Chapter 31
Declan
“Christ almighty,” Pops curses. He scowls at me where I sit hunched over his lower leg, putting the finishing touches on his tattoo. I hadn’t expected him to actually follow through on it, even after he called me Monday to see if I had any gaps in my schedule this week to fit him in.
“I expected better from you, old man.” I shake my head in fake disappointment, taking a moment to wipe the excess ink from his skin. “Thought you were tougher than this.”
“Not all of us are masochists like you,” he grumbles, eyeing my tattooed forearms. “You’ve got so many you probably don’t even feel the needle anymore.”
“Oh, I feel it,” I assure him. “I’m just not as delicate as you are.”
“Delicate!” Pops barks. “You hear that?” he says, turning to Sean, who’s working on a small design on the inside of his client’s wrist. I’m pretty sure she’s asleep in the chair, which is absolutely insane, even by my standards.
Despite Pops’ assumptions, I very much still feel the needle each time I get some new ink.
It’s gotten easier over the years, sure, but you won’t find me nodding off in the chair while someone’s jabbing a needle into my skin repeatedly.
“He thinks I’m delicate,” Pops scoffs.
“One time Declan had to take a break and walk around the block in the middle of getting a tattoo,” Sean says, lowering his voice as if I can’t still hear him.
“Hey,” I protest. “That was a big fucking tattoo.”
“Language, son,” Pops scolds. As if he hasn’t heard at least thirty-five curse words since sitting down in my chair an hour and a half ago.
I’d taken a longer lunch break than usual this afternoon to show my mother and grandparents the shop and my apartment, then we took a walk around town.
We’d split ways after that, Pops and I heading back to the shop to get his new ink while Sasha and Gran went for coffee and to look around the souvenir shops.
Gran wants to pick up some gifts for her friends back home in Virginia.
“Has your family met Elsie yet?” Maya asks on her way past my station. She has a lull in customers so she’s doing some housekeeping, sweeping the floor and wiping down the front desk area.
“Elsie,” Pops repeats, studying my face. I can feel his gaze on me, though I don’t look up. I’m almost finished with shading, the final touch on his pinup design. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“She owns the shop next door,” Sean supplies helpfully, tipping his head toward the big window across the room.
We all look over, watching as Elsie and Noah work side-by-side at the big table near the window.
Elsie makes quick work snipping stems before handing them over to Noah, who’s arranging a bunch of white and pink blooms into a bouquet.
“The one you went on the date with,” Pops says, snapping his fingers. “I almost forgot. Hey, how did it go?”
“Fine,” I lie.
It was a hell of a lot better than fine, but I don’t think my grandfather needs to hear that we spent the entire afternoon and early evening with my cock buried inside her.
What started as rough, frantic fucking turned to slow, lazy sex by dinnertime.
For dinner we ate leftovers from our picnic in bed while we watched some romcom from the nineties I already forgot the name of.
It was fucking perfect.
“Fine,” Maya mocks, rolling her eyes. “They’ve been making moon eyes at each other ever since. They’re so sweet, I’m going to get a cavity if I have to keep watching them.”
She’s being dramatic. I think everyone had just gotten so used to us being at each other’s throats – or more accurately, Elsie being at my throat while I took whatever attention she deemed to give me – that us being, well, normal is throwing everyone off.
Although normal is the last thing I feel. I woke up early on Monday and realized I hadn’t asked her for a second date before leaving her house. I fucking panicked, worrying that she’d think my goal was to get into her pants and now that I’d succeeded, I didn’t want to go on another date.
I’ll take whatever orgasms she wants to dole out, but I just want her. In ways that defy logic and are borderline insane after only going on one date. In ways that I’ve never wanted anyone else before.
It’s hard to look at Elsie and not picture what she’d look like with my ring on her finger. And that is a topic of discussion for my next therapy appointment, because what the fuck?
I didn’t say any of that to Elsie when I finally called her at 8 a.m. the morning after our date. It was a work day for her, so I knew she’d be up. Definitely wasn’t expecting a call from me that early, though, judging by the surprise in her voice when she picked up.
“Declan,” she said, skipping right over ‘hello.’ “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I laughed, though it was forced and awkward. “Sorry, I know it’s early. I didn’t mean to –”
“It’s okay,” she cut me off. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay first. What’s up?”
I took a deep breath, wondering when the fuck I turned into someone who gets nervous to ask a woman out.
Or when I turned into someone who actually asks a woman out.
The thing is – it’s not just any woman. It’s Elsie. She’s not just some woman, she’s the woman. The only one now, and fuck, maybe the only one ever.
Goddammit, I’m a goner.
“I didn’t ask you out again before I left your house last night. I should have.”
Elsie laughed and the sound was like windchimes over the phone. I wanted to bottle it up and listen to it again and again. “Was there a question in there?” she teased.
“I’m getting there.” I grinned, wishing she could see it. Wishing she was there to witness how happy she makes me. “Will you go out with me again?”
“Of course I will,” she said softly. “Declan, I… this… well.” She paused, and I waited for her to continue.
She didn’t.
“Yeah?” I prodded.
“What I’m trying to say is – you’ve got a date with me anytime you want one.”
Her words were a balm to my frayed nerves. She didn’t say it outright, but I took it for what it was – Elsie telling me that she’s as all in on this as I am.
Which is good, because she just might be the only thing I’ve ever been sure about in my entire life.
Around lunchtime on Tuesday, I stopped by to see Elsie during her lunch break and found her eating pad thai at the tiny table in the break room.
I sat on the couch and talked with her and Noah for a bit, though what I really wanted to do was grab Elsie by the hand and drag her out back so I could kiss her properly.
I was only halfway out the break room door, headed back for my next appointment, when I heard Noah demand, “What was that all about?”
By the end of that day, I could tell that the gossip mill had reached him. He popped over to our shop to drop off a package that had ended up on their doorstep – we really needed to talk with the postmaster and make sure they know which door is whose – and the knowing look he gave me spoke volumes.
If Elsie hadn’t filled him in, someone else had. Apparently, the people who were at the park during our date are a bunch of nosy busybodies, because word spread through town quickly. It’s been mentioned to me by at least five customers since then.
Noah was heading back through the door between our shops when he called over his shoulder, “It’s about freaking time!”
I could only laugh when the assholes I work with voiced their agreement.
It’s Wednesday now and I haven’t talked to Elsie yet today, though she gave me a quick wave when she noticed me staring earlier this afternoon. Ty had stopped by to visit her and the sound of her pealing laughter kept drawing my attention to the glass separating us.
“Are you going to go out again?” Pops asks. He’s been hanging out with Gran and my mom for too long. He’s normally the one who leaves me alone about these things.
“Yeah,” I tell him, leaving it at that. We haven’t made plans yet, not since our conversation on Monday, but only because my family has kept me busy this week.
On Monday we spent my day off sightseeing around the town, and Tuesday after work I somehow got roped into going to late-night bingo with Gran and one of her friends from Portland.
She didn’t win anything, but she did enjoy the free pitchers of sangria that littered every table.
The sound of the shop door opening has me looking up to see Sasha and Gran sauntering through the door with an array of shopping bags dangling from their wrists.
Normally it’s so loud in here with music thumping and everybody practically yelling to be heard over it that we’d never hear someone walking in, but it only took one complaint from Pops for Sean to turn down the volume.
“Are you done defiling my husband yet?” Gran calls out.
“Almost,” I tell her. Frankie chats with them while I take a few minutes to finish up and get him cleaned up.
“Do you want to see it before I cover it?” I ask Gran.
“Oh, I might as well,” she says, feigning indifference. The way she hurries across the room gives her away, though. When Pops holds his leg out for her to see, she can’t quite hide her pleased smile, or the way her cheeks tint slightly.
“Look at that beauty,” Pops says, nudging her elbow with his. “She’s a real looker, eh?”
“She’s something,” Gran laughs. She gets a faraway look on her face as she examines my work, comparing it to the photo of her that Pops wanted me to use for reference. “Feels like a lifetime ago,” she murmurs.
Pops’ face softens as he looks at his wife of more than fifty years. It’s not the pinup version of her from decades ago that he can’t quit looking at – it’s the woman standing next to him, with her gray hair, wrinkles and all.
“Time flies when you’re having fun like we have been.” Pops reaches over to squeeze her hand. “And you’re still as beautiful today as you were the day we met. Even more beautiful, I think.”
A choked sob comes from behind us and we all turn to see Frankie at the front desk, blotting her eyes with a tissue. “I’m too pregnant for this,” she whines. “You guys need to get out of here.”