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“Uh,ma’am?”
I jolted, spinning around and coming face to face with a lanky red-headed kid, who was barely out of his teen years, as he stared at me with wide eyes.
“Me?” I questioned, not used to anyone addressing me as anything other than “hey, you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The skinny kid swallowed thickly, his eyes darting from my boots and fishnets back up to my narrowed eyes before continuing. “I believe this delivery is for you.” He turned a clipboard in my direction, showing me that he was from the furniture store, which made sense, considering that was what was written on the truck he had just jumped out of.
“Oh, sweet,” I exclaimed, yanking the paper out of his hand and scanning it excitedly. “My couch is here.”
I couldn’t believe how quickly things had been moving since Violet and I had officially decided to make a go of this whole business owner thing. Part of her new, fancy-pants life included a personal assistant, Archie, who was actually really well versed in making insane requests a reality, and it appeared that fast tracking a renovation was child’s play for the stuffy man in the fancy suit. I’d spoken to Archie a couple of times, and I still couldn’t be certain that he wasn’t a robot. The man never cracked a smile, no matter how ridiculous the thing I asked for might have been.
That was actually how Violet and I found ourselves holding a baby goat at three in the morning last weekend. We’d been finishing the bottle of whiskey Asher had gifted us, moping because we had just moved the last of Violet’s things to her new place, and somehow had decided that the only thing that would make us feel better was a snuggle from a furry barnyard baby. Violet had placed the call, and within the hour Archie had delivered. The look on that man’s face, all his proper English-ness fighting desperately to stay in place as he held the leash while the tiny white goat had bleated at the top of its lungs was enough to have Vi and me rolling on the floor with laughter.
Archie could make miracles happen, that was for sure. I was glad he was in our corner, however reluctant he may have been to be there.
The delivery guys were just about done moving the last piece of the sectional into the shop when a big black pickup pulled up to the curb, the loud engine rumbling aggressively before it turned off and Asher hopped out, looking just as good as I remembered.
The jerk.
He swaggered toward me, his faded jeans hugging his thighs like they were painted on, the white t-shirt and unbuttoned navy and grey flannel stirring up all my best lumberjack fantasies as he approached, his eyes wary as he took in my crossed arms and hostile expression.
“Well,” I drawled, going for aloof and unaffected. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Miss me, Betty?”
“Not in the least,” I said breezily, pulling my black hoodie tighter across my chest. It was a sunny day, but October was ending, and winter was breathing down our necks. And while the delivery guy had appreciated my short skirt and stockings, I was starting to feel a little underdressed.
Or maybe it was the way Asher’s gaze raked over me that had me feeling exposed. Vulnerable.
I hated feeling vulnerable.
But the truth was, Ihadmissed him, and I didn’t like that. Feeling things for people wasn’t something I did, like, at all. Violet and I had decided a long time ago that she was my person and I was hers, and that was all we needed. But something about Asher had ruffled my feathers in a way I wasn’t used to, and even though I hardly knew him, I had felt his absence in the last month, and all it had done was piss me off.
“Well, I missed you,” he countered, not at all put off by my abrasive demeanor—another tactic I often employed to keep pesky things likefeelingsat bay.
“Huh.” I shrugged. “You sure have a funny way of showing it.
With that, I turned and walked into my shop.
My shop.
It still hadn’t quite sunk in that the place was truly mine. There was a fabulous desk against one wall that Archie had found for us at auction. Violet refused to tell me how much she had paid for it, but from the look on Archie’s face, I imagined it was more than I’d ever like to think about. We’d had two of the three walls painted the most fabulous wisteria purple shade, and the third, the one behind the desk, was covered with a black and silver damask wallpaper that had a subtle skull print on it. There were iron and crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling on thick chains and the floor was an acid washed poured concrete that looked both clean and badass.
It was everything I had ever hoped it would be, and I was freaking the hell out that I wouldn’t be worthy of it all.
I was busying myself with the computer, trying to learn the new scheduling software I’d just purchased, when a low whistle came from the doorway.
“Damn, Ricki.” Asher’s low words shivered over my skin as I realized it was the first time I’d ever heard him say my name.
I also realized I fucking liked it.
“This place is amazing,” he continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “A tattoo shop?” he asked, and I nodded. “Is it yours?”
“Yup,” I replied without looking up.
Curt. Unemotional. That was me.
I was ice, ice, baby.
