Chapter 3
Declan
I’m barely listening as I follow Sean and George through the empty building that’s buried under years of dust and the memories of tiny tap shoes left behind on the wood floors.
Instead I’m thinking about a pair of bright hazel eyes, cheeks that flush when they’re angry and a long, chestnut braid with a flower tucked into it that I want to wrap around my fist. My dick twitches at the thought.
“What do you think?” Sean asks, interrupting me from thoughts I’m better off not having in the first place. I’ve been in town for all of one hour. I’m not about to go sticking my dick in the first pretty girl that comes my way.
Even if it was fun to see her all pissed off over a damn parking spot.
“It’s great,” I tell him. Truthfully, I don’t care much about where he sets up his shop. I just want to tattoo. I’m also not sure why Sean dragged me along instead of his wife, but I’m willing to give my two cents if he really needs it.
“Probably bigger than we’d need,” Sean sighs. “Would need a lot of work. I’m not sure it would be worth the cost to end up with more space than we’d know what to do with and twice as big of a payment than I planned on.”
“True,” I agree. “On the other hand, how many other spots on Main Street are available to buy or lease right now?”
“Zero.”
“Exactly. I bet the shop would get a hell of a lot more business here, right in the middle of everything, with tourists passing by on foot all day during the busy season, than you’d get even one street over.”
“Look at you,” Sean teases, ruffling my hair like the pseudo big brother he’s become over the years. “Thinking like a real businessman. I knew there was a responsible adult somewhere beneath all those tattoos and perpetually bad attitude.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, shoving him. I might be a grumpy motherfucker sometimes, but it’s only because I don’t like most people.
Or maybe, more accurately, it’s because I don’t want to take the time to get to know them and find out if I like them.
I’ll take my solitude and a few pain in the ass friends like Sean.
No need to go around being friendly when I don’t actually want more friends.
Seems reasonable to me, but Sean still thinks I’m an asshole for it.
Whatever. Goes along with the general look of me, I guess. If the tattoos don’t scare people off, the general fuck off vibe I bring to the function is sure to do the trick.
“I know it needs a lot of work,” George says, stopping in the doorway of what he said was the old studio space. Sean and I stand in the middle of the lobby, which isn’t as big as the studio area, but is still decently sized.
“It does, but it’s manageable,” Sean says. “I didn’t realize how big this first floor would be, though.”
George sighs and I have a feeling the woman who was here before us must have said something similar.
“It’s probably better suited for a bigger company,” George admits. “Only problem is, none of those are looking to open in Port Myles. I’m not sure folks around here would even welcome it if they were. We’ve got a lot of small businesses, a lot of mom-and-pop type places. That’s how we like it.”
“I hear you,” Sean says. “I might have been gone a while, but I love that about the town. People take care of their own, they support the businesses run by their neighbors and friends. It’s why I didn’t even consider setting up shop anywhere else.”
He’s not exaggerating. When he finally got serious about the idea of opening his own tattoo and piercing studio, the location wasn’t even up for discussion – it was Port Myles or nowhere.
I don’t blame the guy, even if I don’t understand the appeal of small-town life myself.
I’ve been happy in big cities like Boston and New York.
Even Portland has its own appeal, though I haven’t lived there in over a decade and have spent a good chunk of my adulthood avoiding it when possible.
The thought of settling down in a small town kind of scares the shit out of me. I’ve never been settled, period, let alone in a town like this. A town where, from the sounds of it, everyone knows everyone, and everybody is probably in everybody else’s business. The thought of it makes my skin itch.
“Too bad it’s not half the size,” I muse. “Split right down the middle would be perfect.”
Despite what I said to Sean about this building being a prime piece of real estate, I try to imagine our studio in the sprawling old space and I can’t.
We already spend all day talking over the sounds of tattoo machines, chatting clients and the loud music we play to distract people from the pain they’re willingly suffering through.
In a space like this, it would be like yelling across half a football field all day long.
“Two businesses – hell, even three – could fit in here no problem,” Sean agrees.
George says nothing, but he stands with his arms crossed and his head cocked just slightly, clearly tuned into our discussion.
He’s exactly the kind of guy I’d expect to meet in a town like this – tall, his graying hair balding on top, with a flannel shirt and work boots on.
Feels fitting that he’s the first person I meet in Port Myles.
Actually, scratch that – I think Elsie was the official welcome committee to my new town. Hell of an impression to make, a barely-over-five-foot woman yelling at me on the sidewalk over her damn parking space.
I wonder for a fleeting moment if I’ll see her again, but quickly shake off the thought. She piqued my curiosity, nothing more. No reason to go mooning over her after a two-minute encounter on the sidewalk.
It’s been too long since I last hooked up with someone, that’s all.
“Ready?” Sean asks, clapping me on the back. I missed whatever discussion he and George must have had while I spaced, but George’s hearty wave and “We’ll talk soon” as I trail Sean out of the building tells me our tour is over.
Just as Sean asks if I want to follow him back to his place and have lunch with him and his wife, Frankie, my phone dings.
I dig it out of my pocket and see my twice-monthly calendar reminder on the cracked screen.
We always meet at lunchtime, but we pushed it back today so I could check out the building with Sean.
“Sorry, man. I’ve got to get back to Boston for an appointment. Rain check?”
I can see the exact moment Sean misinterprets what I said.
When a corner of his mouth tips up and he shakes his head, I’m brought back to the years we worked together in Boston, when I was always joking that I had appointments even though I was really going to meet up with whatever woman I was hooking up with at the time.
Feels like a lifetime ago. I haven’t been that guy in a long time, though I do still enjoy the occasional casual hookup.
I should correct the mistake, but I don’t.
“You kids have fun,” Sean says, clapping me on the back again. “I’ll see you later.”
I wave over my shoulder as I head to my bike, straddling the old Yamaha that’s been in storage since late last fall. I figured if the sun insisted on shining and Sean insisted on dragging my ass to small-town Maine, I might as well enjoy myself getting there.
Just as I’m about to pull out, I see the same black SUV from this morning drive past. I catch a glimpse of that long braid slung over one shoulder and an easy smile on her face as Elsie slows to wave to someone walking past on the sidewalk.
At first I think she doesn’t notice me, but she spares a quick glare my way before she steps on the gas and speeds past.
No smiles and friendly waves for me. For some reason, I can’t help grinning anyway.