Page 132 of Spring Break Fling

“So, tell me where do we start?” I asked.

“First things first. Location paperwork. We’ll need to secure the lease, get the proper business licenses, and start the permit process for renovations.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. This was why I needed him to partner with me. I didn’t know shit. “I’ve never done any of this before. Permits?”

“That’s why you’ve got me,” Marcus said. “We’ll tackle this step by step. First up, I want you to start sketching design concepts for the shop. How do you see the space looking?”

My mind immediately started spinning with possibilities—exposed brick walls, vintage tattoo posters, maybe some Miami-inspired artwork that captured the city’s vibrant energy. This wasn’t just a shop. This was going to be my dream made real.

“Alright, I can start on those sketches tonight,” I said, invigorated by the project ahead.

Marcus nodded approvingly. “Meanwhile, I’ll start cracking on the financial projections and a marketing plan to get the buzz going.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Marketing already?”

He smiled. “Of course! We need to start building anticipation now. Let’s give people something to talk about. We’ll leak some coupons or discounts for the first fifty people. Maybe even throw a pre-opening party. Get people excited about what’s coming. I’ll need to put together a business plan to get the loan from the bank.”

The idea of it all made me slightly dizzy, but in a good way. It felt like stepping onto a rollercoaster, terrifying and thrilling all at once.

“And what about staff?” I asked, knowing that a shop was only as strong as its crew.

“Let’s start thinking about artists you respect and would want to work with,” Marcus suggested. “We want a cohesive unit. The last thing you need is people that are going to challenge you and try to push the boundaries. This is your show. You get to choose who you want working for you. It’s a big responsibility. Make sure whoever you bring on board shares your vision and work ethic.”

I nodded. It made sense. This was more than just hiring workers. It was about assembling a team that would shape the culture of the shop. I didn’t want people that did shitty work that earned us a bad reputation.

“Also, think diversity,” Marcus continued. “Not just in skills but also in styles. You want to offer something no one else does, right? Think outside the conventional box. Maybe someone who specializes in surrealism or an old-school specialist with a modern twist.”

The wheels in my head were already turning, envisioning a lineup of artists that could truly set us apart. “I like that. A mix that can cater to all tastes but stands out as unique in the market.”

“Exactly.” Marcus leaned back, his expression serious yet excited. “Nikko, this is your chance to redefine what a tattoo shop can be. Not just a place for ink but a space where art and community meet. A cultural hub.”

The concept felt ambitious yet entirely possible. He was making my head spin. It wasn’t quite as simple as hanging my shingle and opening a shop. Honestly, I would probably fail within a month or break three hundred different laws. I was glad he was taking me under his wing.

I needed it.

46

HANNAH

Istepped out of the airport and into the Miami heat. It was May but it felt like July back home.

The air was thick and heavy, clinging to my skin as I made my way to the curb to catch a taxi. The vibrant buzz of the city was full of life and energy that Boise’s quiet streets could never match. I adjusted my sunglasses and took a drink from my water bottle.

During the flight, I had plenty of time to mull over my decision to move here. Miami was a big change, a fresh start in every sense of the term.

I didn’t know if Nikko was even going to want me. We had not talked since he walked out on me in Boise. I wasn’t even sure he was in Miami. If I found him, he might very well tell me to get my ass back to Boise.

He would have every right to do so. He had the right to tell me he told me so. There was a small spark of hope that we could pick up where we left off, though.

The taxi pulled to a stop in front of Nikko’s house. I grabbed my suitcase and hauled it up to the door. I didn’t see his bike, but there was a good chance it was in the garage.

Twenty minutes of pounding on Nikko’s door, and I was one embarrassing scream away from breaking into his house just to make sure he wasn’t dead. My hair was frizzing in the Miami humidity, my mascara smudged in a way that was less sexy-smoky and more raccoon-with-regrets. In my haste to get out of New York, I left my phone charger in the room. Along with my portable charger. I bought one in the airport and planned to charge my phone when I got to his place. Now, my phone battery was at five percent. One text, one phone call and it was all done. I looked around, hoping he would emerge from behind a palm tree.

I could walk… where? I had a blister forming on my heel from running around like a lunatic in shoes that were meant for walking exactly three feet from the subway to a desk.

“Nikko!” I yelled, giving the door one last pathetic knock. Nothing. I didn’t want to announce I was in town over the phone. I wanted to see him in person so he couldn’t hang up on me.

I didn’t dare try calling Diego or Jessie. They would hang up on me. Jessie especially.