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“I was wondering if we could arrange our next tattoo session. There’s a studio in town. I can get us a spot there. Do you know Bianchi’s?”
“As in Giorgia Bianchi?” I say, a major case of dorky excitement making my voice go up in pitch.
“That’s her. She recently became a shareholder in my company, so I reached out. Her brother did a piece on my shoulder a while back too.”
It’s like he’s adding details so he doesn’t have to address the gaping chasm between us, the Vanessa conversation.
“It’ll be good,” he goes on. “We can talk, but there will be people around.”
I tighten my crossed legs, feeling an inappropriate pulse in my core.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” I say softly, knowing I should stop.
I’m making myself too available, too obvious, but it’s like that deep need is in the driver’s seat.
“Last time,” I go on.
“Me too. A lot. That’s why I wanted to use the studio. I’ll have to behave. I haven’t been very gentlemanly, Lauren.”
I smile, twirling hair around my finger, and then it’s like I’m looking across at myself. I see a woman there, phone in one hand, hair in the other, and I think,She’s the most in love she’ll ever be.
“Are you capable of being one?”
“For the right woman. Maybe I could be.”
“The right woman like….”
I trail off, not wanting to be mean, but then he sighs. “Vanessa. You saw the note.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking about it.”
I scoff, trying to sound like I’m above this. There’s simply no way I’ll be able to explain it to him in honest terms without wrenching my heart out.
But I can’t tiptoe around the edges anymore.
I take a breath. I’m not that scared girl in high school, shy in the background. I’m the woman who tattoos her own legs.
I’m the woman who takes a chance, who goes after what she wants.
“Lauren?” he says.
I want everything from you. I want the rest of our lives.
“I don’t want to be just another one of your women,” I say. “When I said her name, I saw that look on your face. Who was she? Your ex-wife or something? You don’t have to tell me. I get that.”
I bite down, wondering if I’ve gone too far. But I was trying to keep away from him, doing my best out of respect for Dad.
“Another one of my women,” Silas repeats. “Is that what you think? I haven’t gone on a date in over ten years. I’ve never found….”
“Silas?”
“There’s lots of stuff I can’t explain over the phone,” he says angrily. “I’ll pay you a decent fee for the rest of this tattoo. You’re a skilled artist. I want you to finish your vision. I might even tell you what it means.”
“Don’t tease me,” I say. “Did you mean it about dating?”
“Yes.”
