Page 114 of Spring Break Fling

“Sure,” I agreed, trying to sound enthusiastic.

We cleared the dishes quickly, and while Hannah and her mother packed away the leftovers, Marianne shuffled the deck with practiced ease. “We’re playing Euchre. You know how to play?”

I did not. I had barely mastered poker. Thankfully, Hannah came to my rescue, pulling up a chair beside me. “He’s a quick learner,” she told her sister, giving my knee a reassuring squeeze under the table.

Marianne raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment further as she began explaining the rules. Hannah’s dad handed me a beer with a grin that suggested he found the whole situation amusing.

Play started, and despite my initial confusion, I found myself getting into the game. Marianne was fiercely competitive, her comments sharp but humorous. Hannah’s mother was surprisingly strategic in her play, while her father and I stumbled through as best we could.

As cards were thrown onto the table one round after another, laughter filled the room.

“So, Nikko,” Marianne started, leaning back in her chair as she shuffled a deck of cards. “You’re the tattoo guy.”

“I’m a tattoo guy,” I corrected, smirking. “Not sure if I qualify as the tattoo guy.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “He’s being modest. He’s brilliant.”

Her mom’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Brilliant, huh? Maybe I should get one.”

Hannah nearly choked on her drink. “Mom, no. You hate needles.”

“I do not,” her mom protested. “I just prefer them to be small and painless.”

“Sounds like a blast,” I deadpanned, earning another snort-laugh from her.

“What kind of tattoos do you do?” Marianne asked.

“Good ones,” Hannah said.

“Like what? Tribal bands?” Marianne joked.

I couldn’t help but groan.

“What does that mean?” her mother asked.

“He thinks they’re boring,” Hannah said. “Right?”

I shrugged. “I think they are just a little overdone. I prefer creating custom pieces that mean something to the person,” I explained. “It’s more about the story behind the tattoo than just making a cool design that a million other people have.”

Marianne nodded, seeming to appreciate that. “That actually sounds pretty cool. Any examples?”

Hannah jumped in quickly, pulling up her sleeve to reveal the compass and roses. “This was his creation.”

“You got a tattoo?” Her father sounded surprised, but not angry.

“We all did,” Hannah said. “When we were in Miami.”

“It’s very delicate,” her mother said. “I like it.”

The game continued, the cards slapping against the tabletop as we grew more comfortable with each other. Hannah’s mom was now fully engrossed in plotting her next move against Marianne, who was proving to be a formidable opponent.

Hannah brought out dessert. Everyone paused to make room for the cake she brought in, adorned with fresh berries and a light dusting of powdered sugar. My stomach was already full from dinner, but the cake looked too enticing to pass up.

“Wow, this looks amazing,” I said, earning a pleased smile from Hannah. Her cheeks were flushed from the excitement and perhaps the wine, which made her look even more beautiful.

As we devoured the cake, I realized something remarkable was happening. Hannah’s family wasn’t just tolerating me—they genuinely seemed to like me. Her mom asked thoughtful questions about my work, and Marianne’s sarcastic comments felt more playful than cutting.

After we’d eaten to the point of near coma, we migrated to the living room. I sat next to Hannah. She rested her hand on my knee with her parents sitting in the two chairs and Marianne on the floor.