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The four-letter word lingers in the air.
I rub the pads of my palms on my eyes.
Oh no.
He hates it.
I knew it was a bad idea.
“I love it, Lenny. You captured my entire life in one tattoo.” His large palms cup mine, the heat they project calms me and equally heightens my heartbeats as he removes my hands from my eyes.
I dare to look at him using one eye, and the first thing I see is the huge smile on his face. “Really?” then I pop open my other eyelid.
“It’s different than your style but it’s perfect.” His hooded, bright blue eyes, analyze every line and curve of my work. “Thank you.”
Various elements encircle his forearm in a straight line.
“Lighthouse represents your home. Your haven. Your work.” I explain the meaning behind the tattoo. “Ocean and mountains symbolize your travels. You followed the sun but always had a place to call home. One light ahead and one light that you left behind.”
I’m getting repulsed by my sentimental moment right now, I should cut it out. He ensnares my gaze, sucking the air from my lungs again. “I hope you like this. I did try my best.” I finish.
He gestures to his hand as if showing off my tattoo. “I’m proud to expose this piece to the world.”
I grin. “The meaning is important to me. It should connect to the receiving end.”
“Agreed, although some people choose random tats with no actual reason. Sometimes it can be insanely creative but other times it can really—traumatize you.” He expresses his final words dramatically as if to emphasize the effect.
Now I wonder what kind of tattoos he found himself executing over the years.
I wash his hand with his special water and soap bottle, the liquid sliding down his forearm and sleeking his skin, and I’m entirely immersed in the display as I soak it with a piece of paper towel.
Rubbing ointment on his new ink, I wrap it, “Yeah, some are running wild with their designs.”
“It’s almost five,” he looks at the clock on the wall beside us, “We started the day pretty late so I think we can go home.” He informs me, also, cutting our conversation short.
I guess he’s tired, some sleep might do him good, and I wouldn’t mind resting and cuddling in bed to some cute flick.
“Sure,” I affirm as I organize the equipment, clean, and dispose of unnecessary materials.
As I head to the door, fastening the strap of my backpack, the soft tone of his deep voice shoots me like an arrow, setting my soul ablaze. “See you next week, Lenny.” Without the music, there’s a minor rasp to it that sends shivers down my spine.
“You bet.” I slant my gaze to see him already staring at me. A small smile graces his lips when I wave him goodbye and exit.
The street around me ceases to exist as I saunter along the sidewalk. Too shocked to believe I tattooed Dean freaking Walker who is now walking with a piece of me that is engraved in his hand.
Damn, I can’t erase the smile off my face.
Bette and I are going to celebrate today—house on four wheels—hashtag-van-life.
I can go anywhere I want without worrying whether I can afford a bed or not. It’s truly the best feeling. The freedom of not depending on anyone or anything. And the perks of going anywhere you want whenever you want.
My legs stop in their tracks.
Tow truck…? My eyes hover across the monstrosity before me. “No, no, no!” I murmur to myself as horror encapsulates me.
Yellow van.
Bette!
