7. Holly
HOLLY
I press my back up against the door, my heart racing, breathing hard. Do I really have a hot tattoo artist on my front step, asking me out for a drink? Unless I imagined the last couple of minutes, it certainly seems that way.
But what about the woman who’d been working at the studio? Hadn’t I suspected they’re dating? Maybe I got it wrong. It’s definitely something I’ll need to ask him. I’m never going to be the other woman. Especially not after what happened with Mike.
Kane has caught me unexpectedly. I already changed when I arrived home, but now I fly up to the bathroom, to rake my fingers through my hair so it doesn’t look like such a tangled mess, and throw on some extra makeup.
I wish he’d given me more time, but this feels like it isn’t really happening, and if I ask to rearrange, I know I’ll either never find the time to meet him or he’ll change his mind.
I don’t normally do this kind of thing, but maybe the new tattoo has made me a little braver, a little more dangerous.
I slip my feet into some sandals and pull down a cardigan from the back of my bedroom door. We’re nearing the end of summer, but it’s still warm outside. Only once the sun goes down can you tell autumn is edging its way in.
Snatching up my bag and trying to quell the flutter of nerves in my stomach, I go to the door.
I should have invited him in to wait instead of leaving him on my doorstep, but it had felt too personal.
I don’t want him seeing all my photographs and asking questions.
Not yet, anyway. Not when we haven’t even shared a proper conversation.
I open the front door to find him sitting on the step, his arms slung around his knees, leaning forward slightly.
I take the moment to admire his easy stance, the way his t-shirt pulls over the muscles of his back, the bulk of his biceps.
He looks like someone who’s just naturally built that way—as though he hasn’t seen the inside of a gym, ever.
Mike is someone who needs to work out, and even with a regimented three gym sessions a week, he’s still barely holding back the middle-aged spread.
That’s the benefit of youth, you don’t even have to try.
He must notice me coming out, as he twists to look over his shoulder squinting in the sunlight, his hair falling in his face.
He jumps to his feet when he sees me, a grin lighting his face.
I still have no idea what this young guy sees in me, but he made the effort to track me down at my home, so there must be something.
“Hey,” he says with a grin. “You ready?”
“Yeah. Where are we going?”
He falters. “I hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.”
I’m about to suggest a nice pub around the corner which has a lovely beer garden, but then I remember it’s the same place Mike and I always used to go.
It isn’t as though it would feel weird to be there with someone else, but I don’t want people seeing me out.
It’s stupid really. Mike and I are long separated, but the idea of people gossiping about me makes me uneasy.
Is it because of how Kane looks? If he was suited and booted, with a barbershop haircut, would I be feeling so awkward about people seeing me with him?
I don’t want to be that kind of woman—the one who cares what other people think about me—but the truth is I have more than just myself to think about.
“You know what,” I say, “how about we go in to Covent Garden for a drink? I haven’t been there for ages.”
The busy tourist district also means anonymity.
There won’t be anyone there I’d be likely to bump into.
Visiting places like Covent Garden always seems like something people who live in London would do all the time, but often I find I barely make it out of my own suburb, and even then it’s only ever to do with something for work.
“Sounds good to me.” Kane shrugs. “Whatever you want.”
We walk towards the nearest Tube station, both flashing cards at the machines to allow us through the turnstiles and onto the trains.
Covent Garden is only a fifteen-minute ride away, and before we know it, we’re spilling out onto the busy street, joining the thousands of tourists who are also visiting the place.
We find a spot outside one of the café bars, the chairs and tables spreading out across the cobbled square.
A live band is playing, and people dance, a mother holding a child on her hip and bopping up and down with her, while the little girl squeals and throws her head back. I can’t help but smile at the sight.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asks.
I reach for my purse. “Oh, let me give you some money.”
He frowns at me and shakes his head. “No chance. I asked you out, I’m buying.”
I smile. “A glass of Sauvignon Blanc, thanks.”
He vanishes inside, and I watch the crowds until he reappears, a glass of chilled white wine in one hand and a bottle of beer for himself in the other.
“So, how’s the tattoo feeling?” he asks as I pick up my wine and take a first sip. It’s ice cold and crisp, just how I like it.
“A little sore,” I admit. “But I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s fully healed.”
“It’ll look amazing,” he says. “You had some great suggestions about what you wanted. There’s nothing more annoying than someone coming in and asking for a tattoo, but having no idea what they want.
Why would you want something permanently on your body when you don’t even know what you like or don’t like? ”
“I’ve wanted this tattoo for years now. Ever since I was in my early twenties.” I realise I’m almost giving my age away. Not that it’s a secret, but I know he’s younger than me and don’t want him to see me as some old maid.
“Why didn’t you get it back then?”
“Oh…” I shrug. “I had an ex who didn’t like them, and I was young and stupid and allowed his opinion to influence me too much.”
“He’s an ex for a reason, then,” Kane says.
“Yeah, exactly, and now I have a tattoo, he will most definitely stay an ex.”
His expression falters slightly. “He’s still on the scene?”
I realise what I’ve said. “Not like that. He’s one of these guys who doesn’t want me, but doesn’t want to let go either. He just likes to pop up now and then when I’m least expecting it.”
Kane’s handsome face creases in a scowl. “Sounds like a dick.”
I laugh. “Yeah, he is. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about him.” I’ve taken a few more sips of my wine and am starting to relax. I remember the American back at the studio, and how I promised myself I would ask. “How about you? Any exes or girlfriends on the scene?”
“Nope.” He holds my gaze. “I’m all yours.”
My stomach flips, my cheeks heating. “Nothing between you and the pretty American then?”
He frowns at me, as though he doesn’t know who I’m referring to, and then bursts out with laughter. “Oh, fuck, no. That’s Tess. She’s the boss’s girlfriend. They live together upstairs.”
I allow myself to exhale. The moment has left me flustered, and I give a small laugh that doesn’t sound like my own. “Oh, right. Of course.”
He leans in towards me, his brilliant green eyes narrowed slightly. “Did you think there was something going on between me and Tess?”
Heat rushes to my face. That’s exactly what I thought. I flap a hand in the air to try to hide my embarrassment. “It was nothing. I just thought I saw something pass between you.”
He tips back his head and laughs again, revealing straight white teeth. “She was trying to get me to ask you out.”
My mouth drops open. “What?”
“Yeah, she saw how I’d been looking at you when you first came in, and told me I needed to ask you out. That moment you picked up on was her trying to push me into it.”
Only one line sticks in my head. “How you’d been looking at me?”
He leans in again, and his gaze flicks down my body, and something inside me sparks. “Yeah, like I wanted to see more of you than just your hip.”
My breath catches. I’m not used to men being openly flirty with me.
Mike had always been very British—reserved and even formal—during intimate moments.
He never would have told me that he wanted to see me naked or tell me the things he’d want to do with me.
My lack of experience flusters me, and the only way I know how to handle it is to change the topic.
“So ... how did you end up as a tattoo artist?”
The question sounds too formal, awkward, and I want to kick myself.
I wish I was one of those naturally flirty people, but it’s been too long and I’ve forgotten how.
I’m not sure how to process what’s happening.
Is this going to end the way I think he might want it to end, with me sleeping with him?
The thought of getting naked in front of this sexy guy paralyses me with fear.
What if he expects more than what’s actually underneath my clothes?
I’m far from perfect. What if he’s disappointed?
No, no, no. My brain is trying to push anxiety onto me. I’m just having a drink with a gorgeous guy. It’s not something I need to flip out over.
I realise he’s said something and missed it. “Sorry?”
“I said that I was lucky to get the job. The guy who owns the studio, Art, took a chance on me. I owe him one.”
“You’re a fantastic artist. I’m sure he took you on because of that.”
Kane shrugs and moves his bottle of beer around on the table, not looking at me, leaving a wet trail on the wood from the condensation.
“I was a bit of a troublemaker when I was a kid. Got myself into some sticky situations. Other employers might have turned me away because of that, but Art took me on. We’ve been working together ever since. ”
I wonder what sort of stuff he got into trouble with.
Is it just the usual underage drinking, or had it been worse than that?
Had he done time in jail? I don’t like to ask, not yet, anyway.
We’re only just getting to know each other, and we all have a past. He seems like a good guy now—the kind of guy who would travel halfway across the city to return a lost phone.
We’ve finished our drinks, and Kane gets up to get another round.
“I’ll get these,” I insist, but he won’t let me stand, his hand pressing on my shoulder, keeping me in my seat.
“No, I’m buying. I already told you that. Now stop fighting with me.” He throws me a wink before vanishing back inside the bar, and my stomach flips with happy nerves.
I’m feeling nicely relaxed from the wine, and a little bubble of happiness and excitement balloons inside me.
I never do this kind of thing. I can’t just blame the tattoo; after all, it had been this extra bit of courage inside me that had made me get the tattoo in the first place.
I spent so long living for other people that I almost forgot what it’s like to live for myself.