Font Size:  

Lenox never answers my questions, but the second he takes the turn and we slowly drive down Maine Street, I no longer care. This town… now I see what Aurelia was talking about last night when she told me it was the cutest small town she’d ever seen. This. Town. Is. Fucking. Everything.

Adorable storefronts with sweet awnings, perfect signage, tons of New England fall charm, cute sidewalk displays, and people walking by, chatting and saying hello as they pass. Autumn leaves fly through the air, catching the breeze and glinting off the random shards of sunshine that break through the clouds. It’s like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. A diner, a hardware store, a bank, a flower shop, a bakery, a grocery store, a coffee shop, a yoga studio, a post office, a library, a swanky restaurant, and lastly, a tattoo parlor with no signage to indicate anything about the shop other than it’s a business.

So very Lenox.

Only… “How do you live here? It’s so picturesque, I can hardly stand it without wanting to pinch its cheeks and make it my own.” Seriously, I’m struggling to imagine this surly, tatted, reclusive, and pierced man walking these sidewalks. I feel like the cement would crack beneath his black boots. “What on earth made you pick this town, or are you about to show me where all the bodies of the stray kittens you’ve murdered are kept?”

Lenox takes a right and then another right, and then pulls into a mostly empty parking lot behind his building.

He puts the car in park and shuts off the rumbling engine. “The town didn’t look like this when I bought it,” is all he says before getting out and leaving me here to try and figure out if I heard him correctly.

When he bought it? As in the whole town? Is that even possible? Can a person purchase a town like a handbag or a piece of art?

The more I know of this man, the less I understand.

Or maybe the more I learn, the more my perception of him changes.

He’s like a weed in my flowerbed. I can rip him out and spray him with poison, but his roots are so embedded in my soil, there is no way to fully eradicate him.

I climb out of the car, wrapping my arms around my chest and quickly snatching my coat from the backseat and putting it on. Right now, it’s sunny and eighty in LA, and here it’s overcast and maybe forty degrees.

Maine. Who moves to Maine at the beginning of winter?

And we haven’t even discussed how long this prison sentence with him will be.

Lenox is unlocking the back door of his shop, and I quickly scramble after him, anxious to get inside where it’s hopefully heated. He holds the door open for me. The lights in the back of the shop, which is used for storage, and where the bathrooms are located, are already on. A scratching noise calls my attention away from surveying the neatly organized equipment, and before I can brace myself, a giant black dog that looks like a lab mix comes barreling at me and jumps up, slamming two large paws onto my chest.

“Alice, down,” Lenox commands from behind me at the same time a woman in front of me says, “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” I exclaim, laughing as I rub Alice’s face and ears. “She’s so sweet. You are, aren’t you? You’re a total love bug. How is he your daddy?” I motion to Lenox as I continue to nuzzle, pet, and receive wet kisses. “You’re such a good girl.”

Lenox groans. “I should have known. Is there a creature alive who doesn’t instantly love you?”

“Only you,” I quip, only to catch myself when Brooklynn comes into view. Lenox and I are married and supposed to be in love, only he doesn’t seem to care or notice, and neither does Brooklynn, who greets me with an enthusiastic smile. I’m guessing Lenox doesn’t bring his women to his shop a lot.

“Come here, Alice.” Lenox lets out a sharp whistle, and the dog lowers herself to the ground before she goes straight for Lenox, then nuzzles and licks at him like the attention whore she is.

“Sure, I see how it is. You’re a love the one you’re with gal.” I turn back to Brooklyn and squeal in delight. “Hi, I’m Georgia. You must be Brooklynn. And you’re pregnant!” I extend my hand, and she plows right past that, giving me a giant hug, her awesome round belly giving me the equivalent of a baby fist bump.

“You’re real. I can’t believe you’re real. I was positive you were a blow-up doll version of Georgia Monroe. Why else would you marry him?”

“Ha,” Lenox bites out.

“Oh my God! I love you!” I hug her back. “Anyone who gives him shit is my new best friend. Plus, you’re pregnant, and pregnant women are my absolute favorite. I hope you don’t mind. I know no one here, and I’m a clinger. Just ask Lenox.”

“I would but he never talks.”

I bark out a laugh and roll my head over my shoulder to find Lenox. I point at her and mouth, “I love her.” He simply rolls his eyes at me, but there is no hiding the slight curl of his lips as he continues to pet his dog.

“Come inside,” she says, waving me forward. “You must be curious. Lenox’s casa es su casa now, right?”

I snort at Lenox’s less-than-amused expression. “Absolutely.”

I follow after Brooklynn, whom I was sort of picturing looking like Rosie the Riveter. You know, tall, muscular, blazing red hair that she wears up in a cool bandana. But no. Brooklynn is short—my guess is not even five feet—with ink-black hair down to her ass, almost equally dark round eyes with mega lashes, gauges in her ears, a nose ring, a lip ring, and arms as colorful as Lenox’s. Her belly takes up half her size since she appears to be about eight months pregnant.

But mostly, I can’t stop looking around at everything I see. Wide plank distressed hardwood floors run throughout the space. There are three private rooms in the back where I assume they do the inking and piercing, each with exposed brick and clean white walls. The ceilings are tin tiles in an oil-rubbed bronze, and in the reception area, the walls that aren’t exposed brick are black.

There are no images of tattoos on the walls the way I expected there to be. Just some cool, very simple black-and-white photographs of various places or things—hands playing a piano, a street in what I think is Paris, the back of someone’s head who I immediately recognize as Zax standing on a balcony in Rome, and my breath catches.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com