Epilogue
Declan
Eight months later…
The stencil paper crinkles under my thumb as I peel it back and press it against Emery’s inner forearm.
She’s sitting in my chair with her chin tipped down, watching my every movement.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I smooth the stencil again, wanting everything lined up right. Perfect for her. “I just want it placed correctly.”
“It’s a crow. He can be a little crooked.”
“You obviously haven’t dealt with a lot of moody artists,” I murmur. “We’re a meticulous sub-set of creatives.”
She laughs, her body rippling with the movement.
“Stay still,” I warn.
“I guess you’re right.” She tilts her head and taps her chin. “You’ll have to look at it every day. And knowing you, if you perceive any mistakes, you’ll obsess over them endlessly.”
“Great. New fear unlocked.” I flick my gaze up to hers. “Thanks.”
This was a mistake.
I’m friends with plenty of talented artists. I could’ve asked any one of them to do this piece for Emery. But then someone else would be touching her skin. I’d lose my mind, fantasize about murder, and end up doing the ink anyway.
“You’re sure about the placement?” I ask her for the thousandth time this week. “This is a sensitive spot.” I trace one finger from her elbow to pulse point. “It won’t tickle.”
Jaw set in a brave line, she nods once. “I’m sure.”
A few hours later, the steady drone of the needle fills the room.
Emery’s still in my chair. Her body’s tight with tension, like it’s taking all her strength to sit still and not squirm.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” I praise. “I’m proud of you.”
“You probably say that to all your customers,” she grits out.
“I really don’t.” I’m quiet while I shade one of the feathers. “Honestly, you’re taking this better than seventy-five percent of my male clients do.”
“Seventy-five, huh?” she scoffs, then winces. “Awfully specific.”
“It’s true.” I lift the needle for a second, giving her a break. “You good?”
She blows out a sharp exhale. “Just ducky. Feels like a swarm of angry bees throwing a rave on my arm.”
I chuckle low in my throat. “Breathe through it. We’re almost done for today.”
Her eyes flick to mine, her special brand of dry humor sparking in her eyes. “Easy for you to say.” She drops her gaze to my crotch. “Since you’re more familiar with body modifications.”
My lips twist into a smirk. “If you continue to be a good girl, I’ll let you explore every single one of them any way you want tonight.”
She purses her lips and gives me a playful eye roll. “Let’s be honest, you’re going to let me ride you like a roller coaster no matter what.”
I choke on a laugh. “True.
“All right.” I start again, wipe the excess ink and keep going. As much as I enjoy joking around with her, every wince she makes carves out a hole in my chest. I’d do anything to take on this pain for her.
“Distract me.” She shifts in the seat and hisses. “Remind me that I chose this torture because I’m celebrating—”
“Five million views, baby.”
“Five million on part one,” she corrects. “The last three episodes haven’t quite caught up yet.”
I’d pull out my phone and read her stats to her but I’m so close to finishing this bird’s beak. “They all have a couple mil each. Don’t downplay your success. Your subscribers exploded and your other videos are all climbing too.” Pride swells in me. She’s built this while staying true to herself.
By the time I finish, she’s sweating and breathing hard. “All right. Done for now.” I push my stool back a few inches. “We can always add the branch and flowers later.”
“When I get amnesia about how much this hurt?”
“Yup.” I clean her up and bandage her arm with the clear, medical-grade adhesive bandages I always use on my clients. “This acts like a protective second skin. It’ll keep germs out and allow the oxygen in to help it heal.”
She twists her arm, studying the design. “It looks so red and angry.”
“It is right now. It’ll settle.” I gesture to the bandage without touching her. “I want you to leave this on for at least five days.”
“But I live with this amazing, very knowledgeable man who knows all about tattoo aftercare.” Her lips curve into a coy smile. “I’m sure he’ll take care of it for me.”
I lean down and brush a kiss against her inner wrist. “Damn right I will.”
“I can’t wait to show Wren when she gets here.” Emery stares at her arm as she sits up and swings her legs over the side of the chair.
Twisting my wrist, I glance at my watch. “She should be here soon, right? Finished just in time.”
“Yup. I can’t wait for her to see all the changes we’ve made at the house.” She beams at me.
Sterling House isn’t a shadowy relic anymore. Emery’s touch is everywhere—brighter lighting, refinished floors that don’t creak in protest, plants lining the windowsills. The walls are drenched in color now, layered with art and personal pieces that blend into my family’s history seamlessly.
Emery didn’t come in and erase the past. She helped me stop it from dominating each room.
Her enthusiasm for making the space ours has been contagious. I reclaimed what used to be my father’s workroom and turned it into my art room. Together, we carved out a space for Emery—a quiet, dedicated studio where she can work on her videos whenever she wants.
For the first time, the place doesn’t feel like a burden I inherited.
Someone knocks on the door to my room. Most likely Lucy. I shout for her to come in.
The door swings wide and she stands there with an approving smile. “I didn’t hear a single scream. How’d you do, Em?”
Emery jumps up and hurries to show Lucy my work.
Lucy studies it closely, her lips twitching with amusement. “I’d love to pick it apart just to mess with D, but it really is flawless work.”
Emery’s eyes narrow just slightly. While she’s gotten close to Lucy, she’s protective of me and my art.
Lucy follows us out into the rest of the shop. “Wren’s coming today, right?” Lucy asks casually. “Is she meeting you guys here or at the house?”
“Here,” Emery says, casting a sly glance my way. “We’re going to take her to dinner at Hollow Hearth. Do you want to join us?”
Emery’s convinced Lucy and Wren are sweet on each other.
“Uh, sure.” Lucy shrugs. “If I’m not intruding?”
“Not at all.” Emery reaches out and squeezes Lucy’s shoulder. “You’re always welcome.”
Outside, the sidewalk radiates with late summer heat. The afternoon sun brightens Main Street, glinting off shop windows. Emery tips her head back, staring at the sky.
Halloween decorations line the street, including a twelve-foot skeleton statue in the town square that the crows have already turned into their own personal bird house.
“Crowsbridge Hollow breaks out the Halloween decorations early. The kids haven’t even gone back to school yet, but the town’s gearing up for another season of costumes, tourists, and spooky tales of half-remembered legends,” Emery says.
“I better write that down. That might be a good intro.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out her small purple notebook where she jots down ideas as soon as they pop into her head.
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Are you doing another series?”
“No, I told Mrs. Applewood and Mr. Baxter I’d film a quick feature on the town for tourist season.”
“That was nice of you,” I say carefully. Emery’s formed a working relationship with the town board—well, working isn’t quite the right word, she does it for free. As if she hasn’t done enough for the town.
But it makes her happy and that’s the only thing that matters to me. She’s embraced Crowsbridge Hollow as her home, and the town treats her like she’s always belonged.
“And,” she continues with a wide, devious grin playing over her lips. “We’re getting together tomorrow to nail down my Valloween idea.”
“You’re kidding.” I let out a playful groan. Emery’s more than excited about the possibility of extending spooky season all the way to Valentine’s Day.
“Nope.” She lifts her chin. “Mrs. Applewood wants me to present it at the next town board meeting.”
“I don’t think you’ll have any problem getting approval.”
Emery stops and glances at her arm, flexing her fingers, testing the movement, as if she’s cataloging how the art fits onto her body. She lifts her gaze to mine. “I really love it. Thank you.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever put ink into the skin of someone I love. A mark she chose. One that ties us together for the rest of our lives. Not because of the ink. We chose each other long before the needle ever touched her skin.