“I suppose we can look at it like that.” He chuckles. “You think we can also maybe start fresh? I’m not here in Whisper Valley long. But I would like us to be friends while I’m here. Maybe even keep in touch when I’m gone.”
His words ring in my ears. “Friends?” I force a smile and try to cover my second bout of disappointment where this man is concerned by inking up my needle.Of course friendship is all he wants. When has a man like him ever been interested in a woman like me?
I wipe away the excess ink on his chest and prepare myself to start shading. “Friends sounds great,” I say, using my focus on my work to keep the conversation to a minimum for the rest of the piece, which thankfully doesn’t take too long.
“What do I owe you?” he asks as soon as I announce I’m done.
“You might want to look at it before you offer me money,” I say, already packing up.
He moves over to the mirror and looks closely at the series of lines, dots and shading. “Is that the North Star?” he asks, and I can’t tell from the tone of his voice if he likes it or not.
“Yeah. Duke mentioned you never stay in one place for long. Figured that maybe having that near your heart might help guide you to somewhere you can call home.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I stop what I’m doing and find him watching me closely via the reflection in the mirror. “Thank you,” he says the moment our eyes lock. “I love it.”
I give him a small smile. “Consider it a gift. Besides tormenting me by calling me ‘Spot’, you were probably the only friend of Duke’s who was kind to me back in the day.”
“You were a cute kid,” he says quickly.
“Not cute anymore,” I whisper under my breath as I put everything back in its place ready for tomorrow.
“No. Cute is the wrong word for what you are now, Dottie,” he says, shocking me because I did not think he’d hear that.
I take a deep breath and jut my chin out in challenge. “And what am I now?”
A smile takes over his entire face. “I’ll let you know before I leave town.”
“Sure you will,” I say, rolling my eyes as I put a small covering over his tattoo. The warm smell of his skin mixed with the ink invades my senses, and I quickly step away.
“Where’s a good place to eat out around here?” he asks.
“It’s a small town, so not much.”
He laughs. “You’re forgetting where I come from, Spot. Cedarwood Valley has a diner and that’s it, remember?”
“Not really. I was six when we left, so my memories of that place are a little hazy.”
“As long as I’m one of them,” he says, smirking as he puts his shirt back on—much to my disappointment.
I choose to ignore his comment and stick to the answer to his original question. “Let’s see… There’s a diner, a coffee shop, a bakery—except that will be closed now—and a couple of bars and basic restaurants.”
“What’s your choice?”
“I don’t really go out much, but the most popular place is Valentines. Their booths are always crowded. But if you just want a quiet drink and some wings, then the bar on the corner of Main St and Mirabella is your best bet.”
“What if I wanted a pizza?”
“Then you’d go to the pizza house on Rose Avenue.”
“Join me?”
“Ahhh… I don’t know. It’s been a long day.”
“Come on, Dottie. Buying you dinner is the least I can do after you just gave me a tattoo for free.”
“I don’t know…” I keep my eyes off his face when I speak. If I’m honest with myself here, I’d love to go out and have dinner with him. But if I’m super honest with myself, I know that doing so will only get my hopes up even through he’s already laid all his cards on the table, and they spell out friendship and nothing more. But I’m a chronic hoper. A romantic deep inside who wishes fairy tales were real, and that one daymyversion of a prince would come. But since I’m a thirty-nine-year-old woman without a single serious relationship in my history, I know that’s just not true. In my story, I’m not the princess waiting for her prince. I’m one of the side characters living alone in the woods. And I’m OK with that. Well, most of the time I am anyway. It’s only when men like Theo enter my orbit that I get a little foolhardy and hopeful. “I really should head home and get some sleep.”
“One hour,” he counters. “Give me one more hour of your time and we’ll call it a day. We can talk old times and catch up on the last thirty years. I want to know how the little girl who loved animals and barbie dolls turned into a tattoo artist in a small town.”
