Chapter Nine
Jules
“How’d it go last night?” Sarge waggles his eyebrows as I pour myself the biggest cup of coffee humanly possible.
I just got back from dropping Tate, whose bruise has almost faded completely, off with Corbin.
Disaster. I don’t think Corbin looked at me once.
Barely even said goodbye when I got out of his car and headed toward my own.
“Pick a place that’s familiar,” I mock, my voice dripping with irritation. “It’ll be fun.”
Sarge squints, confused. “Uh… yeah?”
I set my coffee down with a little too much force. “Corbin and Tate showed up to grab their pizza order. And Trey invited them to sit with us.”
Sarge blinks. Then bursts out laughing. Hard .
“You’re kidding,” he wheezes. “Seriously?”
I glare. “You didn’t tell me your friend was a glutton for punishment.”
“I didn’t say pick a place Corbin frequents , Jules,” he counters, still grinning. “I said pick somewhere you feel comfortable.”
“I do feel comfortable there,” I snap, way too defensively.
Sarge’s hands shoot up in surrender. “Whoa. My bad.”
I exhale sharply, gripping my coffee like a lifeline. “Sorry. I just… everything that feels comfortable revolves around…”
“Corbin?” he guesses.
“Tate,” I correct. “I mean, I was more excited to see my son than I was to be on the date. That has to mean something, right?”
Sarge tilts his head, studying me like he’s trying to read between the lines. “Did you actually try to get to know Trey? Or are you just gonna measure every guy against the great and terrible Corbin Banks?”
I roll my eyes. “I know Trey’s a tattoo artist. I know he thinks office jobs are boring and he’d never work one. I know he doesn’t want to have kids with the wrong person because he can’t imagine being tied to someone forever.”
Sarge snorts. “So, you picked up on all the things you don’t like about him. What about the things you did like?”
I hesitate, biting the inside of my cheek. “He has kind eyes.”
“And?” Sarge presses.
“And he’s not bad to look at,” I shrug.
“Personality-wise, Jules.”
I sigh dramatically. “We’re both creatives.”
His eyes narrow. “And?”
“And… I don’t care about painting anymore , ” I admit, my voice flat. “It’s not the best part of my life. Not like it is for him.”
Sarge exhales, leaning against the counter. “Did you even try to like him?”
I scratch the back of my neck, a loose curl falling from my clip. “Not as much as I could have.”
His jaw tenses. “Jules…”
I hold up a hand, already knowing where this is going. “Look, I’m a single mom who works her ass off every day. I don’t know if someone who can’t even fathom working a nine-to-five is what I’m looking for.”
“Are you looking for someone to take care of you financially?” Sarge challenges.
I scoff. “I can take care of myself.”
“Exactly,” he counters. “That’s why I set you up with someone like you.
Someone who works for himself, who’s not bound to some family empire, who wouldn’t give a damn if you showed up to a work dinner covered in paint.
I didn’t set you up with some guy who’s gonna whisk you off to a mansion and shove you into cocktail dresses.
” His voice lowers, pointed. “You didn’t even give him a chance to prove he’s a good guy. ”
“I…” I trail off, knowing it’s useless. I didn’t really try after Tate and Corbin showed up. If I’m being honest, I just wanted to go home, curl up on the couch with Tate, and watch a movie—just the two of us, like always.
Sarge sees right through me. “Alright, what was the best part of the date?” he asks, switching tactics.
Corbin’s hand under the table. The slow drag of his thumb over my thigh. The way my entire body betrayed me in that moment.
Yeah, definitely can’t say that.
I clear my throat. “Probably when Trey walked me back to the coffee shop. He started talking about his grandpa.”
Sarge raises an eyebrow. “So, you did have a good time.”
“I had an okay time,” I correct, grabbing my coffee like it’s some kind of shield.
“You should tell him that,” Sarge says simply. “Go on a second date, Jules. You can’t really know someone after just one dinner.”
Maybe you do know what you want. But you’re too afraid to admit it to yourself.
Corbin’s words whisper through my mind, unshakable.
There is more to life than Corbin Banks.
That’s my new motto, isn’t it? But what if it’s just something I tell myself to sound like I’m moving on?
What if I’ve wrapped myself so tightly in the security blanket of Corbin—of us —that I’ve been keeping everyone else at arm’s length?
What if I’m so afraid of being hurt again that I don’t even try ?
Losing Corbin was like losing a part of myself. And if I’m being honest, I don’t think I ever really got that part back.
But I have to try. I have to put myself out there. Because one day, Tate is going to pack up and leave for college, and I’m going to wake up and realize it’s just me. Me, the coffee shop, and Sarge.
That can’t be all there is.
I inhale deeply and meet my brother’s gaze. “I’ll call him,” I say, the words tasting foreign. “And I’ll plan a second date. Somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere uncomfortable .”
Sarge grins and throws an arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze. “That’s the sister I know and love.”
A few customers meander in, and Sarge immediately takes his place behind the cash register.
I give myself a few minutes to collect myself.
To remind myself that the woman who built this coffee shop from scratch, who handpicked every plant that sits in the windows, who painted every table and chair, deserves a second chance at happiness.
I slip my phone out of the back pocket of my skinny jeans and stare at it. I could call Trey and ask him out. I left things pretty open-ended after he walked me back to the coffee shop last night. He hugged me goodbye and seemed to respect the fact that I wasn’t ready for more. Which, I appreciate.
But I owe him more than a phone call. I owe him my presence.
“Hey Sarge?” I call out to my brother as I slip out of my apron. “You got things covered while I make a quick run?”
Sarge chuffs. “Yeah, I got this.”
As I hurry out the door, I feel a surge of bravery brimming beneath my chest.
The drive to Trey’s tattoo shop is short and sweet.
I park around back and take a few sharp breaths before opening the car door and strolling around to the front.
The shop is small and distinct. Brick exterior, black metal fixtures, the word Tattoo emblazoned in bold script with an intricate design curling around the letters like ivy.
I ignore my nerves and push open the glass door.
The air inside is cooler than I expected, carrying the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic mixed with something earthy—leather, maybe.
The faint hum of a tattoo machine fills the space, punctuated by low voices and the occasional scrape of a chair against the tiled floor.
Artwork covers every available inch of the walls—bold, black linework of roses and skulls, delicate butterflies in fine detail, dramatic ships sailing through stormy waves, intricate angel wings, and hauntingly realistic portraits.
There’s so much to take in that I almost miss the voice calling my name.
“Well, if it isn’t Jules Banks.”
I turn to see Trey standing a few feet away, a smirk playing on his lips.
He’s wearing a black T-shirt, his tawny arms on full display, the ink running down his forearms blending into his tan skin like it’s always belonged there.
He wipes his hands on a towel before tossing it onto a nearby counter.
“What brings you to this side of town?” he asks.
Feeling slightly braver than usual, I grin. “I came to see if you’d like to go on that second date.”
“Oh, really.” He arches a dark brow, looking genuinely surprised. “An in-person invite? That’s a first for me.”
“I’m trying to be bolder,” I admit. “So, what do you say?”
“I say yes,” he replies without hesitation.
“Great.” I nod, somewhat awkwardly. “I, um, think we deserve one after, you know, what happened last night.”
“They’re your people, Jules.” Trey’s voice is easy, free of judgment. “It’s okay with me if we run into them and still manage to have a good time.”
I lick my lips. “Thank you.”
He tilts his head, watching me for a second before his eyes flick toward the wall behind me. “You want to stay and get a tattoo?”
“Uh…” I trail off, glancing at the sketchbook on the counter before looking toward the framed artwork lining the wall.
“Come on,” he says, leading me toward a display of smaller, more delicate designs framed near the register. “It’ll be on the house.”
I let my gaze roam over the designs. Tiny celestial symbols, minimalistic flowers, a small mountain range, an open book with wisps of smoke curling from its pages, as if the story itself was coming to life. But it’s a tiny, simple paintbrush tucked in the corner of the frame that makes me pause.
My fingertips brush over the glass. “This one.”
Trey steps beside me, eyes flicking to the design, then back to me. “Yeah?”
I swallow and nod. “Yeah.”
A slow, knowing smile spreads across his lips. “Alright then, Jules Banks. Let’s mark your bold new era.”
Trey gets me settled in a black leather chair, the buzz of the tattoo machine filling the quiet space between us. He’s still smiling, like this is the best part of his day, and for some reason, that eases some of my nerves.
Everything moves quickly as he preps my left wrist. The same one Corbin used to rub his thumb over absentmindedly whenever he held my hand. I swallow down that thought before it has a chance to settle and focus on Trey instead.
“Nervous?” he asks, his voice light.
“A little,” I admit.
“It’s just a tiny tattoo, Jules. You’ll survive.”
I exhale slowly. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point.”
Trey gives me a curious look but doesn’t press. He just adjusts my wrist gently in his grip and lowers the buzzing needle to my skin.
I force myself to breathe through the initial sting. It’s sharper than I expected, but not unbearable.
“Breathe,” Trey instructs softly, his voice smooth and reassuring. “It’s easier when you breathe.”
“Right.” I let out a shaky breath as his green eyes flick up to mine for just a second before he focuses back on his work.
“How many tattoos have you done?” I ask, needing the distraction.
Trey tilts his head slightly, thinking. “A couple thousand, I guess? Stopped keeping track after the first few hundred.”
“That’s impressive,” I say, watching the way his hands move with practiced ease.
He smirks. “Thank you.”
I stay quiet after that, watching him work. There’s this little thing he does with his tongue when he concentrates. It darts out slightly, resting against his lower lip. It’s a small, unintentional habit, but it makes him seem… real.
I don’t know where this is going, but maybe the unknown is a good thing. Maybe not knowing is exactly the push I need.
Be bold, Jules .
“All done,” Trey says after a few more minutes.
I glance down at my wrist, a small, surprised smile tugging at my lips. A tiny paintbrush. Simple. Subtle. A piece of me I thought I’d lost, permanently inked onto my skin.
Trey carefully bandages it up, looking proud of his work. “There. Now you’re officially a badass.”
I chuckle, flexing my fingers experimentally. “Guess I am.”
“And since you just let me permanently mark your body,” he teases, his smirk playful, “you’re officially locked in for our date. No backing out now.”
I smirk back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Trey gives me a lingering hug goodbye, promising to text about our plans for the weekend. Then, I step outside into the late afternoon sun. The warmth seeps into my skin, golden light filtering through a canopy of orange and yellow leaves.
Today is a new beginning. A new chapter. One where I get to decide where my story goes.