I can’t even blame her for it. The fucker does some of the best tattoos I’ve ever seen, though I wouldn’t admit it to him. No need to make his big, bald head any bigger.
In the back corner of the shop, Eddie stays just as busy with people wanting everything from ears to noses to – sorry, Elsie – their nipples pierced. We had debated hiring a second piercer, but Sean and I are both licensed as well, so we figured we can step in to help him out as needed.
I’m sanitizing my chair when my next client approaches, a man who wants the outline of Maine tattooed on his inner bicep. We added a bunch of Maine and New England-themed tattoos to our flash design binder and I’m glad we did. They’ve been our bestsellers today by far.
While I wipe his arm down and get my supplies situated, the man, who introduces himself as Todd, begins chatting away like we’re old friends.
“My wife said I’ve got enough tattoos already, and you know, I might have agreed with her, but I said, ‘Listen, Linda – I’ve got to support a new local business. It’s the right thing to do.’ And before she could argue, I left.”
“Wow.” Chatty people like this, they don’t need much encouragement to keep going. A well-timed “wow” or “that’s crazy” can keep them on a roll through an entire appointment, I’ve learned over the years. I don’t see any other tattoos on him, but I don’t ask about the others.
“Sammy Tucker!” the man yells about halfway through his tattoo, noticing Sean’s next customer approaching. I lift my machine and sit back, and he takes the opportunity to lean forward and shake the man’s hand.
“Hey, Todd,” the man says. “You remember my wife, Jenna?”
The two greet each other and Todd settles back in his chair, arm held back out for me to continue. The three of them chat animatedly while Sean and I work, and thankfully they need no input from us while they give updates about how they’ve been and gossip about mutual acquaintances.
I’m just finishing up the star where Port Myles would be located in Maine when a mention of Elsie has my ears perking up. I keep working, pretending I’m not listening.
“Isn’t she just the sweetest thing?” Jenna says. “I have a bouquet from her on my kitchen table right now.”
“Really?” Todd asks. “What for?”
“I was working on her car and finished up a few days earlier than expected. She was needing it to go pick up flowers from some local farms before opening day. She was so happy that I had it ready ahead of schedule.”
“Bet she brought you flowers the very next day,” Todd says knowingly.
I glance up to see both Jenna and Sammy smiling. “That evening, actually,” Sammy says.
Todd glances at me, noticing I’m tuned into their conversation.
“She’s the girl with the flowers,” he tells me, like that explains everything.
“Ah,” I say, because what the fuck else do I say to that?
“Getting flowers from Elsie Carmichael is, like, a thing in Port Myles,” Sammy explains. “It’s how she shows people she cares about them, how she thanks them, how she lets them know she’s thinking of them.”
“Help her out with her car? Flowers,” Todd says. “You break your leg? Flowers. You have a good conversation after running into her at the grocery store? Flowers.”
“I saw a woman just yesterday with a bouquet that looked like it was from Elsie’s garden,” Jenna says. “Beautiful peonies and marigolds.”
The wave of jealousy that washes over me is strong and unexpected. Hearing Elsie described by these people who know her so well does something to me. There are so many versions of her I haven’t met yet. I can’t help wondering if I’ll ever get the chance to.
There’s a long list of reasons I should stay away from Elsie Carmichael. Top of the list is that I swore I wouldn’t be hooking up with anyone in this town. Never mind the minor, annoying detail that I think I want to do more than just hook up with her. I actually want to get to know her, which might be a first for me.
I don’t typically want toknowpeople. Even Sean forced his friendship on me, like those burdocks that stick to your clothes and hair when you walk through the woods. I wasn’t looking for a friend, but I got one anyway.
I’m not in the market for more friends, but fuck, I think I’d take whatever Elsie wanted to give me. Like flowers.
I say none of this to our customers. “Sounds nice,” I say instead, and set to work cleaning up Todd’s tattoo.
The rest of the day is a blur of customers, quick tattoos, introductions to new people and more conversation than I’ve had in a long time. It’s mentally and physically exhausting, but the work itself is a blast.
I try to keep my head down, stay focused on the work and ignore people as much as possible. I also try, and fail, to ignoreher.
Because it turns out that the window Elsie was so stressed about is both a blessing and a curse. I can’t help glancing through it every spare moment I have, happy to catch glimpses of her as she works. I catalog everything – the sips of tea between customers, the way she bites her lip when she’s arranging a bouquet, the way every single person who walks through her door seems to know and adore her. I tuck away these small bits of her, the pieces to a bigger puzzle I’m trying to put together.
I ignore the knowing looks from Sean every time he catches me staring. He’s a perceptive little shit, always seeing more than I want him to. I think he clocked whatever it is I’m feeling for Elsie that day of the Chamber of Commerce meeting, though he hasn’t mentioned it yet. Hopefully never will.
