Page 47 of Midnight Ink

“I’m sure of it,” he adds. “He wouldn’t want to go to Puerto Rico without you.”

I drag in a breath and nod. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . stressed.”

His large hand cups my knee, giving me a squeeze. “Not your fault.”

“Not yours either.”

Thunder cracks overhead, loud enough that I flinch and look up at the ceiling. “Not sure this place will survive a hurricane. Or even the rain.” A drafty chill settles in the room.

“I think it’s cute,” Julian says, looking at me with that spark back in his beautiful eyes. I admire him a lot. Nothing seems to bother him. Actually no, that’s not true, a lot bothers him, but he doesn’t break under the pressure. Julian bends, looking for the positives. I wish I could be like that. He’s always seeing the bright side of shit.

“Really? Cute?”

He shrugs. “It’s a Victorian house,” he insists. “It’s got character.”

“Is that character starring in a slasher film? Because then I can see it.”

“I’m trying to see the bright side, Ian.”

I look at him, and not for the first time on this trip or even this year I feel that low hum deep in my gut. The one that shows up whenever I really look at him. When it’s just the two of us, either drawing together or watching TV. It’s comfort like a soft blanket. He’s my best friend. Trying to explain how much he means to me would be impossible. He’s the light that keeps me going through things I don’t really talk about.

“I’m looking at the only bright side of this,” I whisper.

His brows knit together then morph into something with more heat than I dare to ask about. My stomach thrums with my words. My cheeks burn and I look away.

“We’ll make the most of it,” I add quickly. “It could be fun.”

“You can be positive,” he says dryly. “Just don’t get delusional on me.”

I stand, restless. “Hungry?”

“Always.” Julian stands too, giving me a small smile.

We walk downstairs. The smell of soy sauce, garlic, and something sweet hugs the entrance. The dining room is warm and set in a way that feels welcoming. If not for the front desk, I’d think we just stepped into someone’s home.

A long wooden table is set and Julian looks at me for a long moment.

The woman from the front desk is carrying a pot of something with steam coming from the top. She beams when she sees us. “Oh, good! Just in time. We’re about to have dinner. Come. Come sit.”

We exchange a glance then Julian steps forward. “Oh no, that’s okay, you don’t have to. We’re going to go eat. We don’t want to bother you guys.”

“Nonsense.” She waves us over. “I made plenty. Violet loves scallion pancakes when it rains like this. There’s also air fried tofu, a small thing of leftover ziti, and if you like soup, I made a wonderful chicken noodle soup.”

Julian sits down in a dining room chair. “No real rhyme or reason?” He laughs at the odd arrangement of foods. There’s also a bowl of white rice in the center.

“We have this thing sometimes where we all list one thing we really want to eat and we make everything together as a family. Violet wanted pancakes, Alexander wanted tofu. The ziti is from the other night. I fried the tofu with this honey garlic glaze I make. I love a nice soup on rainy days like this. There’s also fresh bread and rice.” She smiles. Her black hair is down loose around her shoulders, and she looks to be in her forties. “I hope there’s something you both will eat.”

“We really don’t want to be a burden. You don’t have to worry,” Julian says, but I see his eyes light up. Julian loves food almost as much as he loves tattooing. He didn’t eat much at the airport, though.

“I would rather you both eat here than go out into that nasty storm.” The man who I’m assuming is Alexander walks into the room. There’s something a little off but I have no idea what it is. Where his wife is very overzealous, he seems . . . suspicious maybe.

“Mama.” Violet bounces into the room then freezes on seeing us, tucking herself behind her mother’s legs. “Oh.”

“It’s okay. We have guests. Did you wash your hands?” She holds out her dripping hands with a smile. “Good enough.”

Alexander stands with a teapot. “Would anyone like some?” he asks us.

“I’ll take some,” Julian says, grabbing a teacup and one of the bags. He fixes his tea as Xia hands us plates and bowls.