Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Declan
My burning need to see Emery again dials down to a slow simmer while I work. It never really goes away. But it’s manageable. Barely.
The shop hums around me—Lucy’s angst-filled playlist, buzzing machines, the occasional ring of the phone. Normally, it’s all background noise, but today I pick up on everything, waiting to hear Emery’s voice.
Focus, fucker.
I finish up the shading on the wolf skull I’m inking into this guy’s shoulder. He’s had about enough for the day and can’t stop flinching every two seconds. Christ, I inked a set of angel wings on a young woman’s back this morning and she didn’t complain or fidget once.
When I’m done, I give him the aftercare instructions and walk him to the front counter where Lucy can finish the transaction. I’m all peopled out and have no more small talk left to give.
Except for Emery. Although, nothing we talk about feels small. Hell, I’d give anything to listen to her tell me interesting facts about crows right now.
I check my watch and then my phone.
No more messages from Emery.
“Deck!” Fingers snap in front of my face. “Declan? Big D, you in there?” Lucy shouts.
I flick my gaze to the ceiling, pray for patience, and aim my glare at her. “What?”
She nods to my client. “He wants to book another appointment.”
I force a polite, customer service smile onto my face—although it damn near fractures my cheekbones to do it—and flip through my calendar.
“How long are you in town?” I ask.
“Oh, I’ll come back whenever you’re available.” He tucks his chin. “You’re the only one doing my ink.”
A more genuine smile curves my lips. “Appreciate that. We’ve got the whole Season’s Creepings festival to get through,” I mutter, flicking through the pages of the calendar on the front desk. After I’m done with the Slayride, I want to take a few days off.
Maybe Emery will still be here.
I really need to stop thinking like that. She’s not mine to keep.
We get the guy scheduled for another appointment and he finally leaves. I blow out a tired breath and lean my hip against the counter.
“You got any more appointments?” I ask Lucy.
“Yup. Gonna pierce some titties.” She grabs her breasts and shakes her hips in a ridiculously unprofessional little dance she likes to do every time someone books a nipple piercing.
“Seriously?” I level her with a stern stare.
“Oh, settle down Declan Downer. Aren’t I always professional with my clients?”
“Yes,” I grind out. “Doesn’t mean I need to be subjected to your happy titties dance.”
She snort-giggles and reaches up to pat my cheek. “Awww, you’re so cute when you try to be all stern and stuff.”
The bell over the front door jingles and cold air rushes inside.
“I, uh, am I interrupting?” Emery’s voice is hesitant.
I swat Lucy’s hand away from my cheek.
Then I swing my gaze toward Emery.
She’s hanging her coat on a hook by the door, then turns and I practically swallow my tongue.
Red sweaterdress that hugs every curve. Long sleeves and a high neck but short enough to show off her long legs covered in red, black, and gold plaid tights and tall Docs. Hair shining and loose over her shoulders.
“Does she need any piercings?” Lucy mutters.
“No,” I growl.
And if she does, I’ll be the one to do them.
Emery seems hesitant, her gaze flicking all over the shop before landing on me again. She lifts one hand in an attempt at a wave. “Hi, Lucy. Nice to see you again.”
My heart squeezes at Emery’s attempt to befriend Lucy.
I cross the short distance between us and curl my hand over Emery’s hip, dragging her closer without even thinking about it.
She glances up with startled eyes and a slight hesitation to her smile.
“How’d you know red’s my favorite color?”
Pink blooms over her cheeks. “I didn’t.”
I run my gaze over her again, stopping at her hands. I let out a quick sigh of relief. She went for a manicure today instead of stirring up the town’s ghosts. “Get your nails done?”
The pink on her cheeks deepens. “Well, yeah. There’s that little shop—”
“Nailed It! Yup, I know the owner.”
Her forehead wrinkles into a slight scowl. Is she…jealous? And if she is, why do I like it so much? Making women jealous isn’t my style.
“Nora. She’s on the planning committee for the Slayride I told you about,” I explain.
Emery nods, but her gaze keeps skittering around like she’s not sure she should be here.
Something tightens behind my ribs.
“Hey,” I murmur, sliding my hand from her hip to her lower back. “Come here.”
Behind us, Lucy’s still loitering, pretending she needs to organize the same stack of appointment cards she’s already rearranged five times today.
Emery tilts her head and peers up at me. “Can I see where you work your magic?”
“Hell yeah.” I rest my hand on her lower back and steer her toward my room.
Lucy clears her throat. Loudly.
I stop at the front desk and lift an eyebrow. “You trying to hack up a lung, Lucy?”
“I’m just admiring the aesthetic,” Lucy says, leaning over the counter, her chin resting in her hands. She grins at Emery. “Killer tights. Very ‘schoolgirl goes punk.’ I like the vibe.”
I grit my teeth, but Emery laughs and steps to the side, tugging her dress up a few inches to show off the tights. “Thanks! Aren’t they cute? They’re thick too, so my legs aren’t freezing.”
“Nice,” Lucy answers.
Emery moves closer to the front desk and the two of them start excitedly chattering about their favorite stores. Emery pulls out her phone to show Lucy where she ordered the tights from.
I stand back, enjoying their back and forth.
Lucy laughs, her genuine high-pitched snort-giggle. “All right, I’ll let Declan give you the tour before he has a stroke. Just look at him. So intense and broody.” She wiggles her fingers in my direction. “Settle down, let the woman have a second to breathe.”
Heat climbs up the back of my neck. Even when I’m enjoying the conversation, apparently I suffer from resting asshole face.
Emery reaches up and cups my cheek. “I like broody. It looks good on him.”
Lucy’s bright smile softens and she nods at Emery. Her subtle signal that she approves.
“Okay, that’s enough.” I rest my hand on Emery’s hip again. A spark shoots up my arm and wraps around my chest. She must feel it too. Her body jolts and she flicks her gaze up to mine. “Do not disturb unless the building is on fire,” I say to Lucy. “Even then text me first.”
Lucy salutes us with two fingers. “Aye aye, Captain Broody.”
As I steer Emery past the counter, I glance down. She’s biting her lip to hide a smile.
The door to my workroom’s open. Unless the client wants privacy, I usually leave it that way.
Today, I close it. It’s a large room. I could easily fit another chair in here and hire another artist. But I like the space. My sanctuary. My rules.
“Lucy’s a riot,” Emery says, all edge gone from her voice.
“She’s a menace,” I correct with a fond smile. “But I think she likes you. And Lucy never approves of anyone I…doesn’t like many people.”
Emery’s lips twist with wry amusement as if she caught that I was originally going to say Lucy doesn’t approve of anyone I date.
“I like her too. Under all the barbs, it’s obvious she cares about you.”
Now that we’re alone, the air between us seems to change. The quick quips evaporate, leaving only the thick magnetic pull I feel whenever Emery’s close.
I show her my sketches and some photos of tattoos I’ve done. Answer her questions about every aspect of the process. She’s relaxed and leaning against the long counter that runs the entire length of one wall.
I grip her waist and boost her up on the counter with a smooth, practiced motion I’ve never used on anyone else. She squeals and laughs, then settles.
“Um, this is reminding me of the night at your house.” She ducks her head and runs her palms over her thighs, tugging the hem of her dress down.
“Good, because I’ve been thinking about it and every other moment with you all day long.”
She rests her hands on my shoulders, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. I lean in until my forehead brushes hers.
“Declan,” she whispers, breath feathering my lips. There’s that hesitation again. A shadow behind her eyes I can’t name.
“What else did you do today?”
She frowns and drops her gaze, then offers a slight shrug. “Not much. Called Wren. Gorged myself on Mrs. Applewood’s amazing baked goods. Washed my hair.”
“It looks very pretty. And shiny.” God, I sound like an idiot.
She lifts her chin, whatever hesitation she seemed to have fading. “I thought about you. A lot.”
My heart stutters. “I thought about you too.”
I slide my hands along her thighs, pushing her dress up, and step between her knees.
She lifts her gaze. “Kiss me.”
“You sure?” My voice drops, rough and too honest. “Because once I start, I’m not stopping at just one.”
Her breath catches and she leans up, draping her arms around my neck. “I’m sure.”
That’s all I need.
I cover her mouth with mine—slow at first, testing, savoring the soft give of her lips.
She sighs into me, her whole body melting forward.
Every thought I had about keeping some distance or holding onto my control goes up in smoke.
I deepen the kiss, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her hip to keep her anchored on the counter.
She tastes like cold air and the sweetness I’ve been craving since we parted ways this morning.
The faint jingle of the front door opening and Lucy’s voice welcoming her client filters in through my closed door. Emery pulls away.
“You shouldn’t be doing this at work, should you?” she whispers.
“I own the place,” I murmur against her mouth. “I can do whatever I want.”
She smiles—small, breathless, and slightly dazed. My favorite look on her. Her gaze flicks past my shoulder, toward the closed door, breaking the spell and allowing the real world to sneak back in.
A burst of Lucy’s laughter echoes through the shop, followed by the client’s loud voice.
Emery winces. “You’ve got customers here.”
Fair point.
I rest my forehead against hers, to catch my breath and get my pulse under control. Hell, I’m trying to remember what normal conversation sounds like.
“Come on,” I say, brushing my thumb over her hip. “If we stay in here any longer, Lucy might invent a reason to ‘accidentally’ barge in.”
She chuckles and I help her off the counter, my hands lingering at her waist longer than necessary. Her boots hit the floor, and she tilts her head back, still pink-cheeked and a bit shy around the edges.
“What now?” she asks.
I open the door for her. “Let’s go before I commit more HR violations in my own shop.”
She laughs even louder and follows me out to the front desk. “Where to?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Town square. They’re setting up more decorations for the Slayride event. Figured you might want to see it. Record some behind-the-scenes footage of our small-town spooky charm.”
She beams as if she’s pleased I remembered her assignment. What brought her to Crowsbridge Hollow in the first place.
The Slayride is harmless. Packed with people. No shadows deep enough for the Rider to slip through.
If I keep her wrapped up in all the festival chaos, she’ll be safe until she leaves.
What happens after is a problem I haven’t solved yet.