Lee’s heart skittered, and his eyes went wide. “Fried peach pies? My mom used to make those.” For an instant, he was eight years old again, standing by the stove. He’d watch her scoop each pie out of the frying pan and set them on paper towels. He hated having to wait for them to cool. “You mean, like, little peach calzones, but with pie crust instead of pizza dough?”
Wren’s warm smile brought him back to the present. “Yeah, my mamaw made them from scratch. But she’s old school.” Wren shook her head, clearly amused. “She has no fear of saturated fat and cholesterol. I can’t eat another bowl of stew or another bite of pie for at least a month.”
“I’m a little jealous,” Lee said honestly. Homemade shrimp stew and fried peach pies sounded like heaven. “I’ve been living on takeout all week.”
In truth, he’d been living on takeout for years.
She studied him for a moment. “Are you still in your residency?”
The question surprised him. “Yes. Is it that obvious?”
Her startled laughter was the only answer he needed. And Lee wanted to hear it again — even if she laughed at him.
“I mean, I’m licensed. It’s not like I just have my learner’s permit or anything.” It was a bad joke. An awful joke, but it worked because she kept laughing. Her laughter was a mix of high and low notes, like a handbell choir. And like music, he could feel it in his chest.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said, her smile untamed. “You just look really young, and I’ve heard that residents have — like — negative time.”
He gave her a helpless grin. “Negative time. That’s about right. Who told you that?”
Her smile demurred. “One of my clients.”
“One of your clients is a resident?” His curiosity pounced. Did he know someone who was secretly covered in Wren’s work?
“Who?”
She shook her head, but her smile never failed. “I don’t tat and tell. Tattooing is very personal. If someone wants you to see their work, you’ll see it. But I don’t talk about my clients.”
Even though he was the one asking, Lee liked that she wouldn’t answer. “You don’t talk about them at all?”
Wren raised and dropped her right shoulder in a half shrug, but she still smiled at him. “Well, I don’t identify them.” Her voice softened, but Lee thought he heard a touch of pride. “I’ll talk about the artwork, or I’ll retell a funny story someone told me while I worked on them, but I don’t go around talking about who was in my parlor.”
“That’s cool,” he managed, even though it was more than cool. After seeing her artwork on the walls of her apartment, he already respected her as a professional, but she clearly had integrity on top of talent. He wanted to know more, but more than anything, Lee wanted her to keep talking. “What kind of tats did you do today?”
Her smile grew, and again her cheeks colored. He found his eye drawn to the translucent skin below her cheekbones. Wren’s fair complexion was an alluring contrast to her black and blue hair, but when she blushed, Lee found it impossible to look away.
“Well, let’s see…” Her green eyes swiveled to the ceiling as she recounted. “I did a fleur-de-lis for this girl who turned eighteen today. I inked a Captain America shield on this guy’s bicep—”
Lee laughed, not so much about the tattoo choice, but at the look of amusement in her eyes.
“Yeah, he was definitely anAvengersfan… Um…” She paused to tally on her fingers. “…I touched up a Celtic knot for a lady, and I worked on a larger piece for one of my regulars.”
“What was it?” Lee asked, intrigued with the way her face softened when she thought about her work.
“Oh, it’s a dragon. Pretty big.” Wren drew a serpentine shape across her chest. “A piece like that needs to be worked on in stages, so we did some of the shading today.”
He had more questions. He could have stood there listening to her all night, but the rational part of his brain told him to give it a rest. They were in the middle of the grocery store. If he wanted to talk to her more, he should ask her out for coffee.
But you can’t ask her out. You’re seeing someone.
“You’re really talented. I’m sure you stay pretty busy. You seem…” He couldn’t find the words for what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that she seemed like the kind of person he could talk to — listen to — for hours. And that he would’ve liked the chance. That she was special, and he knew it. “…you seem perfect — I mean… you are unique.”
He didn’t question why she stared at him with unblinking eyes. What the hell had he just said? She wasperfect? Who talked like that?
But in the seconds after he’d blurted out the words, he watched her eyes light with a smile — a surprised and genuine smile, and he realized he didn’t regret the words at all.
“Um… thank you?” What had been pink on her cheeks was now scarlet, and Lee thought he might have turned a little pink, too.
“I should let you get back to your shopping,” he said, clearing his throat. He didn’t want to walk away. Maybe if he just stood there, she’d leave first, and he’d be able to watch her go.
