyes out, unable to handle reading about someone else getting their happily ever after, knowing I would never get mine.

“It’s so good,” she says. “They’re roommates but can’t stand each other.”

“Ugh,” I groan. “You know I love a good enemies-to-lovers romance.”

“Here,” she says, handing it to me. “I have it on my Kindle.”

I take it from her and eye it, wondering if maybe it’s time for me to give romance books another shot. I won’t be going out with Shane, but maybe I could live vicariously through a woman who isn’t as fucked up as I am.

My thoughts go to the black box my mom left in my Valentine’s Day basket. Maybe it’s time I put it to use.

* * *

“Kinsley,your ten o’clock appointment is here,” Scott says, poking his head into my room.

“I’ll be out in a sec,” I tell him as I finish prepping my station.

Yesterday, I didn’t have an appointment for this morning, so I didn’t plan to come in until noon, but last night, when Scott sent out our daily schedule reminders, one had popped up.

Which was fine with me since the last place I wanted to be was at home, staring at the romance book I couldn’t bring myself to read.

After my appointment with Julia, I went for a run to the health club, and when I passed by the fire station, I couldn’t help but wonder if Shane was in there and what he was doing.

So, when I got home, I grabbed the book, hoping to get him off my mind. But instead, three pages in, when I found out the hero was a firefighter—damn Julia for leaving out that crucial detail—I closed the book and refused to open it again, staring at it until I finally fell asleep. And then I ignored it on my nightstand as I got ready for work this morning.

Work is the best distraction, so while I’d usually be annoyed that Scott sprang a last-minute appointment on me, this morning, I’m looking forward to it.

Once my station is ready, I silence my phone and stow it away in my drawer and then head out to the waiting room to meet my client. Scott didn’t leave any info about them, not even their name, which is very unlike him, so I have no idea what I’m working with.

Only when I step out of my room, my eyes lock with Shane, who’s standing in the waiting room, dressed in a navy-blue shirt that readsStation Oneacross his chest with a matching ball cap tucked low on his forehead.

What is it about a man sporting a ball cap that makes a woman swoon?

He’s got on a pair of dark blue jeans that mold to his thighs perfectly, and on his feet are a pair of Nikes.

As if he can sense me checking him out, his head pops up from his phone, and his brown eyes lock with mine.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my question coming out blunter than I intended.

“He’s your ten o’clock,” Scott says.

My gaze swings over to him, and from the smirk he’s trying and failing to stifle, he knows exactly what he did.

“Have you ever been inked before?” I ask Shane, who shakes his head.

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