Page 31 of I Wish I Would've Warned You

He disappears inside.

I park and wait a while before following.

Inside, the shop hums with low music and the hiss of tattoo machines. Amber light glows overhead, casting a soft sheen over black walls, framed art, and gold-detailed mirrors.

It smells like antiseptic, ink, and something faintly smoky.

Cole’s at the back, gloved up, hunched over a woman’s back. His focus is absolute. The design—an intricate geometric piece—curls down her spine in bold, precise lines.

He doesn’t see me yet.

The girl glances over her shoulder. “So… are you seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“You should let me take you out.”

“I don’t date clients.”

“Don’t,” she echoes, “or won’t?”

“Both.”

She giggles. “You’re too hot to be single.”

Cole doesn’t answer. Just peels off his gloves and tosses them in the bin.

That’s when he sees me.

No surprise. No alarm. Just... knowing.

Like he expected me.

“Emily,” he says, low and amused. “Are you stalking me?”

“Yes.”

He walks toward me, slow and easy. “Why?”

“I needed to get out of the house.”

“There’s plenty to do back there.”

“Unless you think I came here because I didn’t want to be alone.”

His eyes hold mine. “Did you?”

I don’t answer.

But I don’t look away, either.

“I should probably go,” I say, suddenly aware of how long I’ve been standing here.

He glances at the girl still adjusting her shirt. Then steps closer.

“I’ve got another client in twenty minutes,” he says. “But I’ll walk you out.”

I nod, trying not to let my pulse show on my face.

---