2. Keanu
two
Keanu
My sister, Kira, says I scare customers–I disagree. I don't scare customers. I simply don't smile unnecessarily—there's a difference.
"You scared another one," Kira says.
I glance up from the sketch I'm working on to see Kira standing in the doorway of my station. "I said hello."
"You grunted," she accuses, placing her hands on her hips.
"Same thing." I shrug, returning to my drawing.
"It isn't."
I raise my head and stare at her—she stares back. Unfortunately, we're related, so she isn't intimidated. “Anything else?" I ask.
"Yes." She holds up the appointment tablet. "We have a walk-in consultation at eleven."
"I'm booked,” I add a butterfly to my drawing, completely ignoring Kira.
"Your eleven canceled." She points at the tablet.
"Then I'm drawing." I lift my pencil before going back to sketching.
"You're working." She keeps arguing the point, refusing to let it go.
"I own the shop," I say, just as stubborn as she is.
"Exactly. Work." Kira wanders toward the front.
My sister is twenty-four and has worked beside me since I opened Temptation Ink six years ago.
She's also the person who typically handles tattoos in intimate areas for female clients.
It's easier that way—trust matters. I’ve never questioned the arrangement until the bell over the front door rings and I hear Kira's cheerful voice.
Then another voice answers, bright, warm, and familiar.
I stop drawing. No, it can’t be. Then she laughs. I know that laugh. I’ve heard it at festivals. At the grocery store. Outside the winery during last year's harvest celebration. Liv Callahan.
I've noticed her for two years. I don't like admitting it, even to myself.
"Noticed" sounds harmless. What I've really done is catalog small things without permission: the way she laughs with her whole body, the way she talks with her hands, the way she can walk into a crowded room and make it feel brighter.
I've kept my distance because wanting something and acting on it are different.
Distance has always been easier. That's a problem I've managed to ignore—until now.
I walk toward reception, and there she is—Liv, twenty-three, long hair spilling over her shoulders, wearing fitted jeans and a cream sweater, big eyes and an even bigger smile. She looks at me—her smile falters, then returns twice as bright.
"Hi."
My brain forgets every word I've ever learned. "Hi."
Kira looks between us—her eyebrows rise. Don't, my eyes silently tell her. But she ignores the warning in them. "I was just telling Liv that I usually handle female clients when they're getting tattoos in more sensitive spots."
Every muscle in my body locks—sensitive spots? Where is Liv planning to get the tattoo?
Liv's cheeks turn pink. "It's not that sensitive."
Kira smiles. "Where?"
Liv touches her hip, right above the waistband of her jeans. "There."
My entire body tightens. I have tattooed ribs, sternums, thighs, backs, and more awkward places than I care to remember.
I have never once forgotten how to be professional.
But the idea of putting my hands anywhere near Liv's hip has every disciplined thought in my head scattering like loose paper in a windstorm.
That bothers me more than the attraction itself.
"No." The word comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.
My gaze shifts from Liv to Kira, then back to Liv as they both blink at me.
Liv folds her arms over her beautiful chest. "No?"
"I mean," I clear my throat. "I can do it."
Kira's eyebrows nearly reach her hairline, but I ignore her, something I’m very good at doing. “You can?"
"Yes," I say, never taking my eyes off Liv.
"But I usually," Kira starts to say, but I cut her off.
"I know." I give Kira a pleading look. For some reason, it means more to me that I understand why I have to be the one to do Liv’s tattoo.
Liv looks between us. "You two realize I'm standing here, right?"
"Yes," we answer at the same time, causing Liv to laugh, and damn it, I don’t want to hear that sound again.
.Kira slowly hands me the tablet. "Fine. Keanu can handle your consultation." She looks directly at me—her expression says I will make your life hell later.
Liv follows me into my station. I motion for her to take the spot opposite me before I sit. "What are you thinking?"
She reaches into her purse and unfolds a piece of paper. “I drew something." She slides it across the table—it's a tiny cluster of wildflowers surrounding a crescent moon.
I study the clean lines, yet delicate design. "It's good."
"You don't have to lie." She reaches for the piece of paper, but I pull it back.
"I'm not."
"You're a professional artist."
"Doesn't mean yours isn't good." Her smile softens at my words and something moves in my chest. "Why this?"
She hesitates. "Because I've spent the last few months feeling like everybody else's life is changing.
" She hesitates before continuing. "My brother Lex started dating Taila.
My twin Lyra is with Owen. Lana had this whole whirlwind thing with Marx, and even though they broke up, she's still changed because of it. "
"And you?" I can’t help but ask.
"I became responsible." She says it like a terminal diagnosis, and I almost smile, causing her eyes to widen. “Was that almost a smile?"
"No." I cough into my hand to cover my smile. "Why the tattoo?"
She leans forward. "Because I want something that belongs only to me."
That answer hits harder than it should. I look at the drawing again. "Wildflowers?"
"They grow wherever they want." A wistful look crosses her face.
"Moon?"
She shrugs. "Because it's pretty." I do smile then, and of course she points. There!"
"What?"
"You smiled."
"Don't tell anyone."
"Your secret is safe with me." Her eyes hold mine and the air changes—barely, but enough.
"When do you want it?" I look back down at the drawing as I imagine putting my mark on her.
"Today?"
I snap my head up and meet her gaze. "Today?"
"I might chicken out tomorrow." She gives a little shrug of her shoulders, but I’ve watched this woman for the last two years—there is no way she would ever chicken out on anything.
I should give the appointment to Kira. That would be the smart choice—the safe choice.
The choice I would have made for any other woman without thinking twice.
But the thought of Kira doing Liv's tattoo makes something hot and possessive twist low in my chest, and I hate that I recognize it for exactly what it is.
Instead, I hear myself say, "Four o'clock. "
"Perfect." She's halfway to the door when she turns. “Keanu?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to scare anyone before four." Then she walks out the door, leaving me to stare after her, wondering how I’m ever going to get through inking her skin.