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“He is.”
He walked in with his lumbering gait, his broad shoulders stretching the thin cotton T-shirt, wearing beige Bermuda shorts, which he totally pulled off. He passed by his house and changed after work. If she had a place in Tel Aviv, she could do it too.
“Hey!” A large warm palm held the back of her head as he planted a warm kiss on her willing mouth.
“Hi, Hila, good to see you again.”
The vibe was so laid back that Dafna knew there was no history between them.
“Hi Erez. I was just telling Dafna about the process of being tattooed. She wants it small and discreet, but she hasn’t told me her theme yet.”
“I want to hear how you’re going to do it. Before we discuss the drawing I choose.”
Erez moved his chair closer and draped a protective arm around her back, a large reassuring palm around her shoulder. His legs were crossed elegantly, his body turned to her. Another palm covered her exposed knee.
“I’ll be here holding your hand.” He smiled.
“So, we’ll pick a drawing you want,” Hila started. “We’ll browse with the tablet together. Then I’ll take measurements,” Hila picked up a flexible seamstress measuring tape, “of the exact spot on your body you want it.”
“Where do you want it?” Erez asked.
She put her hand back, her fingers touching her right shoulder blade.
“Love it.” His eyes heated. “Sexy as fuck.”
He kissed her there, right in front of Hila, like he had no qualms about public displays of affection.
“We’ll print your drawing onto a thermal printer, and then…” Hila’s explanation continued, while Erez’s thumb drew circles on her shoulder blade. His other hand was on her knee. It was reminiscent to how he boxed her in The Thinking Nook. His masculine, enveloping presence made her nipples harden, her center to soften, she couldn’t wait for them to get to the honeymoon suite she’d booked. Her focus sharpened when she heard the word “needle.”
“Huh? Where, I’m sorry, can you please show me the needle?” She heard his satisfied chuckle. He was fully aware of his effect on her.
Hila held up a thick black pen.
“That’s it,” she said. “Pen machine with a needle and a cartridge. We choose the ink and after cleaning the place with alcohol, I draw on you. It shoots fast pinpoints, so fast the eye can’t follow it, the dots become a line.”
The whole setup was tame and reassuring, and she relaxed back into Erez’s warm palm.
“Have you thought of the tattoo you wanted?” Erez repeated his question, his breath warm on her neck.
“Yes, a mask.” His tanned cheeks turned darker with his blush, and she smirked at him. Hila smiled knowingly.
“Let’s look at masks,” Hila said. After about ten minutes of extensive browsing, she didn’t feel connected to anything. Not the sleeping masks they started with, which she felt was too literal. Zorro masks were too ninja. The long bands of blindfolds looked like ties.
“Wait, wait, I’ve got it!” Hila cried.
She showed them a beautiful drawing of a Venetian mask in the shape of a butterfly. Dafna thought of the long cocoon state after her divorce, and how she was venturing out of it now with this beautiful man, stretching her wings. Literal yes, but also meaningful.
“This speaks to me. But…I’d like to change it up, so it’s not too reminiscent of Venice.”
Hila nodded. “What do you like about it?”
“That it spreads its wings.”
“So, perhaps a mask, but with wide-open eyes staring out of the wings?”
The artist sketched quickly, a small wing and a large one, and two long-lashed eyes glancing aside, looking straight at the spectator.
“Yes!” Dafna and Erez said it together.
