Chapter Seven
Josie
I had walked past Bad Habit three times.
Not because I was trying to work up the courage to go inside.
I was a thirty-six-year-old woman who owned her own business. I paid taxes, signed contracts, and once unclogged a toilet using nothing but determination and a YouTube video.
I did not need courage to walk into a tattoo shop.
I just... hadn’t. Yet.
I stood on the sidewalk with my purse hanging from my shoulder and stared at the front windows.
The lights were still on inside.
Rome moved between the stations, wiping down counters and putting things away. He wore a black T-shirt and dark jeans; the sleeves of his shirt stretched around his tattooed arms. Music played low enough that I couldn’t make out the words, just the steady beat leaking through the glass.
I had closed Scoop & Swirl an hour ago.
Gone home.
Changed clothes.
Sat on my couch.
Then somehow found myself back downtown standing outside Bad Habit like a creep.
“Fantastic,” I muttered.
The truth was, I’d been thinking about getting a tattoo for years. Not a big one. Nothing dramatic. Just something small. Something that was mine.
Bruce hated tattoos and he used to call them trashy. He said women ruined their skin with them.
That should’ve been my first clue we weren’t compatible.
The man thought mayonnaise was spicy and had opinions about what women should do with their own bodies.
Idiot.
The front door of Bad Habit suddenly swung open.
I jumped and Rome leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
“You planning on standing out there all night?” he hollered to me.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I was just...”
“Being weird?”
“I wasn’t being weird.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve walked past three times.”
I stared at him. “You saw that?”
“I have windows.”
I groaned. “Oh my God.”
“You gonna come in or keep pretending you aren’t interested?”
I narrowed my eyes. “In the tattoo shop. I’m interested in the tattoo shop.”
“Sure.”
“You knew that’s what I meant.”
His grin flashed.
That stupid grin was becoming a problem.
I huffed out a breath and crossed the parking lot.
The closer I got, the more nervous I became.
Which was ridiculous since I knew Rome.
Sort of. Well, enough.
The man had eaten ice cream in my shop for days in a row. He’d brought me dinner. He knew I preferred peanut butter cups over gummy bears because apparently that had come up yesterday. I knew he hated olives.
We weren’t friends exactly. Not really, but we weren’t strangers anymore, either.
I felt it every time he looked at me a little too long.
Every time I forgot what I was saying halfway through a sentence. Every time he smiled. Which, annoyingly, was happening more.
Rome stepped aside so I could enter.
Rome’s familiar scent hit me immediately. Something spicy and clean that I was starting to associate with Rome.
Bad Habit was darker than Scoop & Swirl. Moodier. Black walls covered in framed artwork. A leather couch in the waiting area and glass cases displaying jewelry.
It should’ve felt intimidating.
Instead, it felt... comfortable, which surprised me.
Rome locked the door behind me. My stomach did a weird little flip at the sound. The shop suddenly felt smaller. Rome shoved his hands into his pockets. “So.”
“So.”
“You came.”
I rolled my eyes. “You invited me in.”
“Only because I was worried you were going to wear your shoes out walking around the shop. Sort of stalking your prey.”
“I wasn’t stalking my prey.”
“You walked past three times.”
“I was considering.”
“That’s a fancy word for trying not to chicken out.”
I gasped. “I would never chicken out.”
He laughed. “You would have if I hadn’t told you to come in.”
“I own a business.”
“Not seeing the connection.”
“I’m brave.”
“You stood outside for ten minutes after walking past three times.”
“It was like three minutes I stood out there.”
“Eleven.”
I groaned. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet...” He spread his arms. “Here you are.”
I looked around instead of answering. My gaze landed on the artwork covering one wall.
Roses. Daggers. Animals. Portraits. The pieces were incredible. “You did all these?”
Rome came up beside me. Close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him. “Most.”
I glanced up at him. “You’re talented.”
His expression shifted just a little like compliments made him uncomfortable. “Pays the bills.”
“You’re allowed to admit you’re good.”
“I know I’m good.”
I laughed. “There he is.”
“Who?”
“The ego.”
He snorted. “Not ego.”
“What then?”
“Confidence.”
I looked back at the wall. Fair.
The man had opened his own business at twenty-one and kept it running for eight years. Confidence seemed earned.
My eyes drifted to the tattoo chair in the middle of the room.
Rome followed my gaze.
Silence stretched.
Then...
“You thinking about getting one?”
I crossed my arms. “Maybe.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’ve never had one.”
“How do you know?”
“You’d show it off.”
I scoffed. “You think everyone with tattoos shows them off?”
“No.”
His gaze swept over me. “You’d hide yours.”
The certainty in his voice irritated me mostly because he was right. I looked down at my hands. “I’ve thought about it.”
“For how long?”
“Years.”
“What stopped you?”
I laughed. “Life.” That was easier than saying Bruce.
Rome didn’t push which somehow made me want to tell him.
“My ex hated tattoos,” I blurted.
Rome’s jaw tightened. “He tell you what you could and couldn’t do often?”
I shrugged. “More than I realized.”
Rome looked away toward the front windows out at the dark street.
I watched his profile. The hard line of his jaw. The tattoo disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.
Then he looked back at me. “What do you want?”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“What tattoo?”
“Oh.” I looked down at my wrist. “I was thinking...” Suddenly, I felt stupid.
Rome waited patiently, which somehow made it worse.
“An ice cream cone,” I blurted.
He stared at me, and I braced for laughter. Instead, he nodded. “That fits.”
Relief flooded me. “You think?”
“Yeah.”
I smiled. “I know it’s cheesy.”
“No.” His voice was firm. “Tattoos are whatever you want, baby. Whether it’s an ice cream cone, tribal, or Chester Cheeto. I’m down with it.”
“Chester Cheeto?”
He nodded. “I’ve done three of them so far, baby. There are people out there who love their Cheetos. I’m not here to judge anyone.” He pointed at my wrist. “Yours can be your fresh start.”
My chest squeezed unexpectedly. Because, yeah, that was exactly what it was.
Not ice cream.
Not really.
Proof that my life didn’t end when my marriage did.
Rome walked toward the counter and grabbed a sketchbook.
“Show me.”
I followed him.
We spent the next twenty minutes drawing.
Or rather...
Rome drew.
I poorly tried to tell him what I wanted.
Eventually, we settled on something simple.
A waffle cone with three scoops and tiny sparkles around it that was small enough to sit on the inside of my wrist.
I stared at the drawing and suddenly got nervous.
Rome noticed. “You don’t have to.”
I looked at him. “I want to.”
“Then we’ll do it.”
No pressure.
No convincing.
Just certainty.
I nodded. “Okay.”
The word came out softer than I intended.
Rome moved around me getting everything ready. I had no idea what he should or shouldn’t be doing, but he moved with confidence. I didn’t doubt for a second that he had an ounce of doubt inside of him.
I glanced at the machine, and my stomach flipped. “Oh God.”
He looked up. “You okay?”
“No.”
“It’s not too late.”
“I signed the paper,” I pointed out.
“You can unsign it,” he grinned.
I glared at him. “You enjoying this?”
“A little.”
I huffed and held my write out to him. “I’m ready.”
He chuckled, and then his expression shifted to focused and professional. He took my wrist gently and suddenly everything slowed down. His hands were warm, big, and careful.
The tattoos on his fingers brushed my skin as he positioned my arm.
My pulse jumped because he was close.
Really close.
I could see the flecks of gold hidden in his dark eyes.
The scar near his chin. The concentration on his face.
“You nervous?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“You trust me?”
I looked at our hands. His wrapped around my wrist. Steady and strong.
I swallowed. “Yeah,” I said softly.
Rome’s gaze lifted to mine.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Rome squeezed my wrist gently, then smiled. “Good.”