Chapter 4
Ben
April Fool's Day
I’m running a clean rag over the counter for the third time, not really paying attention to what I’m doing. My hand’s steady, but my head is fucked, making it impossible to get that slice of clarity I keep chasing.
It’s been like this for six weeks now. Every time I close my eyes, I see her…blindfolded, skin glowing, moaning under my touch. An angel with soft curves and a broken heart, and I can’t fucking get her out of my head.
Trust me, I’ve tried.
The bell over the door chimes, interrupting my thoughts. First customer of the day. I don’t look up right away, just keep wiping down the counter, lost somewhere between memory and regret. But when I finally glance up, my world tilts.
It’s her.
Her hair’s loose, falling around her face, just like it did that night. She’s drowning in a jacket that’s way too big, sleeves nearly swallowing her hands. She stands in the doorway, like she’s waiting for someone to notice she’s breathing and tell her it’s a problem.
She steps inside, slow and hesitant. I freeze, watching her scan the shop, her eyes flicking everywhere but mine.
My heart is a jackhammer in my chest. She doesn’t see me, at least, not the way I want her to.
I can tell she’s nervous by the way she grips her purse strap, both hands white-knuckled.
Part of me braces myself, just in case she recognizes me.
But she doesn’t. She couldn’t. She stayed blindfolded the whole time.
The door swings open behind her, flooding the shop with a cloud of expensive perfume and instant drama. Two women strut in, heels clicking on tile. Their energy fills the room, manufactured and dangerous.
They head straight for me, barely glancing at her as they shove past her like she’s invisible. She follows behind them, head down, trying to make herself smaller.
In my most professional voice, “Can I help you ladies with something?”
The taller one flashes a megawatt smile, all teeth.
“Yes, you can,” she purrs. “I’m Debora. This is my sister, Branda.
” Branda gives a little wave, eyes already sizing up the shop for an audience.
“And the one hiding back there is our stepsister, April.” There’s a mean little twist to her mouth as she says it.
April.
Branda leans in, smirking, “Hope you’re ready for some fun this morning.” Neither of them pretends to be polite, disregarding her as if she’s part of the furniture.
“Excuse me, do you have a restroom?” April’s voice is so quiet I almost miss it.
Just as I remember.
“Yeah. Back of the shop, down the hall. First door on the left,” I say, pointing.
She nods, never meeting my eyes.
“Thanks.”
Debora takes over instantly, tossing her hair, scanning the room like she’s rating it for Yelp. “We’re here for our stepsister’s tattoo.” Eyes rolling for extra effect.
Branda snickers, voice bright and cruel.
“She’s such a pushover, you know? This is going to be epic.
” She fans out five crisp hundreds, slaps them on the counter.
“It’s an April Fool’s Day thing. We want you to tattoo ‘more parking in the rear’ right above her ass.
Make it huge, so even she can’t pretend it’s not there. ”
Both stepsisters lose it, giggling, feeding off each other’s mean-girl high. I want to snatch the bills and shove them down their throats. I want to call April back and tell her she deserves better. But I don’t…not yet.
Instead, I pick up the cash, fanning it slow, eyeing them like I’m sizing up a mark. “Block letters or script?” My voice is all business.
She waves a hand, smirking. “Dealer’s choice, hot stuff. Just make it obvious.”
April comes back, clutching her coat like armor, head down.
Debora sighs theatrically, checking her watch. “Finally. Are we doing this or not? I have a mani appointment at eleven.”
I push a fresh consent form across the counter, my hand steady even though I want to break something. “I need you to sign this,” I say, softening my voice just for her.
April hesitates, but takes the pen, her signature neat and careful, scared she’s going to make a mistake.
Debora grins, satisfied. “She’s such a good sport, isn’t she?”
I bite back my rising anger, my jaw set tight. “Do you want to watch, or should I call you when it’s done?”
Branda smirks. “Oh, we’re not missing this. Front row seats.”
April looks like she wants to bolt, but she follows me toward the back, steps silent, sneakers barely whispering on the floor.
I set up slowly, everything extra meticulous…sterilizing, prepping, pretending I don’t see her hugging herself small. The stepsisters lounge in the waiting area, already bored, scrolling on their phones.
I tap the chair. “You can have a seat, you know. It’s safe.”
She sits like she’s bracing for the worst. Pulls off her jacket, revealing a plain tank top that suddenly looks like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I prep the machine, needles, ink, gloves, forcing myself to breathe, to push down the memory of her skin under my hands, the ghost of that night.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” I murmured.
She nods, lips pressed thin.
I can feel Debora and Branda’s eyes burning into me. I tune them out and focus on April.
I lean closer, meeting her eyes. “What’s your favorite flower?”
She blinks, startled. “Lilyes.”
There’s panic in her, but she hides it well.
I act like I don’t notice, deciding right then I will never be part of humiliating her.
I glance up, catching her gaze. “You good?”
Another tight nod.
I snap on gloves, and the machine hums to life. I dab her skin, prepping the spot. The stepsisters start stage-whispering.
“I can’t believe she’s going through with it,” Debora says, phone out, ready to film. “Bet she cries.”
Branda cackles. “That’s the point. Maybe she’ll finally get noticed.”
April's face turns scarlet red, but she bites her tongue. I can almost see each word hit her, a bruise she already knows how to hide.
I lean in. “You said Lilyes, right?”
She blinks, “Yeah. White ones. If that matters.”
I just nod, and instead of sketching something cruel, I freehand the first graceful sweep of a lily, letting her hip guide every line.
The needle hits her skin, and she gasps, fingers digging into the armrest. But then her shoulders drop, and she leans into me, trusting that I won’t hurt her more than I have to.
I work silently, the buzz of the gun blocking out the stepsisters’ rude conversation.
“Is he spelling it right?” Branda snarks. “Maybe he’s just doodling on her.”
Debora’s lips twist. “Should’ve put it on her forehead, then someone might actually notice her.”
All I can think is how every word is a scar she’s learned to wear.
I keep going, slow and careful, making sure every petal is perfect. By the time I start shading, April is calm, breathing steady.
She peeks down once, eyes wide. I cover the work with a gloved hand, smirking.
“No cheating.”
She gives me the tiniest smile.
When I’m done, I wipe the blood and ink away. Debora storms up, heels stabbing the floor. “Is it done? Let’s see the masterpiece.”
I turn April toward the mirror, peeling the bandage back slowly so she can see.
She immediately freezes.
Where the humiliation should’ve been, there’s a spray of Lilyes…delicate, intricate, soft as a whisper. Every line is designed to let her skin shine.
April touches her hip, fingers trembling.
“It’s…beautiful.”
Debora’s pitch spikes. “That isn’t…what the fuck?”
Branda flushes red. “We paid for a joke tattoo. You screwed us.”
I yank off my gloves, pissed off.
“You want your money back? Take it.” I shove the bills at them. “I’m not humiliating anyone in my shop. Want to make someone cry? Try a therapist next time.”
Debora bares her teeth. “You think you’re funny? People talk. We’ll tell everyone how you treat customers.”
I shrug. “Go for it. My clients come here for art, not trash.”
Branda hisses at April, venom laced in her voice. “Hope you’re happy, princess. You just ruined our whole damn morning.”
April flinches.
I step between them, blocking the hate.
Debora flips me off, spits out “loser,” and they’re gone, door slamming behind them.
Silence.
April stands in front of the mirror, fingers tracing the Lilyes like she can’t believe any of this is real.
I clean up, glancing up at her every other second.
She doesn’t move.
Finally, she turns, tears shining in her eyes. “I don’t know what they told you to do, but…why didn’t you just go along with what they wanted? Why did you do this for me?”
Her voice is tiny, hope tangled up in the question.
I clear my throat, the words thick. “Nobody deserves that shit. Especially not someone as beautiful as you.”
She blushes, looking away, but her smile lingers.
I wash up, hands tingling. She’s still in front of the mirror, tracing the Lilyes like she can’t let herself believe it.
For a second, I want to tell her everything. Instead, I let the moment breathe.
Sometimes you don’t need words. Sometimes, you just have to give someone a reason to hope.
Finally, “Keep it covered for a day, then let it breathe. Don’t swim. Don’t scratch. If it gets infected, come back and I’ll fix it for free. No questions.”
She looks up, eyes wide. “I…thank you…?”
“Ben,” I offer.
She repeats it, and hearing my name in her mouth does something to my chest. Like I just won a fight I didn’t know I was in.
She pulls on her jacket, and I know if I don’t say something, I’ll never see her again.
Fuck it.
“Would you ever want to have dinner with me? Or coffee. I just…I’d really like to see you again.”
She freezes, deer-in-headlights, chin down. I don’t know if she thinks I’m joking or just being cruel like everyone else.
I step back, hands up. “No pressure. Seriously. Just…forget it if it’s too much.”
But she shakes her head, letting a real smile break through. “No, it’s not too much. It’s…nobody’s ever asked me out. Not like that.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe they’re idiots.”
She laughs, and it hits me like fresh air in a locked room. She digs out her phone, hands it to me. I type in my number and hand it back. She stares at the contact like its gold.
At this moment, everything else falls away. There are no venomous words being spoken or mean girls lurking. It’s just me and her.
I walk her to the door. She hesitates at first, and I think she might hug me. She settles for a lingering look over her shoulder, that secret smile just for me.
“I’ll call you,” she says. And then she’s gone.
I close the door lean against it, letting out a breath I’ve been holding for a month.
“That looked promising,” Arrow shouts from his station, grinning like a jackass. “Should I order flowers, or just buy you a crate of condoms?”
Corinne rolls her eyes, throwing a glare his way. “Ignore him, Ben. He’s just jealous your social life doesn’t revolve around Paw Patrol and sippy cups.”
Arrow shrugs, hands up. “Hey, the Paw Patrol are legends. But if you need advice, you know where to find me.”
I shake my head, but the smile won’t leave my face.