“I see you are undercaffeinated again this morning,” I state, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I guess,” he mumbles under his breath. “Do you want to go to Maggie’s, or can I drop you off at the shop today?”
“The shop’s fine. I’ll see if April wants anything and walk over later.”
He pulls up to the curb beside Inkfluence and puts the truck in park. I turn to look at him and ask, “Is something wrong? You’re grouchier than normal.”
“I’m fine, just tired.” He tries and fails to give me a reassuring smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Try not to get into any trouble today.”
“That’s a big ask, Pretty Boy.” Leaning over, I give him a quick peck on the cheek—just like I would any of my other friends—and jump out of the truck. Shutting the door, I raise my hand to wave goodbye. He watches me, his eyebrows drawn together, before checking his mirror and pulling back onto the street.
Standing on the sidewalk, I watch him drive around the block towards the bakery. Maybe the kiss on the cheek was a little too much. Grinning, I sling my bag over my shoulder and open the heavy door to the studio.
April’s sitting behind the counter with the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. Rolling her eyes, she says, “No, Braden, she isn’t here. No, I don’t know when she will be in.”
Hearing his name instantly deflates my good mood.
She listens for a moment before saying, “No, I don’t know why she isn’t responding to your text messages. Perhaps she doesn’t want to talk to you; did you ever consider that?” She looks at me and shakes her head. “You seriously need to stop calling, okay? If Beck wants to talk to you, she will. Have a good day.”
“What a fucking asshole,” she states, hanging up.
“I’m sorry he keeps calling here. It’s bad enough that he’s blowing up my phone with text messages. He shouldn’t be calling here as well.”
This has been going on for far too long, but I don’t know how I can make it any clearer to him. I don’t want to talk. There’s no money to give. I already pay the rent on a house that I don’t live in and for the truck I don’t drive. I need to save what little I have for next month’s payments.
“Don’t apologize; it’s not your fault. I can deal with him.”
“I know, but you shouldn’t have to.” God, I hate this.
“Is Logan working today?” I ask. The shit that went down with his brother has been rough on him and Hannah. It’s going to take more than a minute for them to work things out.
“No, he’s going to take the rest of the week and come back on Monday.”
When Banks opened Inkfluence in Emerley, people thought he was crazy bringing a tattoo studio to a town this small. Little did they know, people would travel from all over the country to be tattooed by him. His talent is unmatched. However, over the past few years, he has become very selective about whom he works with and has cut back the hours he spends in the shop.
We agreed we needed another artist to fill the gaps, but the last guy who rented a chair… his talent didn’t match his giant ego. He treated Banks and me like competition instead of coworkers. When you spend so much time together, it’s easier when everyone gets along. He made the shop uncomfortable, and I wasn’t sad to see him leave.
Logan has been a terrific addition to the team. He’s an amazing artist, and we were lucky to get him. It’s a bonus that he grew up in Emerley, so he understands how small towns operate.
Throwing myself down onto the black leather sofa in the waiting room, I tell her about Carson offering me his nana’s car.
“That’s good news, Beck.”
“I’m so grateful. Hopefully, it’s temporary.”
It’s a huge hit to the ego to need this kind of help from my friends. I know thirty-year-olds who are married and have children. They own their own cars and homes. Then there’s me. At least the Airstream is completely mine.
I appreciate Ryan has been kind enough to drive me to work the past couple of days, but I don’t want to rely on him. Even grouchy Ryan makes it far too easy to lean on him. That’s another reason I’ve tried to keep my distance.
“We should totally celebrate,” April says excitedly, clapping her hands as she comes around the counter and plops down on the couch beside me.
Raising an eyebrow, I say, “You want to celebrate me borrowing Nana Cathy’s ancient car?” The grey Ford Focus is straight out of the early 2000s. I don’t care; beggars can’t be choosers, and it’s still better than my shitty Civic. I’m not sure if it’s a celebratory event, though.
“Sure, why not? It’s always good to celebrate the little wins in life, don’t you think? And,” she draws out, “I want to go to The Riff in Muskoka. It’s a new bar that’s opening, and I don’t want to go alone.”
Twirling my hair around my finger, I crinkle my nose and ask, “The Riff? What kind of name is that?”
“I didn’t name the place; I just want to check it out. Come with me? Please.” She clasps her hands in front of her chest, pleading. “There will be a live rock band playing.”
