Page 28 of Ink Me Three Times
The voice is familiar. And when she stumbles in after him, red faced and breathless, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, all wide eyes and barely restrained rage, I blink like I’m seeing a mirage.
Ivy.
Definitely not a morning person either, judging by the sock sliding down her ankle and the sheer murder in her eyes.
She skids to a halt inside the doorway, sees me, and groans like the universe is personally out to get her.
"Sorry! He slipped the leash, he saw a squirrel and went full chaos gremlin… Pickle, I swear…"
I nearly drop my pencil laughing.
Pickle does a sharp turn behind the reception desk, tail wagging like he’s just won a game nobody else knew they were playing. Ivy lunges after him and grabs him mid spin, hauling him up like a sack of potatoes.
She turns toward me, huffing, holding the wriggling menace under her arm. Her hoodie’s sliding off one shoulder, and her cheeks are flushed from chasing him. There’s a tiny smear of dirt on her knee.
Mitchell’s an idiot.
He says he’s not interested. That it was a one time thing. That it’s notlike that.
But she’s standing here, windblown, gorgeous, and somehow still grinning, and I can’t for the life of me figure out how he’s not looking twice.
"I’d say this isn’t normal," she says, voice dry. "But honestly? It kind of is."
"Can’t say I’m surprised," I reply, leaning back in my chair. "That dog’s got a death wish."
"He’s gotmewishing for death," she mutters, adjusting her grip. "Sorry for the disruption. I was walking him before heading to Freddie’s. Clearly, it’s going great."
"You want coffee?" I offer before I can think better of it. "Still some left."
She blinks. "Seriously?"
I shrug. "If you’ve survived Frenchie parkour at seven a.m., you’ve earned it."
She hesitates, probably debating whether to flee, but finally sets Pickle down and follows me to the little kitchen nook behind the counter. I pour her a mug and slide it her way. She takes it with both hands like it’s some kind of offering.
"You’re a saint," she says. "An actual caffeine bearing saint."
"Nah," I say, going back to my sketchbook. "Just know what mornings are like."
She sips, sighs, and leans against the counter. Pickle trots over to the rug beneath my chair and flops down dramatically, like he just ran a marathon and we should be comforting him.
I reach down and offer him one of the biscuits we keep behind the desk for when clients bring dogs. He sniffs, snorts, and promptly devours it like he’s being filmed for a survival documentary.
"See?" I say, nodding at Pickle. "Creature of taste."
"He also ate half a sock yesterday, so let’s not give him too much credit."
"I’ve done worse on a dare," I shoot back.
She quirks a brow. "Was the dare ‘ruin your digestive system for clout’?"
"Technically, the dare was ‘don’t be a coward,’" I say. "And I regret nothing."
Ivy snorts into her mug. "You give off such unhinged older sibling energy."
"I am the older sibling," I say proudly. "By a whole four minutes. And it shows."
"Explains the chaos."
