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As I walked into Caelan’s tattoo parlor two weeks later, the scents of ink, leather, disinfectant, and wood polish greeted me. I’d never been there before, but I’d glimpsed the interior many times through the front window. Though there were no bright colors, the place didn’t have a gritty vibe. More of a barbershop-meets-art gallery feel.
The color palette was a mix of red, cream, and shades of brown. Walls the color of brandy were lined with tattoo sketches, artwork, mirrors, pictures, licenses, and decal logos.
The reception counter looked much like a small bar, except there was office equipment rather than bowls of complimentary nuts.
I went straight to the counter and smiled at the brunette standing behind it. “Hi, I have an appointment with Caelan.” When he’d heard I was thinking of getting a new tattoo, he’d offered to do it for me, making it extremely clear that he’d be offended if I went to anyone else. Since he was shit-hot at what he did, I wasn’t about to turn down his offer.
The receptionist’s lips curved. “You must be Dax’s wife, then. It’s cool to meet you. I’m Eva. If you’ll just take a seat, he’ll be right with you.”
“Thanks.” I crossed to the crimson sofa, flashed a quick smile at the woman seated at one corner of it, and then sank into the leather cushion.
The parlor felt surprisingly relaxing. It was busy, but not hectic. Music played low, not quite overriding the buzz of tattoo guns or idle chatter.
A merchandise area was off to the left of the reception area, featuring jewelry, metal art, aftercare products, and promotional items such as mugs, decals, and t-shirts.
The three tattoo stations were almost identical, all featuring a recliner, mirror, framed tattoos, and several shelves.
At his own station, Caelan was applying a bandage to the leg of a well-inked middle-aged guy. Jag and a female tattooist who I presumed was the girlfriend Alicia had mentioned were also busy with clients.
Along with a drawing area, there was a little spot at the rear of the parlor that had a sink, autoclave, and hand towels.
Deciding to pass the time by answering some work emails—the fact that it was a Saturday didn’t stop any clients from contacting me with queries—I pulled my cell phone out of my purse. I’d responded to only a few emails when Caelan called out my name. I looked up, and he waved me over to his station.
I dropped my phone back into my purse, pushed off the sofa, and strode across the large space. As Jag glanced up and met my gaze, I gave him a friendly smile, which he returned with a nod. My eyes then clashed with those of the sole female tattooist. She gave me a look that was somewhat unfriendly. Huh. Whatever.
Caelan tapped the top of the deep-mahogany brow leather recliner. “Take a seat.”
I did, and damn it was as comfortable as it looked. His station was pretty tidy. The mirror was clean, and the shelf beneath it was neatly lined with everything from inks and needles to ointments and bandages.
He sat on a stool beside the recliner and held out a few pieces of paper. “I sketched three drafts for you to look at. Any grab your attention?”
I took the sheets of paper and scanned the drawings carefully. I’d told him in advance that I wanted to have a dragonfly tattooed on my inner wrist—nothing incredibly fancy or highly detailed, more like someone had drawn the image with a calligraphy pen.
Each sketch was beautiful and exactly what I’d pictured, only better. One in particular stood out for me.
I pointed at the drawing on the top sheet. “This one. It’s perfect.” I gave him a winning smile. “You’re my favorite brother-in-law. I don’t know if I’ve told you that.”
His lips kicked up. “You have. But you’ve also said the same to Drey.”
“I have not,” I denied, going for indignant.
Caelan snorted. “Sure.”
I waited in silence while he readied everything he’d need, washed his hands, pulled on disposable gloves, and then cleaned my inner wrist in preparation for the tattoo. Once he returned to his stool, he placed the transfer over my skin, checked I was happy with the placement etc., and then immediately got to work.
I went very still as the feel of the buzzing tattoo gun hit me. People seemed to experience the sensation in various ways. For me, it felt like I was being continuously scratched by hot cat claws.
It took me a few minutes to push past the discomfort and begin to relax. Only then did I ask Caelan, “What’s the craziest tattoo you’ve ever been asked to do?”
“There’ve been loads of crazy ones,” he replied without meeting my gaze. “A guy once came here asking if I could tattoo squid features onto his face. Said he thought he might have been a squid in a past life.”
I blinked. “Oh. Well.”
“Yeah, I had nothing either.”
“Have you been up to anything interesting this week?”
“Other than work, not really. You?”
