9. Garner
GARNER
I fucked up the line twice before Priest noticed.
"Jesus, McCrae. What's wrong with you today?" He leaned over my shoulder, examining the shaky outline I'd been attempting on Mrs. Hendrickson's wrist. "That's not even close to straight."
"Sorry," I muttered, wiping away the stencil with alcohol. "Let me try again."
Mrs. Hendrickson, a sixty-something grandmother getting her first tattoo of her late husband's initials, offered a patient smile. "Take your time, dear. I'm not in any rush."
But Priest was already shaking his head. "Take five, Garner. Clear your head." He turned to Mrs. Hendrickson with the professional charm that had built his reputation. "Why don't I show you some different font options while my colleague remembers how to hold a tattoo gun?"
I didn't argue. My hands hadn't been steady all morning, and the last thing I needed was to make a permanent mistake on someone’s skin. I walked out the back door into the small alley behind the shop, leaned against the brick wall, and closed my eyes.
It had been five days since the resort. Three since that disaster at Miles and Kinley's. And there had been nothing but silence from Olivia. It was the longest we'd gone without talking since… well, since forever.
I pulled out my phone and stared at our text thread. The last message was from Sunday afternoon. She’d texted she was heading to Miles and Kinley’s around five. No emoji, no exclamation point. None of the usual Olivia warmth. Just cold, practical information.
I'd responded with "See you there.”
My thumb hovered over the keyboard. I could text her now. Something casual. Something normal like asking if she’d caught the latest episode of her favorite true-crime podcast. Or maybe something more direct like saying I miss her, I love her, and I fucked everything up.
But what good would that do? She deserved better than mixed signals from a coward who couldn't say what he actually meant.
The back door creaked open, and Priest stepped out. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or am I supposed to guess?" he asked.
"Nothing's going on."
He snorted. "Sure. That's why your linework suddenly looks like a kindergartner with a crayon."
I stared at the cracked pavement under my boots. "I’ve got some shit on my mind."
"This about Olivia?"
My head snapped up. "What?"
Priest gave me a look that reeked of pity. "Come on, man. The whole town knows about your weekend getaway.”
"It wasn't real," I said.
"Yeah, no shit." He leaned against the building and shielded his eyes from the sun. "The marriage wasn't real. Whatever's eating you alive right now? That seems pretty fucking real to me."
I ran a hand through my hair. What was the point in denying it? "We slept together," I said. "At the resort."
Priest raised an eyebrow but didn't look surprised. "And?"
"And nothing. It was a mistake."
"A mistake," he repeated. "That why you're walking around like someone shot your dog?"
"She's better off without me," I said, the words bitter on my tongue.
Priest stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head. "That's bullshit, and you know it."
"Is it?" I pushed off the wall, suddenly angry.
"She's Olivia fucking Vale. She cuts hair for little old ladies on weekends and bakes cookies for the fire department.
She remembers everyone's birthday and sends thank-you cards for thank-you cards.
And what am I? The screwed-up kid from the wrong side of town who draws on people for a living. "
"You're also the guy who's been drawing that girl for years," Priest said, his voice low. "You think no one's noticed? You think she hasn't?"
I froze. "What are you talking about?"
"Those sketches you're always working on between clients. The ones you think no one sees you tucking into your wallet or that black notebook you guard like it contains nuclear codes." He shook his head. "Always the same girl. Always Olivia."
Heat crawled up my neck. I hadn't realized I’d been so obvious. "It's just a habit," I said, unwilling to face what it meant.
"Bullshit," Priest repeated, more forcefully this time. "I've known you since you were a punk-ass eighteen-year-old begging for an apprenticeship. You've been in love with her since before you walked through my door."
The word hung in the air between us— love —stripped bare and exposed in the harsh daylight.
"Doesn't matter," I finally managed.
"Of course it matters. Listen, I'm not one for heart-to-hearts or whatever, but I've watched you two dance around each other for years, and frankly, it's getting old. So I'm going to ask you once, what are you so afraid of?"
The question hit like a well-planted uppercut to my chin. What was I afraid of? Rejection? That she'd see the real me and run? That I'd somehow ruin the best thing in my life?
"I've been in love with her since I was seventeen," I admitted, the confession breaking something loose inside me. "What if I tell her and she doesn't feel the same way? What if I lose her for good?"
"And what if you don't?" Priest countered. "What if she's sitting at home right now thinking the exact same thing about you?"
The possibility was almost too much to consider.
Priest sighed, his expression softening. "Look, McCrae. You're one of the best artists I've ever trained. You've got steady hands and an eye for detail most people would kill for." He pushed the door open, pausing in the threshold. "But maybe stop drawing her and start doing something about it."
The door closed behind him, leaving me alone with thoughts too big to contain.
Back inside, I apologized to Mrs. Hendrickson and redid her stencil with hands that were finally steady. The simple initials turned out perfect. As she admired the finished product with tears gathering in her eyes, I felt a strange sense of resolution.
"It's perfect," she whispered, touching the skin around the fresh ink with reverence. "Howard would have loved it."
"How long were you married?" I asked, curious despite myself.
"Forty-three years." Her smile was soft with memory. "And do you know what? I almost didn't say yes when he proposed. I was so scared we were too different. He was this wild, creative soul, and I was a practical, planning type. I thought it could never work."
I paused in the middle of applying ointment. "What changed your mind?"
"He showed me a sketch he'd done of me." She laughed.
"Turns out he'd been drawing me for months.
Little moments of me reading in the park, waiting for the bus, laughing with friends.
He saw me when I didn't know I was being seen.
" Her fingers hovered over the fresh tattoo.
"That's when I knew it wasn't about being the same.
It was about seeing each other with eyes wide open. "
After my shift ended, I didn’t want to go home, so I took my Harley on a ride to try to clear my head.
Mrs. Hendrickson's words echoed in my mind.
I'd been drawing Olivia for years, capturing moments, expressions, the curve of her smile, the way she twisted her hair when she was thinking.
But I'd never shown her. Never let her see how I saw her.
When I got home, I flipped on the lights and headed straight for the bedroom. The sketchbook was where I'd left it, tucked between the mattress and box spring. I pulled it out and sat on the edge of the bed, slowly flipping through the pages.
Olivia at nineteen, her hair in braids, laughing at something off the page.
Olivia at twenty-two, her graduation cap pinned in place, her eyes bright with possibility.
Olivia sleeping on my couch, one arm thrown above her head.
Olivia in the kitchen of my apartment, wearing one of my flannels, her hair up in a messy bun, making coffee.
I stopped at the last one, drawn only weeks ago.
There was no mistaking the feeling in every line, the careful attention to the way the morning light caught her profile, the softness around her eyes, the way she occupied my space like she belonged there.
Because she did belong there. She always had.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found the number of the guy who ran the summer concert series at the park. I’d given him a discount on his last tattoo, and he owed me a favor.
He answered on the third ring. "McCrae? What's up, man?"
"I need a favor," I said, my heart pounding. "For tomorrow night's Music in the Park."
After explaining what I needed, I hung up and stared at the sketchbook again. The fear was still there. A lifetime of insecurity doesn't vanish in an afternoon. But something else was stronger. Determination. Certainty.
Priest was right. It was time to stop drawing and start doing.
I spent the rest of the evening planning what I'd say, the words I'd use to tell her everything I should have said years ago. Nothing felt right. Everything I came up with was too sappy, too simple, too much, or not enough.
By midnight, I gave up on finding the perfect words and decided to trust that when the moment came, I'd know what to say. I'd have to speak from the heart for once instead of hiding behind silence.
I fell asleep with the sketchbook open next to me, Olivia's drawn smile the last thing I saw before closing my eyes.
Morning brought panic. What if this was a terrible idea? What if I made a fool of myself in front of the entire town? What if she didn't show up at all?
But underneath the fear was a certainty I couldn't ignore. Even if she rejected me, at least she'd know the truth. At least I wouldn't spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been.
I showered and dressed with intention in dark jeans and the blue button-down she'd once said brought out my eyes. I trimmed my beard and ran product through my hair, trying to tame it into something presentable.
The day crawled by so slowly that it was painful. I paced my apartment, reached out to my contact to make sure everything was set, and finally left for the concert early. I couldn’t stand waiting a second longer.
The park was already filling with families when I arrived.
Kids ran between lawn chairs and picnic blankets.
The smell of food trucks and summer heat hung in the air.
I scanned the crowd for Olivia but didn't see her.
According to Ruby, who I'd sworn to secrecy about my plan, she was coming but running late.
As the band started playing, I stood off to the side of the stage, watching the crowd, my heart in my throat.
And then, finally, I saw her walking in with Ruby, wearing a simple white sundress that made her skin glow in the evening light.
Her hair was down, catching the golden hour sunlight like spun copper.
She looked so beautiful it hurt. She looked like everything I'd ever wanted and been too afraid to reach for.
Ruby caught my eye across the crowd and gave me a subtle thumbs-up. I nodded, took a deep breath, and moved toward the stage steps.
It was time to stop being afraid. Time to finally say what I meant. Time to show her how I saw her… not only in sketches, but in words, in actions, in the future I wanted to build together.
This time, I wouldn't hold back. This time, I'd be brave enough to love her out loud and with eyes wide open.