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Eventually I noticed the sun had moved across the sky and the shadows were starting to grow longer, and I realized I had no idea how long I’d been out there. The tattoo studio was open late, but Ian often didn’t stay long after his appointments and I’d need to get a move on if I didn’t want to miss him.
I wondered who else might be there. The last I’d known, Ian had an apprentice named Carlos, and two other full-time artists rented booth space from him. I wondered if he’d replaced my mom, and if there would still be space for me. Though I had to believe there would always be space for me.
It took me a while to make my way back to where I’d started, and then another short walk took me away from the beach and toward the long strip of stores where the studio was located.
It was already beginning to grow dark, but the sign was still visible from a block away. It arched over the door, the enormous letters proclaiming Masterworks Ink in black and silver scrollwork. To my relief, Ian’s car was parked in the lot, right where it always had been, and excitement made my chest grow tight. I’d missed him, but I hadn’t realized how much until this moment, when he was finally only steps away. How surprised would he be to see me? Would he cry? I snickered at the thought. My mom had loved to tease her big, burly coworker about his sentimental side.
The door chimed as I pulled it open, and my heart was beating a mile a minute in my chest.
I’d expected the place to be bustling, as it normally was on a weekday evening, but the lights weren’t even on in the main reception area. There was no sound either coming from the hallway where the tattoo stations were—none of the buzzing of machines, thumping music or laughing chatter that usually made the place come alive.
I paused, looking around the dark space in confusion before it hit me. Today was Thanksgiving. I’d totally forgotten. Dammit, I was lucky the door was unlocked at all.
But Ian’s car had been out front, and a thin beam of light drifted down the hallway. I wondered what he was doing here on a holiday, and then realized this would be his first Thanksgiving away from my family as well. Although he was in his late forties, he’d never been married and had no children. Maybe he was hurting as much as I was.
“Hello?” I called out tentatively, but there was no response, and a second later I heard low music filtering down the hallway. I followed the sound toward Ian’s station, which was located in the largest room near the back. Each of the tattoo stations was located in its own kind of cubicle, with dividing walls but no doors—just open to the hallway on one side.
The music grew louder as I made my way down the hallway, and then there he was, facing away from me as he worked, not on a client, but brushing paint across an enormous canvas he had leaning against one wall. I stopped in the doorway, emotion welling up and closing my throat. He hadn’t seen me behind him, and I watched him for a long moment, trying to wrestle myself under control.
He looked exactly the same—big and gruff and scary-looking if you didn’t know him, faded tattoos climbing out of the neckline of his shirt to cover the back of his neck and up onto his bald head. He wore his standard uniform of ink-stained shorts and a black t-shirt, likely emblazoned across the front with one of the metal bands he’d grown up listening to, same as the music that drifted from the nearby speaker, the volume set low. I knew if he turned, his face would be the same too—neatly-trimmed goatee, heavy brows, slightly crooked nose and more ink across the front of his neck and up under his jaw.
It was only when he set down his paintbrush and stretched his arms over his head that I realized I’d been standing there staring like a creep, and I cleared my throat.
“Ian?”
He spun around so fast his paintbrush fell from the stool where he’d set it and went skittering across the floor, leaving a smear of red paint in its wake.
“Holy fuck, Camilla?”
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. For him to grab me into one of his too-tight hugs, maybe. Tears? Relief, jokes, something.
And though I thought I saw the relief and affection for a brief second as they flashed across the hard planes of his face, they were replaced so quickly I couldn’t be sure they’d really been there at all. His familiar face froze in a cold, hard look that was utterly unfamiliar.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
The color leached out of my cheeks. “What? I—”
“Shouldn’t you be in Chicago? With your aunt?”
I blinked, too stunned to respond. He’d known I had an aunt in Chicago? Known I was there this whole time, and he’d never bothered to call or write or anything? I’d deleted his number, but nothing had prevented him from reaching out to me.
“I—I came back over Thanksgiving break,” I stuttered out. “I came to see you.”
He shot to his feet, towering over me in a move I’d seen him use on irresponsible apprentices, but never on me.
“Did Naomi send you?” he demanded. “Was this her stupid idea?”
He knew my aunt’s name? What the hell was going on here?
“No, she doesn’t know I’m here,” I admitted, utterly confused. “I came from school. I wanted to see you…I missed you. I thought…”
The tears threatened again and I swallowed my words. For a split second he seemed to soften, just a fraction, then his eyes hardened again as he seemed to realize what I’d just said.
“Wait. No one knows you’re here?”
I shook my head, trying to blink back the tears.
“Fuck. Just…ah, fuck.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, fumbling in it before yanking out a credit card.
