Chapter Seven
Garrett
“I’ve seen it all now.”
I look up from the mail in my hand. Sumner is looking across the front of the shop. Following his gaze, my eyes narrow. “What the fuck?”
Sumner snort laughs, his Irish brogue more pronounced as he mutters, “only in America.”
He wanders back to his station, shaking his head as he chuckles.
I’m about to head over and ask what the hell is happening right now, but stop and pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m too damn tired, and Lucky is thrilled to be dealing with the woman standing at the counter.
She has a leash in her hand, leading down to a huge fluffy cat. Lucky is bent over, talking in a baby voice. A fucking cat should not be anywhere near my shop. This is a sterile environment.
Lucky looks over at me from her crouched position. She pouts out her bottom lip, knowing what I’m about to say.
“Holy shit, is that a cat?” Shane comes out of the back room and beelines straight over.
Then he lavishes the animal with attention. The woman is beaming. With a deep breath, I go over, giving the cat a wide berth. It’s huge and has way too much fur. It’s soaking up Shane's petting, purring so loud it sounds like a fucking alien.
After the complete debacle with the group that Lucky brought in the other week, including Calli, whose name I now know, the guys were pissed at me. I get it, I was an asshole. Phoenix warned me to lighten up, said it creates a bad atmosphere. Initially, I was annoyed, but he’s right.
Lightening up is me allowing a twenty-first birthday party here. Not having a cat in my shop, that’s too much.
I can be civil when I tell her to get lost.
Before I open my mouth, Lucky is pleading her case.
“Maria wants to get her cat’s paw prints on her arm. She asked if we can take an impression from the cat today. We can do that, right Garrett?” her eyes widen in a ‘please let me,’ way.
“I’m happy to do it,” Shane adds, from where he is squatting.
Fucking hell. “You can take the impression, but the cat can’t stay while it’s done.”
The woman is stricken. “He’s my emotional support animal.”
Jesus Christ. I turn my glare to Lucky again. She’s making a pleading gesture with her hands. Phoenix is on the sofa, laughing his ass off.
“I’ll do it in back and do a deep clean of the room after,” Shane straightens up.
“He’s no bother. He will sit quietly while it’s done,” the woman adds.
“Come on G, you can’t turn her away. It’s her support animal. He’ll help her through the process.”
Lucky fires a glare at Phoenix because he’s being sarcastic.
The saying ‘pick your battles’ comes to mind, but this is bullshit. I allow one cat here, what happens next? A fucking petting zoo? Lucky is one step away from getting on her knees to beg.
“That room better be sterile after,” I say to Shane. “Get it done fast.”
They all chatter excitedly as I head behind the counter and turn my back. I have nothing further to say that doesn’t include expletives. Phoenix follows, leaning against the glass top counter, while Shane, Lucky, and the fucking cat head to the back.
“Not a fucking word.”
“I commend you, G. That’s progress.”
“You’re fired.”
“Can’t fire your business partner.”
“Wanna bet?”
I flick through the appointments book. “Don’t you need the back room today?” I ask after seeing who his client is.
“Harris doesn’t care about being out in the shop.”
That’s beside the point, I want to argue but keep my mouth shut. Archer Harris is in a world-famous band. He comes in when he can to get work done on his sleeve. He’s right, he rarely takes him out back.
I’ve got a new client today who wants a black and gray geometric body suit covering his whole back, chest, and arms. He’s not due in for another two hours.
“I’m gonna take a walk,” I tell Phoenix. I can do with taking some time to think. “Make sure that fucking cat is gone by the time I get back,” I scowl as I head for the door.
“You love pussy!” Phoenix shouts after me.
“Not the four-legged kind,” I fire back as I step outside. He’s laughing as the door shuts.
As I cross the street, a woman from the florist opposite the shop waves to me. She’s about to head over, but I give her a quick chin tip and hurry on.
I fucked her about six months ago, which was a mistake. I’m not interested in doing it again.
There is nowhere I need to be right now. It wasn’t in my plans to go wandering the streets of Baltimore, but I gotta admit, it’s nice out.
As I approach the bookstore on the corner, I slow down and glance at the display in the window. It’s one of those places that go literal when dressing their window. Occasionally, I notice but usually I’m on my bike when I pass, so don’t always see it.
Katja talks about it all the time. She’s a big reader and comes here a lot during her breaks.
The window dressing only started a few months ago, even though the store has been here for years. It’s nautical themed this month. Half a rowboat with oars balancing on the sides sticks out from the left side of the window. Blue and green blankets make up the sea with white stuffing to create waves. Someone has painted a backdrop with a lighthouse too.
There are life preservers and fishing nets hanging from the ceiling, with fake fish caught in them, together with several books. Moby Dick, The Odyssey, The Life of Pi, and some others I’ve never heard of. They haven’t forgotten the kids either, with The Little Mermaid and Boo, A Fishy Mystery , between the sheets.
A grin stretches my lips when I see Jaws peeking out of the blanket waves. Creativity in all its forms fascinates me, and I appreciate the effort that went into this.
Heading around the corner, I’m in a better mood. Maybe I should do what Phoenix says and start being less of a grumpy bastard. Treating them all to lunch is one way of doing it.
Across the street there is a coffee house, I can grab some food there. I’m about to cross, my mind going back to the damn cat in my shop, when someone shouts.
“Watch out!”
I’m half off the sidewalk into the road when I see a bicycle, its rider trying to swerve around me. There is no avoiding a collision. A car is turning onto the road. If the bike goes in that direction, it will be right into the path of the car.
I don’t think, I act. Knowing full well this is going to hurt, I brace myself for the impact.
Grabbing the bar between the handlebars, I drag it back in my direction and take a few steps backward, holding onto the bike to stop it. The horn blares and the driver yells out of the window, but the car doesn’t stop.
The woman drops her feet to the ground to keep the bike steady, shrieking as her forward momentum has her chest hitting the handlebars. Just when I think we’re going to be okay, I lose my footing, hitting the edge of the sidewalk with the back of my heel and I go down. The bike, and its rider, coming with me, because I haven’t let go of the fucking thing.
Trying to swivel, I push the bike back and drop heavily on my side, onto the unforgiving sidewalk, and grunt in pain. The rider half leaps, half hops over the seat, in some weird athletic movement. She doesn’t stop the actual bike landing on top of me, as she drops to her hands and knees beside me, crying out in pain as she hits the concrete.
“Fuck,” I groan out. Fortunately, I didn’t hit my goddamn head, but I’ve landed on my arm funny. Pain radiates up my elbow, making me wince.
“You stepped out in front of me. I couldn’t stop. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
I tilt my head as the woman turns and sits down. She’s wearing a denim skirt, so the blood running down both of her shins from the cuts on her knees is visible. Concern takes over my anger. This was my fault for not paying attention.
People are coming over to make sure we’re okay. Sitting up, I grip my elbow, hoping like fucking hell it’s not broken. That was embarrassing as shit. If I hadn’t hit the sidewalk with the back of my heel, I would have prevented her going in front of the car and stopped the bike from colliding with me.
I owe this woman an apology. Our eyes meet and lock, and I groan for an entirely different reason.
Calli.
She’s staring back, her eyes wide and her lips part as she recognizes me.
I don’t know what it is about her, but I’m suddenly irrationally angry. She isn’t wearing a damn helmet. The thought of that drives me crazy. If she’d gone in front of that car without a helmet, she could be dead.
And it would be my fault. Why the fuck is she not wearing a helmet?
People crouch down around us, some attempting to care for Calli, others looking over at me like I’m the villain. It’s a bad idea to lay into her for not taking care of her safety. When she winces, I glare at the man who is dabbing at her knee. She brushes him away, saying it’s fine, then lifts her hips to make sure her skirt is pulled down, clamping her legs together.
I almost get up and punch the fucker for staring at her legs. She’s hurt. Damn it.
Someone moves the bike, and I roll up onto my knees, then get to my feet, cradling my elbow. It’s really fucking painful, but it’s the least of my worries.
“You need an ambulance,” a woman says.
“No, really, it’s not that bad.” Calli drags her eyes from me to the woman beside her. “It’s a few grazes. I’m fine.”
She starts to get up, and without thinking, I reach out and take her hand. Fortunately, it’s with my good arm. Calli presses her palm into mine and I help her to her feet, grimacing at her torn and bloody knees.
Wearing a skirt to ride a bike. Another stupid choice. Fuck . Stop it, you idiot.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“I’m fine. It’s a few scratches.”
Her cheeks flush, she’s embarrassed. Her eyes are downcast so she can’t see all the people staring at her. They’re all hovering, and I wave off any more suggestions of calling an ambulance. We have a first aid kit at the shop. I suggest to her we go there.
Calli’s eyes lift in surprise. Guess she didn’t think I cared. Which makes me feel like a shit head. As people disperse, I bend down to pick up her bike.
“Ah fuck,” I grunt, pulling my arm back.
“You’re hurt,” Calli hurries over and takes the bike out of my hands.
“It’s nothing.”
“Don’t say that. I already see the bruising.”
She’s right, and I’m bleeding too. “I’m more worried about you,” I nod at her hands. Her palms are bloody and cut.
“Oh man,” she winces, as if the pain is finally registering.
I grab the bike from her. “Let’s go get this cleaned up.”
“You don’t have to, my work is over there,” she points a few stores down to the coffee shop.
It is closer, but a sudden possessiveness and need to make sure she is alright takes over. I can deal with it better at my shop.
“Don’t argue,” I say.
A fire enters her eyes, like she is about to tell me to go to hell, but I do the childish thing and walk off with her bike. It leaves her no choice but to follow me. She’s limping, so I slow down. As she catches up, I run my eyes over her again.
“Did you hit anywhere else? Your head?” I ask.
She shakes it and frowns at my elbow. “What about you?”
“I’ve been hurt worse.”
“Really?”
I grunt in response. I’m not about to fill her in on my time in the army, or the fights I’ve gotten into over the years. Guess Calli gets the picture because she stays quiet. We’re careful crossing the street and Calli rushes forward to hold the door open so I can get the bike inside.
“Oh my God, what happened?” Katja comes out from behind the counter when she sees us. “Are you alright?”
“It was a slight accident,” Calli tells her, embarrassment staining her cheeks again.
I set the bike against the wall, gritting my teeth as another arrow shoots up my arm. “Kat, grab the first aid kit.” She nods and ducks under the counter.
“I’m fine,” Calli says.
“Come with me,” I tell her. She frowns and is about to protest, but Katja passes me the first aid box. I mean, it wasn’t a demand. I’m trying to help her. “Please, let me get you get cleaned up.”
Calli’s eyes widen. That hits home a little too hard. She’s surprised I’m being kind. Fuck. To counteract that, I turn my back on her and walk away.
“Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need a hospital?” Katja asks.
“No, it’s a few scrapes, honestly. I’ll get it cleaned up, then be good as new.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
I stop short and glance at Shane. He is bent over his table, with the woman from earlier. With her huge cat on her chest. I swear to fucking Christ.
“Is that a cat?” Calli asks, coming to a stop behind me.
My nostrils flare. If I didn’t have to deal with her injuries, I’d be losing my shit right now. I bet Lucky told cat lady they didn’t need to stay in back the minute I was gone.
“Everything okay?” Shane asks. His face is pensive as he glances at the cat, then back to us.
“Get it done,” I tell him. I don’t need to add and get that fucking cat out of here. He knows we’ll be having words when she’s gone.
“Almost finished.” He turns away and gets back to the tattoo.
The damn cat is staring, as if challenging me. When I look at Calli, there is amusement shining in her eyes. It turns to pain, and she winces, reminding me why she’s here. She follows me into the back room, and I set the first aid kit down on the counter and point to the table.
“I can do it,” she steps inside.
“Can you just let me? I have medical training.”
“You do?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. Public safety is a priority here.”
I’ve surprised her again. She walks over to the table and carefully gets on it, wincing when her palms touch the leather.
“Careful,” I say, gentling my tone a little.
Calli inspects her palms, then leans forward and looks at her knees. I busy myself at the sink, getting what I need from the first aid box, washing my hands and wetting some paper towels. It doesn’t register in my head I’m going to touch her until I’m standing in front of her holding out a hand.
Slowly, she puts one of her palms in mine. Her skin is warm, and this close I smell the subtle hint of cherry blossoms.
I clean her palms. She’s as stoic as she can be, wincing a little and biting her bottom lip. I focus on the wound, not those teeth dragging across her lip.
Once both palms are cleaned, and ointment applied, I wrap bandages around them. Calli objects, but I tell her she can take them off in a couple of hours. The cuts need to stay clean for now and band aids won’t stick to her palm. Then I move onto her knees.
I drop to my knees instead of bending down, my back and arm are starting to hurt more. The painful throbbing in my elbow worries me.
“I’m sorry about hitting you.”
“It was my fault, I stepped off the sidewalk without looking. I’m lucky it was a bike and not that car that came around the corner.”
She quietens as I finish up dealing with the cuts and grazes on her legs, trying not to focus too much on how smooth her skin is, and how up close and personal I’m getting to her lower half. Or the goosebumps that rise on her skin where I’m touching her.
Once I’m done, I use the table beside her to haul myself up and my arm buckles.
“Garrett,” her eyes widen.
I think that is the first time I’ve heard her say my name, and fuck it sounds good. But the moment is lost to the shooting pain in my elbow.
Calli looks horrified as she hops off the table and stands to my side, reaching out to touch my arm.
“It’s swelling up. You should have said something.”
Before I can protest, she is into the first aid bag. “I need ice,” she whirls back to face me.
“It’s fine don’t worry.”
“It’s not fine. Have you seen it?”
I turn to the mirror and get my first glimpse. Shit. The bruising is getting darker, and she’s right, the elbow joint is swollen. Before I say anything, she is dashing out of the room.
When she returns, she has ice, and Lucky in tow.
“Oh God, Garrett.”
“Did you need to bring her?” I ask Calli.
“She’s worried,” Calli says, coming at me with a towel. She presses it carefully to my arm, making me wince. “Sorry,” she mutters, but holds it against my elbow.
The ice makes me shiver but the effect of it is soothing. Lucky is rooting around in the first aid bag and comes up with some painkillers and a glass of water. Together they force me onto the table, despite my protests. It’s best not to argue when there are two of them ganging up on me.
I’ve had worse injuries, but fuck, this is painful.
“Here, move this out of the way a second.”
Lucky takes the towel of ice from Calli and steps back as Calli uses a paper towel to dry off my arm. She opens a tube of Arnica cream and applies it to the joint and bruising.
“I’m not a doctor so I don’t want to move it, but I think you need to get this x-rayed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“The ice and painkillers will sort it out.”
“Can you move it?” Calli folds her arms, acting like the one in control here. This is my shop, my arm.
“She’s right, Garrett. I think you need the hospital.” Worry is written all over Lucky’s face.
“I’m still mad at you about that cat,” I tell her.
“Screw the cat. If you don’t get this checked out, you might not be able to tattoo.”
“What’s going on?”
Great, now Phoenix is here too. He barges in and makes a face when he sees my arm. “Was he a hero or an asshole, I’m getting conflicting stories.”
“From where?”
“Couple of people have come in to check on you, said they saw you get knocked on your ass by a push bike,” he grins.
“Shut up, dickhead,” I mutter. They might be right. As they bicker and Calli apologizes again, I try to move my arm. “Ah, fuck,” I groan.
“That’s it,” Calli all but stomps her foot. “You need an x-ray. I’ll go get my car, unless anyone else has one?” she looks around. Lucky doesn’t drive and Phoenix only has a motorcycle.
“I have a car,” I say. “I can drive myself.”
“You can’t drive yourself,” Calli tells me.
“You’re not driving my car, and neither of these assholes know how.”
“There is gratitude for you,” Lucky mutters. “Garrett, I love you, but stop being a prick.”
“Yeah, dude, go get it looked at. We can’t shut up the shop, we have clients. Harris will be here soon and if I don’t see him today, it’ll be months before he can come back. I’m not putting him in that position. Just stop being you and go get it checked.”
“Fuck… Re-arrange my appointment,” I tell Lucky. Even if I don’t go to the hospital, I can’t possibly do that tattoo today.
Calli cocks her head, waiting for me to say something. I stare between the three of them with their varying degrees of concern, annoyance and judgment. Fuck.
“Fine, we can take my car.”
Calli inexplicably smiles. I get caught up in that smile. Jesus, she’s stunning. Not the time, my elbow kindly reminds me.
“Let’s go,” I push off the table and walk out of the room.
“The bear with a sore head has a sore arm,” I hear Lucky whisper, not so subtly.
They care. The question is, why does Calli, when I’m the one who caused the accident?