Chapter 9
I look over the divide between my workstation and Noah’s.
He’s been here two weeks, and I’m impressed with his work.
And from the sound of things, so are his clients.
It’s not just his work, he’s friendly and forthcoming, chats, and has a joke as he works.
He fits in perfectly. But today is different, he’s quiet and hasn’t spoken to his client at all.
“Noah, are you okay?” I can see he’s paused and is staring at the piece he’s working on.
He looks up, startled. “Hmm? Um, yeah. I think so.”
I tap my client on the shoulder. “Gimme a minute, Grant.” I pull my gloves off and stand up. “Let me have a look.”
When I walk around the unit into his, I can see what he’s doing.
I’m not easily surprised by a client or a tattoo, but this one is unusual.
The customer is a young woman, in her mid-to-late twenties, and apart from the ink Noah has put down so far, her skin is clear of any other ink.
The work is a butterfly over her chest. I can see the concern.
This woman has had a double mastectomy and is now crying quietly, her raised arm covering her eye as she sobs.
“Hey, you’re okay. You’re doing an amazing thing.
You’re so brave and strong. Noah is doing a beautiful job.
” And it’s true, the body of the butterfly is over her sternum, and the template of the wings covers her skin up to her collar bone and over her ribcage.
I motion for him to come away so I can talk to him.
“I don’t know how to stop her crying,” Noah whispers. “I can’t do it if she keeps moving.”
“I think she needs you to talk to her, tell her what you’re doing, what colours you’re using. Ask her how she’s doing, maybe let her tell you her story. Because, Noah, this is something cathartic to her. It is part of her healing process. Put yourself in her place, would you want to be ignored?”
“I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been around someone like her. I mean she’s amazing and so brave, but her crying scares me.”
“Just be yourself and relax, then I think she will too.” I pat his shoulder.
He nods, then darts back into his cubicle. Immediately, I hear him introduce himself again and then get back to work.
I pull a new pair of gloves on, and with a quick apology, get back to Grant. “He’s cute,” Grant says with a gleam in his eye.
“Leave him alone, Grant. He’s not your type.” I give him a look that should tell him I mean business.
“No, maybe not, but he’s yours. How are you keeping your hands off him?” Grant’s voice is a little louder than I would like, and with a quick glance at Noah, I can see his ears are pink. Yep, he heard.
“Noah is my employee, Grant. A bloody good artist and I’m lucky to have him. Please keep your thoughts to yourself.” I pick up my gun, “Are you ready to start again.”
It’s a late night for both of us, so at six o’clock, we have a break, and I order a pizza. “Noah, it’s here.”
He looks up from his station and gives me a broad smile, one that is much more relaxed than earlier. “Great, I’m starving.”
“I probably should’ve asked what type you like before I ordered. I don’t know what you like on your pizza.”
“I eat anything. I learnt very early on that being fussy could lead to being hungry,” he says happily.
“How did the tattoo of the butterfly go?”
He goes a bit pink. “So, well… It’s going to be lovely.
And she calmed down when we started to talk, and she told me the story behind it.
She hasn’t had cancer, but her family history of breast cancer is long and sad, most died before or in their forties, including her mum and her auntie.
After testing, she found out that she also carried the faulty gene, and after she’d talked it through with her family, she chose elective mastectomy.
She’s booked in for next week to get it finished.
She said she wanted to come here, and her family gave her the money to have it done.
I’m blown away at how amazing she is, I don’t think I’d be brave enough. ”
“Not if your life depended on it?”
“Not that, I’d totally do that. I’d not be brave enough to expose myself to someone, to trust them with a part of my body that was already scarred and would be for the rest of my life.”
“Comp it and I’ll pay you for the work, she deserves a kindness done for her.” The knock on the door ends that conversation. “Pizza’s here.”
“Has my dad stopped trying to feed you every minute you’re at home?” I bite into the cheesy gooeyness and groan. “I needed this.”
“Yes, Kip told him to leave me alone.” Noah bites eagerly into his slice of pizza. It would be nice to learn a little more about him, to get to know him better. Maybe I can stop thinking of him as a perfect match for me if I do.
“What was the studio you did your apprenticeship like? Was it a big studio?” I’d looked it up when I read his reference, which was basic at the very least, but did confirm his ability. The testimonials were a much better insight to him.
“There were three others. They got the best work, and I got what was left. Then people started asking for me. It was better then, even though I was watched like a hawk. He saw I was getting better than the others, even him. Which meant he wasn’t going to take me on, so I bit the bullet and came here.
You’ve been my role model, it’s the way you make your work come to life.
I’ve read every article about you I could find.
When my apprenticeship finished, and I had some money saved, I came to you. ”
“He was crazy not to keep you, but his loss is my gain. I’m happy enough with you that I’d like you stay on permanently, if you’re still interested.”
Noah’s eyes widen, and he chokes on a bite of pizza. When he stops coughing, he smiles, his blue eyes shining brightly. “Really? Thank you so much, Saint. I love it here.”
The way he lights up when he gets any praise from me has me wanting him more every day.
He’s slowly coming out of his shell and laughs at all the ribbing and teasing that goes on at my parents’ house.
My dads love having someone to fuss over again, and I find myself more and more attracted to him.
My resolve to keep our relationship purely professional is weakening.
The other problem, one that’s more important is whether Noah is gay. He hasn’t talked about his past much—and never mentioned an ex, either male or female. But my Spidey-senses ping when I’m around him, and I’m not wrong very often.
Why am I suddenly wanting to know this? He came here for a job, not a relationship.
Relationship! Where the hell did that come from?