Page 6 of The Storms Between Us
five
Rollingthrough the small coastal town of Grovewood is like taking a step back in time. As I pass through rows and rows of hundred-year-old trees dripping in Spanish moss, I can't help but feel at peace. Something about this place makes me feel like I belong here, which is a foreign feeling for me. Never in my 22 years have I felt truly at home anywhere. Looking around the main square, I can see myself editing a manuscript at the little coffee shop on the corner. The beautiful park across the street would be a great place to read on a breezy spring day. I could really make a life here.
Checking my GPS again to make sure I'm heading in the right direction, I see a text from my brother telling me he's going to be stuck at the shop late with a client. Fine by me. I'll enjoy having some quiet time to myself to snoop around his place and make myself at home. He tells me to stop by to grab the keys, so I make a right down the side street up ahead and pull my Jeep to a stop in front of the neon sign that says "TATTOOS".
After four and a half hours of driving, I unfold myself from the driver's seat and stretch my aching muscles. For midnight on a Saturday in a small town, the shop seems to be pretty busy. I can see several people sitting on a couch in the lobby through the front window and it brings a smile to my face. I'm proud of what Everett has built here. Our parents were never the type to fawn over our accomplishments, so we always cheered for each other. Knowing my brother is carving out his own path here makes me absolutely thrilled for him.
I lock my Jeep and make my way through the front doors. The bell over the door signals my arrival, and I see a few patrons look my way before focusing back on their phones. The buzz of tattoo guns isn't a familiar sound for me and it puts me a little on edge. Nothing against tattoos or the people who have them, of course. I just can't imagine anything I would ever love enough to put on my body permanently.
"Hello?" I call out when nobody comes to the desk. I can see the clear divide down the center of the shop with two stations set up on each side. I remember Everett telling me something about having a partner from the Marines who also does tattoos and a few others who handle the business side of things.
"Just a sec, have a seat and somebody will be with you in a minute," a gruff voice shouts back at me.
"Um, okay. Do you have a bathroom? I've been driving for a while and I could really use it." I yell back, fidgeting uncomfortably.
"Jesus Christ, gimme a sec," I hear the voice mumble, sounding annoyed. I prop my hip against the desk, stare down at my scuffed vans, and wait for some acknowledgment.
"Something I can help you with?" I hear the deep timbre ask from right next to me, causing the air around me to electrify. I sweep my gaze up quickly from the floor and lock on to the most beautiful crystal blue eyes I've ever seen. Stunned by the power in his gaze, I stand silently, unmoving. We stare intently at each other for what feels like several long minutes. In reality, it was probably only a few seconds in time. The swirls of grey in his irises are too beautiful to look away from. It's as if I could reach out and touch the ocean behind his eyes.
Speak Ember. Words. Remember those? What is wrong with me? I internally chastise myself for my sudden loss of wits and physically shake my head to ease the tension surrounding us. My body heats with embarrassment and I clear my throat, hoping to expel the momentary insanity that seems to have overtaken me.
"Um, hi, sorry I'm just here for Everett," the words fall out in a rush like a clumsy teen with her first crush. What is wrong with me? It's like I've never seen an attractive man in my life before! It's not like he's that good looking, right? HA! Who am I kidding? This is the most beautiful man I've ever seen. The slight tick in his jawline draws my eyes back to his face. And damn, what a face it is. A short, neatly trimmed beard lines his chin and jawline, and his deep chocolate brown hair is pulled back out of his face into one of those man buns hipsters usually sport. But there's nothing "hipster" about this man. He exudes strength and confidence with just one look.
My eyes quickly divert from his intense stare and take notice of the intricate designs trailing all the way from his knuckles, up his arms, and under his shirt sleeves. Instantly, I want to push his shirt up and out of the way so I can follow the path of ink marking his skin. Where that thought came from, I have no clue. I can't remember the last time I had a remotely sexual thought about a man. Sure, the guys at Duke were okay. But after Justin, I just kept my head down and focused on the diploma at the end of the tunnel. I didn't want to waste my time on a guy who just wanted a quick lay. Something tells me this man would keep any woman coming back for more.
I look up to realize he's just standing here staring at me, not saying a word. Did I say something stupid? I don't think so. But apparently I've lost all ability to think around this man, so who knows.
"Everett's with a client for the rest of the night. We don't have time for walk-ins tonight," the man snaps. He turns to walk back to his station and I feel the loss of his presence instantly.
"Wait! I'm Ember. I'm supposed to be meeting him here." I hope my brother at least gave someone the heads up I was coming tonight. "I'm supposed to be picking up the spare key to his place."
"You'reEmber?" The man says, turning to look deeper at me and I suddenly feel very exposed. I've never been the type of girl who felt like I needed to dress nicely or wear makeup to impress a man. If you don't like me the way I am, then I don't have time for you. But standing here under the inquisitive gaze of this stranger, I wish I was wearing something nicer than my torn denim cutoffs and a Ramones t-shirt.
"Yeah. That's me. Ember Blake. Everett's sister. Not sure why I added that. Is he here?" I babble, wondering where my common sense has gone.
The man turns and walks further back into the shop without another word. He takes a right into the section opposite from his and I can hear him say something to whoever is back there.
"No shit? Sparky's here?!?" I hear the familiar resonance of my brother's voice from inside the room and then see his head peek out of the doorway. I give him a small wave and his smile stretches from ear to ear. "Emby! You made it! Give me a sec to get this wrapped up and I'll be right out." He yells, motioning to the client I assume is laying on his table. He turns to the mystery man with a nod. "Thanks Eli, this is the infamous Ember, by the way," he says, signaling in my direction. I can feel the heat from Eli's gaze on my face without meeting his eyes. Never have I felt such intense scrutiny in my life, and I shift uncomfortably.
I raise my hand in greeting towards Eli and he gives me a gruff head nod in return. "Elijah Harding. Heard a lot about you," he states very matter-of-factly and walks into his station, and out of my sight. I'm suddenly curious about what my brother has told him and why I care so much.
After using the bathroom, I take a seat in the waiting room. I finally take a second to look around the room at all the artwork covering the walls. They're covered from floor to ceiling in intricate, hand-drawn designs. Everything from delicate floral arrangements to skulls with flames and anything in between can be found here. I assume this is a collection of several unique artists to give customers ideas when they come in. Everett has always been the artistic one of the two of us, the right-brain to my left. But even with an analytical mind, I still love to fall into a good fiction novel. Mostly the "smut" as my mother calls it, but hey a girl has to get her rocks off somewhere.
My mind wanders back to Elijah and those beautiful ocean eyes. Now there's a man who would make an excellent book cover. I let my imagination fill in the blanks of what could be under his tight black t-shirt. Judging by the forest scene that wraps all the way around one arm, the tips of the trees disappearing under his sleeve, I don't think there's an inch of bare skin left under there. Shirtless Elijah? There's a view to make your mouth water. His jeans hung low on his hips, letting the slightest peek of his v-cut abs show through his shirt. The idea of running my fingertips down those abs sends a bolt of heat straight to my core. I push those thoughts from my head as I pull my phone out to shoot Kelsea a quick message to let her know I'm here.
