Page 44 of Spring Break Fling

She tilted her head once again, considering it. “I think you’re keeping secrets.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Secrets?”

She gestured to me. “Like the fact that you know how to dress for an art gallery. That’s a nice shirt under the leather jacket, by the way.”

I chuckled. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

We moved through the gallery, weaving between other patrons, my hand brushing against her back whenever the crowd got tight. I couldn’t help noticing the way people looked at us—like they couldn’t believe a woman like her would be with a guy like me. Their problem, not mine.

I liked touching her. Obviously, I would like to do a lot more, but the whole subtle touching thing was good, too.

Hannah paused in front of a watercolor design. “The color is fascinating,” she said, more to herself than me. “I love that it plays with negative space in a way that practically screams tension.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “It’s not just about the ink. It’s about what’s left unsaid.”

I tilted my head, intrigued. “Sounds like you’re talking about more than just art.”

She glanced at me, a sly smile curving her lips. “Maybe I am.”

“I didn’t know you liked art.”

“I don’t know if I do,” she said. “I like this.”

“Yeah?”

She turned to look at me. “So, where’s your stuff? Or am I supposed to guess?”

I chuckled. “What makes you think I have stuff here?”

She gave me a look saying she knew better. And then she walked away. I watched as she scanned several of the pictures.

“Found it,” she said.

She was good.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“I guess you’re not as mysterious as you think you are.”

“Maybe not,” I said.

I watched her stop closer, really studying the image. I remembered the tattoo very well.

“I love how tattoos can capture a person’s story in a way that nothing else can,” I said.

“What is this tattoo about?” she asked. “It’s not obvious, but I’m guessing there’s more to it.”

“My goal is to do ink that tells a story,” I said. “Which is why I hate the fucking Spring Breaker tattoos. This one was on a Marine veteran. He had some ideas about what he wanted but wanted me to just do what felt right. We went and got a beer and I talked to him a bit. We were probably together maybe thirty minutes and I knew what it should be. He didn’t want anything obvious. He didn’t want the standard military stuff. But he told me about his battle buddy. He had a rough time and didn’t make it after they got back. Every line of the tattoo was a moment of survival.” I pointed to one of the short lines. “That’s his friend. This one over here is one of his buddies that died over there.”

She listened—not the kind of fake listening most people did while waiting for their turn to talk. No, she listened. Her eyes stayed locked on mine.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “I like that it isn’t obvious. It’s his private story. I imagine only a few people will ever get to know it.”

We both turned back to look at the image once again. I could see her understanding it a bit better.

“Not exactly the corporate presentation you’re used to,” I said, my tone light but laced with a challenge.