Chasing The Sun: A Small Town Romance (Angel Sands Book 7)

by Carrie Elks

  He nodded, eyeing her carefully. “Only if you want to. They have time to do something small for us. Clay’s a friend and he has a couple of hours free this morning.”

  “Hell yeah I want to.” She gave him a wide grin. “What shall we have done? Do you have any ideas?”

  “Yeah, a couple. But Clay can help.” He climbed out of the car and walked around, opening Lydia’s door and taking her hand. She slid her fingers between his and squeezed them.

  “This is perfect,” she told him, as they walked inside the shop. The floor was lined with alternate grey and black tiles, the color theme extending to the walls and the furniture – with five sleek black leather chairs and shiny chrome and black tables that were covered with magazines and equipment.

  On the walls were framed photographs of intricately drawn tattoos. Lydia breathed in, the sterile aroma of cleaning products filling her nostrils, as a man walked out from the door at the back of the shop, his face splitting into a grin when he saw Jackson standing there.

  “You must have gunned it to get here so fast,” he said, shaking Jackson’s hand.

  “The roads were empty,” Jackson told him. “And I didn’t want to miss our slot. This is Lydia.” He glanced at her. “This is Clay, he owns this place.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Clay said, taking her hand in his. “Any friend of Jackson’s is a friend of mine.”

  “How do you two know each other?” Lydia asked, amused at how different they were. Clay’s body was like a canvas, covered in beautiful tattoos up to his neck. His ears were pierced in multiple places, and his head was fully shaved.

  “Our website got hacked, and Jackson got it back online within an hour,” Clay told her. “After that, he had a customer for life. He’s a genius.”

  He looked genuinely impressed by Jackson, and her heart gave a leap. “So are you,” she told Clay, looking at the framed tattoos on the walls. “Are these all yours?”

  “They sure are. Did that dragon a couple of weeks ago. It took four visits. Twelve hours in total. But it came out great.” He brought his gaze back to them. “Speaking of which, do you have any idea what you want? We have a two hour window, so we probably need to crack on.” He looked up at Jackson. “You talked about a compass over the phone. You still up for that? I have a few I can show you.”

  Jackson nodded. Lydia looked at him from the corner of her eyes, interested in his choice. “A compass?” she asked. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I thought it would be cool.”

  “How about you?” Clay asked Lydia.

  She sighed. “I’m still trying to decide.”

  “You can take a look through the portfolio while I work on Jackson. That should give you some ideas.” He pointed at the black leather easy chairs. The coffee table in front of them was covered in different colored folders. “The red one’s where you can start.”

  “Great.”

  “And if you want a water or soda, help yourself,” he said, pointing at the glass door of the refrigerator, next to the front desk. “Okay man, let’s get started with you.” He walked with Jackson to the desk, where he pointed at some sheets. “This one’s cool,” he said, as he slid his finger across a design, “but kind of boring. Personally, I like this one. We can do it in black today, and if you want to add color we can do that in the future, or even extend it into a more detailed design.”

  “Yeah. I’ll take that one,” Jackson agreed.

  “On your chest?”

  “Yep.”

  Clay nodded. “Okay. Take your shirt off, and get on the tattoo chair behind the screen, and I’ll go wash up and get everything ready. Lydia can come along with if you’d like.”

  Carrying the portfolio, Lydia followed Jackson into the private area. Jackson pulled his shirt over his head, and Lydia tried really hard not to ogle his chest as he dropped onto the chair and stretched his long, jean-clad legs out in front of him. Clay walked out of the backroom with the template, grabbing a wheeled stool and his cart, pulling them next to Jackson. After preparing his needles and ink, he sterilized his hands and put on some black vinyl gloves, shaving Jackson’s chest, and dabbing alcohol cleaner all over the area he was going to tattoo.

  When he put the transfer of the tattoo on Jackson’s chest, he asked him to check that it was how he wanted it.

  Jackson looked down. “Yeah, that’s good.” He glanced over at Lydia. “What do you think?”

  It looked hot. That’s what she thought. “It’s great.”

  Clay winked at her. “Okay then.”

  She was supposed to be flipping through the portfolio while he tattooed Jackson’s chest, but she found herself too entranced by the process to look at the folder on her lap. She had an idea of what she wanted anyway. If Jackson’s tattoo was going to be about travel, she wanted hers to be the opposite.

  To represent home.

  “Am I hurting you, man?” Clay asked, as he moved the needle across Jackson’s skin.

  “It feels like a scratch,” Jackson said, smiling over at Lydia. She smiled back, and her heart ached, because she wanted this moment to last forever. To have his smile imprinted on her memory, the way the compass would be imprinted on his skin.

  “If you didn’t have such tight muscles, it would hurt less.”

  “I like his muscles,” Lydia protested. “Don’t listen to him, Jackson.”

  Clay chuckled. “I like her. Where did you two meet again?”

  “I picked her up at the airport,” Jackson told him, his gaze dark as it slid over her.

  Lydia bit down a smile. “He’s a friend of my future brother-in-law.”

  “The whaleboat captain?” Clay asked, lifting a brow. “The big guy, right?”

  “That’s Griff.” Lydia nodded. “And he wasn’t too happy about us getting together. Nor was Jackson. It took all of my womanly wiles to persuade him I was worth it.”

  “You are worth it.” Jackson’s voice was low. “Completely.”

  His words stole her breath away. “So are you.”

  “You guys are so damn sweet I’m going to need a dentist,” Clay complained with a laugh. “Where are you from, Lydia? Do you live in Angel Sands?”

  She shook her head. “I’m just visiting. I’m not really from anywhere. I travel a lot. I guess if you pushed me, I’d say New York, but that doesn’t really feel like home anymore.”

  “What do you do that you travel so much?” Clay questioned her, lifting the needle and glancing her way.

  “I’m a travel consultant. I arrange personalized trips and accompany the travelers around various countries.”

  “That’s seriously cool. Where are you going next?”

  “Spain. Then to France and Italy.” The thought made her stomach contract. “After that, I’m heading to South America.”

  Clay’s eyes widened. “Whoa. You weren’t kidding. That’s a lot of traveling. Do you like it? You must like it, right? You wouldn’t do it otherwise.”

  “I don’t know how to do anything else,” she admitted. “I’m really good at finding places nobody else knows about, and I enjoy getting to know my clients and discovering what they’re looking for. I’m not sure I’d be cut out for any other job.”

  He glanced at Jackson. “So what, you guys gonna do the long distance thing or something?”

  Lydia froze for a moment. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Jackson. Didn’t want to see the truth in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, she plastered a smile on her lips. “I think we’re going to be great friends,” she told him. Pulling her lip between her teeth, she looked down at the red folder on her lap. “I guess I should get to choosing my tattoo, right?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got about twenty minutes left on this one, then it’s over to you,” Clay said, using his foot to move his chair to give him a better angle.

  Lydia nodded, but didn’t look up, flipping through the plastic sleeves until she saw exactly what she was looking for.

  Great friends. That was enough. It had
to be, because he wasn’t offering anything else. Even if he was, it wouldn’t work because their lifestyles were totally incompatible.

  All she knew was that getting on that plane was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  “You want to stop for coffee?” he asked, as they headed back to Angel Sands. Lydia twisted in her seat to rub her fingers along the back of her hip. Jackson tried not to look. The memory of her lying face down on the tattoo chair with her back exposed as Clay meticulously traced her design was hot enough. He didn’t need to see the real thing as well.

  Not if he wanted to keep this car on the road.

  “Coffee would be good,” she agreed, her brow creasing as she rubbed again.

  “Try not to scratch it. Remember what Clay said?”

  “Yeah, but it’s itchy.” Her pout was damn adorable. “Now I know how Eddie felt whenever he tried to scratch his face with a paw.”

  His chest tightened at the mention of Eddie. Or Simba, as he should probably think of him now. Leaving the house shortly after the dog did had been the right thing to do, and a great idea to head to Clay’s tattoo parlor. It had taken both of their minds off the emptiness of the kitchen, and the fact they wouldn’t see the dog again.

  For a while, it had even made him forget about Lydia’s impending departure. Even if he’d always have the memory of her tattooed on his skin. He’d lied through his teeth when he’d told her he’d chosen a compass because it was cool. The truth was, he’d chosen it as a reminder of her. That she was always traveling, and wherever she was, north, south, east, or west, the compass would be pointing toward her.

  It was saccharine as hell, but once it came into his mind it was impossible to push out.

  Yeah, she was going. But they’d always have the tattoos connecting them.

  When they parked, Lydia was still rubbing at her back. “Come here,” Jackson murmured, leaning across the console, “let me check it for you.”

  Gently, he pulled the tape from the dip in her lower back, opening a gap between the plastic and her skin. He swallowed hard as he looked at the design. The outline of two wings and a halo etched into the warmth of her flesh. An angel.

  “Because I want to remember my time here,” she’d told Clay when he’d asked. “I’ve had such a great experience. And wherever I am, the angel will always point me home.”

  Her eyes had met Jackson’s, as she turned her head until her cheek was resting against the back of the tattoo chair, her gaze soft as she stared at him. He’d swallowed hard, painfully aware that she’d been more honest about her choice of tattoo than he was.

  He felt like an asshole, but then Clay had pressed the needle gun against her back and she’d cried out with pain, reaching her hand out to clutch Jackson’s, and the moment had passed.

  “It’s a little red from where you’ve touched it, but everything looks fine,” he told her, taping the plastic wrap back down again. “Let’s go and grab a coffee and go home. You can put some more ointment on it.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Déjà Brew was busy as they pushed open the door, tables filled with groups of friends and school kids, along with a few familiar faces. Frank Megassey and Lorne Daniels waved at them from the corner booth, and at the counter Autumn and Ally were talking with Deenie Russell, as Nate stood behind the espresso machine making their orders.

  “Hey!” Ally said, spotting them over Autumn’s shoulder. “We were just talking about you.”

  Deenie grinned when she saw Jackson and Lydia together, his hand firmly holding hers. “So you really did take the day off?”

  He grinned at her. “Word gets around fast.”

  “It always does when hell freezes over.” Deenie grinned at him.

  Autumn’s expression was soft as the two of them reached the counter. “How did it go with Eddie?” she asked them.

  “Fine.” Jackson nodded. Lydia squeezed his hand tighter. “They seem like a nice family.”

  “That’s good, because otherwise I was going to plot a ninja escape plan for him,” Ally said, leaning across the counter. “I have a black cat suit somewhere. I’ve always wanted a reason to wear it.”

  “You can stand down with the cat suit,” Jackson said, his voice deadpan. “Anyway, Eddie doesn’t like cats.”

  “Did you know his real name is Simba?” Lydia said to Autumn. “That’s weird, right?”

  “It’s kind of cute.” Autumn shrugged. “The Lion King is a good movie.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t look like a lion at all. He’s too dark and his fur is too short.”

  Deenie smiled at them all. “He’s definitely an Eddie.”

  “So, we were all talking about you leaving and we came up with an idea,” Autumn said, as Nate handed her and Deenie their orders. Skyler was fast asleep in her stroller, and Lydia dropped down to gently kiss her cheek while Jackson asked for two flat whites and two Danish pastries to go.

  “What kind of idea?” Lydia asked. “I hope it’s not too outlandish. I have to pack at some point.”

  Autumn looked from Lydia to Jackson. “We thought we might have an old fashioned cook out on the beach to say goodbye. That’s if you two are okay with it. If you’d rather spend time alone, that’s fine with us.” She blew at the steam from her coffee and took a sip.

  “A cook out sounds good.” Jackson nodded. He knew Lydia would want to spend her last night with her sister. She was the one she’d come to visit, after all. “You want me to talk to Griff and the guys and organize it?”

  “I’ve already got Griff and Lucas on the case,” Autumn told him. “They have it covered.”

  “Will there be s’mores?” Lydia asked, the itch in her tattoo forgotten. “I love s’mores.”

  Autumn’s reply was drowned out by the shrill sound of Jackson’s phone ringing. Normally he would’ve ignored it, but he’d promised Lisa he’d answer in case of any problems. But when he pulled it out, he frowned, because it wasn’t Lisa calling. It was his mom.

  He went to reject the call, but he stopped himself. She’d only call his dad, and that would piss him off more than actually speaking to her. “I’ll take this outside,” he said, passing a ten to Ally. Turning to Lydia, he asked, “You okay to pick up our drinks?”

  “Sure,” she said happily. “I’ll meet you out there.”

  He lifted the phone to his ear as he walked toward the open glass doors that led to the deck. “Mom?” he said, heading down the steps to the beach. “Is everything okay?”

  “I really need your help with my car,” she said. “Can you drive up and see me?”

  “You want me to drive up to Sacramento today?” His brows dipped. “You’re five hundred miles away. I can’t head up at the drop of a hat.”

  “But I need you, honey.” She sighed. “There’s a part that needs looking at. Maybe I should call your dad. He could help.”

  “No.” His voice was sharp. “Don’t call Dad.” She needed to start leaving the poor guy alone.

  He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the boardwalk and raking his hand through his hair. He was so sick of dealing with her every time she called. Of her slinking beneath a rock for a couple of weeks before she surfaced again, needing money or attention, or god knew what else.

  “Listen, I’m busy until the weekend,” he told her. “I can’t do anything until then. How about we talk then and you can tell me what’s going on?”

  “You want me to wait until Saturday?” Her voice rose up.

  “The car can wait,” he said firmly. He only had a couple of days left with Lydia, and there was no way he intended on spending them driving up to Sacramento. “If you call Dad, you’ll get nothing from either of us. It’s the weekend or bust. Take it or leave it.”

  She sighed loudly. “Well if they find my dead body in a ditch somewhere, it’ll be your fault.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Lydia walk out of the coffee shop, two Styrofoam cups in her hand and a paper bag wedged between her arm and her body. She
smiled at him, and he nodded back.

  “I need to go,” he told his mom. I’ll speak to you in a few days.” And he’d be firm that her car wasn’t his problem – or his dad’s. He’d spent way too many hours trying to help her. She was a grown woman, and it was time she started acting that way.

  “Okay,” she mumbled. “I guess it can wait.”

  “All right then.” He stood, dusting the sand from his jeans. “Take it easy.”

  “Bye, Jackson.” She sniffed. “You know, even fifty dollars would help.”

  “No.” His voice was firm. “Goodbye, Mom.”

  Sliding his phone into his back pocket, he headed to where Lydia was waiting for him, taking the coffee cups from her hands and pressing his lips to hers. “Sorry about that,” he said.

  “Work problems?” she asked, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow as they walked back to his car.

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  25

  “Do you think you’ll regret this tattoo the way you regret the eagle?” Lydia asked him, pressing her lips against his chest and breathing him in. He smelled of warm spice and Jackson Lewis, a lethal combination.

  “No.” His voice was sure. “I was sober when I got this one.” He ran his hands through her silky hair and curled them around the base of her head, lifting her up for a kiss. His mouth moved against hers, hot and needy, as their tongues slid together, sending a shot of desire through her veins.

  “Can I tell you something?” he murmured, his fingers drawing circles on the base of her neck.

  “Yeah,” she breathed. “As long as you keep doing that.”

  He did as she instructed, tracing patterns with his tips. “I lied when I said the compass didn’t have a meaning.”

  Lifting her head up, her eyes met his. “You did?” she asked, bemused. “Why?”

  “Because I thought you might think I was… I don’t know.” He sighed. “Weird or something.”

  She grinned. “I already know you’re weird.” She pressed her lips against his warm shoulder. “I like your weird. It turns me on. So what does the tattoo mean?”