by Zeia Jameson
“It’s fine.” I smile at her. She sighs and returns a smile as a tear falls down her cheek. I approach her and cup the side of her face with my hand, knowing that touching her may not be appropriate given that this is only the second time I’ve actually talked to her. And let’s not forget about the asinine way I acted in Clay & Soul.
But seeing the distress on her face makes me want to comfort her. Instead of flinching away, she leans her head into my hand and begins to cry. I pull her into me and hug her. She cries on my shoulder for a moment, and I stroke her hair.
“Having a bad day?” I finally whisper.
She pulls back and swipes the back of her hand under each eye. “You have no idea. The heinous bitch I work for is trying to make my life miserable on purpose.”
“Who? Stella?” I ask. Padraig and I are going to have to have a little chat if Stella is being a bitch to Kerry.
“What? No! Oh my God, no! Stella isn’t my boss. Well, I guess she kind of is since I’m her assistant. But no, I’m talking about Rachel. She’s the owner of the company.”
She points up to the brownstone; a placard on the door reads As You Wish Events.
“I hate her. I’d quit, but I don’t want to leave Stella hanging and I kind of need the money.” She shakes her head. “Stella is so much better at handling Rachel’s bullshit. I wish I could just shake it off like she does. Instead, I run out the front door all frantic and trip down the stairs, right into you.”
I chuckle. “First of all, it’s a good thing I was right there, or you might have landed face-first onto the pavement. So, you’re welcome.”
She lets out a breathy laugh and tilts her face up a little. “Well, thank you, I guess.”
She laughs again.
“Second of all, you shouldn’t have to shake off anything. It does not sound like a fun job at all.”
Kerry shakes her head. “That’s just the thing. I love my job. I love working with Stella. She is the best event coordinator. She was born to do it. I just wish we didn’t have to take direction and seek approval from Rachel. She ends up screwing things up more than helping. She acts like she wants us to fail. But I don’t get it. Why would she want us to fail when it’s her business and her reputation on the line?”
Kerry’s voice begins to climb in pitch. She’s rambling and getting spun up. I wrap my arm around her and pull her into a side hug, still aware that I’m making physical contact with a near stranger. Yet, she doesn’t feel like a stranger to me. She feels very comfortable. Familiar.
I look into her eyes. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay? You aren’t hurt?”
She looks down at herself. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m okay. Thanks to you.” She places her head on my shoulder for a moment. She appears in no way uncomfortable with my arm being draped over her shoulders. She seems to welcome it, in fact. I don’t know what to make of this. What to make of her. I have trust issues. Intimacy phobias. At least, that’s what my therapist tells me. The therapist I’m not sure why I still see.
I shake the thoughts of therapy out of my head and refocus on Kerry. “Where were you headed?”
“Bull Street. I have to meet with a printer. There was a mix-up with the trim of some place cards . . .” She trails off and rolls her eyes.
“I have no idea what that means,” I say.
She sighs. “Trust me. You don’t want to know. I swear, people who throw these parties baffle me. If my biggest worry was trim on a place card, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”
“I don’t have much interaction with people who worry about place cards. Or throw parties. I wouldn’t know. Although, if I take anything from Padraig’s opinion on the matter, those types of people sound awful.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve heard all about Padraig’s opinion.”
A bit of awkward silence falls between us. I think about our first encounter, which ended in a screaming match between Padraig and Stella. I’m positive she’s thinking about it too.
“So, I should get going,” she says abruptly.
“Do you have to meet with the printer right away?”
She hesitates before she answers. “Not right away. They don’t close for a few hours. As long as I take care of it today, everything should be fine.”
I’m not thinking through my actions. I’m acting completely on impulse. I feel a little like I’m in one of those angel-devil scenarios: one side saying, “Stop,” and the other side saying, “Go.” I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do, but I really want to. I don’t know why I’m so worried, though. After Clay & Soul, I’m certain she’ll shoot me down.
“Do you like coffee?” I ask.
“I’d take it intravenously if I could.”
“Ever been to Swirl? Over on State Street?”
“I try to make it by there every Sunday for the brunch special.”
“The Sunday brunch is nice. I’ve done it a few times.”
We begin walking in the direction of Swirl. So, she didn’t shoot me down. I’m relieved. Elated. Nervous as fuck.
“I can’t believe I’ve never seen you there before,” Kerry says.
Her statement reminds me of something my mother told me once after Mallory left me, and before I think—because of my nervousness, I suppose—I say it out loud.
“You can’t see people when your heart is closed for business.”
I look forward as I continue to walk. Why can’t my brain filter properly? In my peripheral vision, I see her glance my way.
“Well, that’s . . . profound,” she says. Her voice is a little unsteady, like she wasn’t sure how to respond.
Great.
“Sorry,” I say, looking over at her with a half-smile.
“It’s something my mom said once. I don’t know why I just thought of that now. Or why the hell I said it out loud.”
“Hmm,” she says. “It makes sense, I guess.”
I don’t respond. I kind of feel like an idiot for not only blurting out my mother’s Confucius-like advice but also for telling Kerry that my mom was the one who said it. I sigh in slight frustration at myself.
Kerry lightly bumps my shoulder. Then she hooks her arms around mine. “So, I was serious when I told you I wanted a tattoo.” She kindly changes the subject, saving a little of my dignity. I like that about her. We walk the few blocks to Swirl and discuss ink possibilities.
Present Day
“Want to take that table in the corner?” I ask, handing her the latte she ordered and grabbing my plain dark roast.
“Sure,” Kerry answers. We stride to the table and take a seat.
I blow on my coffee and watch her slowly take a sip of hers.
“So. Do you think you’ll want a color tattoo or just black?” We had discussed what kinds of tattoos she might like, but not the details of the design. Tattoos are something I can talk about all day long. Other topics of discussion? Not so much.
She gives me a small shrug. “I always imagined whatever I got would be just black. I’ve never really liked colored tattoos.”
That’s a bummer. I was going to suggest that if she went with her lotus idea, a highlight of white, and maybe even lavender, would look good.
“But I must admit,” Kerry says, interrupting my thought, “Padraig’s tattoos have a good bit of color, and I like them a lot. You did all of his work, right?”
I nod and smile. A little pride fills my chest. Padraig was actually my first client. My guinea pig. I still can’t believe he let me do my first tattoo on his blank canvas of a body. Granted, it’s on his back, under his shoulder. It doesn’t get a lot of visibility. But I do think I did a pretty good job. Steady hand. Clean lines. Good fades.
“Luca?” Kerry asks.
“Sorry. I was thinking about Padraig’s tats. Yes, I did all of them. His first two were actually the first two I ever did.”
“Really?” she says with a lifted brow. “Did he know that?”
I laugh into my cup. “Yeah. He’s kind of the reason I began doing tattoos
. So he let me use him as a test canvas.” My words sound weird as I say them out loud. It makes it seem like Padraig and I have some sort of romantic relationship. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but Padraig has been a great friend to me. As wicked as he seems to everyone else, I wouldn’t be where I am today without him.
“That’s interesting. He just doesn’t seem like the type of person who would do that.”
“I know. He prefers for people to think he’s an asshole.”
“I’ve noticed. I’ve wondered many times what Stella sees in him. Well, besides the Irish accent. And the ink.”
I smirk. “She definitely cracked some sort of code with him.”
“They do seem to be good for one another.” She takes another sip of her coffee and shifts her eyes downward.
“About the other night,” she begins, “at your shop.”
I lean back in my chair. “What about it?”
“I’m sorry we stumbled in there all drunk and stupid. I’m sorry we caused a scene.”
“Please. As I recall, you and I were having a perfectly good conversation until Stella and Padraig started at each other’s throats. They caused the scene. We were merely helpless bystanders who got interrupted in our discussion of the Tweety Bird tattoo in my portfolio.”
“Ha!” Kerry lets out, louder than I think she means to. She covers her mouth with her hand in slight embarrassment. “I still can’t believe you did that tattoo. Although done really well, it was pretty ridiculous.”
“Well, like I said before, it was early on in my career. I was trying to drum up business. I took all requests. It may have been a dumb tat, but I made it the best damn dumb tat I could.”
“I can tell you love doing what you do.”
“I really do. I think it was my calling, even though I would have never imagined it when I graduated from SCAD.”
Kerry coughs into her cup. She wipes her mouth and checks her clothes for spillage. “You graduated from SCAD? I mean, I’m not surprised, given your talent, but I’m curious as to how you went from SCAD to owning your own tattoo parlor.”
Do not talk about Mallory. This is not the time or place. Don’t even think about her. Focus on Kerry.
“I think that may be a story for another time,” I say, trying not to sound like an asshole. I decide to change the subject and alleviate the heaviness of the conversation.
“I suppose Padraig and Stella made up? Padraig finally quit brooding around the parlor a few days ago.”
Kerry’s eyes grow wide. “Oh, yes. They definitely made up.”
“You can spare me the details.”
“Of course.”
Kerry gives me a wink, and I can’t help but fix my gaze on her face. Simplistic. Smooth lips that are naturally tinted in a perfectly pink hue. Accented with a touch of gloss. Long, thick, beautiful lashes are a perfect highlight to her blue eyes. If she’s wearing makeup, it’s subtle, because I cannot tell. Nothing like the thick eye makeup and prominent lipstick Mallory used to wear.
Dammit. Stop thinking about Mallory. Don’t even compare Kerry to Mallory. Kerry is nothing like that.
God, I hope not.
“Did you recognize me?” Kerry asks as I take another sip of my coffee. I know what she’s talking about, but I give her a look of ignorance.
“At Clay & Soul? I was there on Thursday, working on some pieces. I saw you there.”
I say nothing, bringing my cup to my lips once more. Kerry shifts in her seat, and I sense she’s becoming flustered.
“At least . . . I mean, I thought that was you. But you looked right at me and just . . . walked away and disappeared into a back room. Unless.” Her jaw drops momentarily. “It wasn’t you. I could have sworn it was you.”
I’m trying to decide what to say. All the while, Kerry has convinced herself it wasn’t me, and now her cheeks are bright red. Fuck. I didn’t mean for her to draw that conclusion. I’m such an ass.
“It was me.”
“Oh.” Kerry goes from sitting straight up in her slight fit of panic to slumping back into her seat.
“I’m sorry. I was trying to figure out the right way to tell you that I may have been watching you for a minute before I nearly ruined all of Laura’s stock inventory. I saw you. You had your eyes closed. You looked so peaceful. And I’ve seen you there before. Weaving your magic with your hands.”
Kerry smiles and pushes a strand of hair behind her ears.
“I realized on Thursday that the woman who’d mesmerized me before with her work was the same woman who came into my shop, all smiles and—”
Boobs. She was all smiles and boobs. But I don’t say that out loud, thank God.
“You were watching me work?”
I nod. “Does that make me a creep? I’m sorry if it does.”
“Mm. Maybe,” she teases as she twirls her hair in her fingers.
“I’ve never seen anyone be able to work clay that gracefully. With your eyes closed, no less. I can’t help but watch.”
“Okay, so maybe you aren’t a creep.” Her smile is big and genuine. “It’s a little therapeutic for me. A catharsis. After a tough day with Rachel, I go there. I put on a good playlist, close my eyes, and let my mind meld with the clay. Sometimes it’s crap. Sometimes I make good pieces. Either way, it helps me feel better.”
“That makes sense. I’m sorry if I invaded your privacy. I didn’t mean any harm. Not to you, anyway. Laura’s pot, however? It had it coming. Smug bastard.”
Kerry laughs out loud again. I like her laugh. It makes me feel warm inside. It makes me feel the way I used to feel about—
Stop.
“You didn’t invade anything,” Kerry says. “In fact, I’m a little flattered that you like to watch me.”
God, I wonder if she knows how dirty that sounded.
“I’m not sure what to say to that.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
Awkward silence.
“Why didn’t you say hello? Why did you run away?”
“I don’t have a good answer, really. I was flustered at the fact that I pulled you out of your creative process. I was worried you didn’t remember meeting me at all the other night, because, well . . . you’d been drinking. Or that if you did, you thought I’d followed you there or something. I also didn’t know if it was okay to talk to you, given the Padraig and Stella drama. I didn’t want to make a bad impression. Or make you feel uncomfortable. What it sums up to is that I’m not great with social interaction.”
“You seem to be socially interacting just fine right now. And the other night at the parlor.”
And suddenly I can’t think of anything else to say.
We sip our coffees simultaneously. Kerry looks at her watch. “I should probably go. If I screw up getting these cards fixed, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I understand.”
Kerry places her hand on my arm, which is resting on the tabletop. “I’d really like to know more about what you do in your private room at Clay & Soul.”
Goddammit. That sounded dirty too. The warmth in my chest is rising in temperature.
But she’s hinting. She wants me to ask her out.
Or ask her to my private room to do dirty things. Something like that.
I can’t. I can’t.
“Maybe,” I start. Hope fills her eyes. Fuck. She’s going to hate me if I don’t ask her out. I internally sigh. Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t deserve her. Despite how much I want her. “Maybe we’ll . . . bump into each other again.”
I’m such a fucking asshole.
Kerry nods and forces a smile. “Yeah. Maybe.” She stands, puts on her coat, and shoulders her purse.
“Also,” I try to recover, “you’ve got to come by the shop when you’re ready for that tat.”
“Absolutely. I’ll come by.”
By the disappointment in her eyes—that she’s trying desperately to hide—I can tell my recovery attempt has failed.
; I stand to walk her out. We exit Swirl and linger on the sidewalk for a few moments. I want to hug her. Fuck, I want to kiss her.
“Thank you, again, for softening my fall earlier.”
“You are most welcome. Anytime.”
“I guess I’ll see you later.” She begins to turn to walk away. I can’t let her go like this.
“Kerry, wait.”
She turns back to me.
“I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“I could be completely wrong, but I felt like you were maybe hinting earlier, to go on a date.”
“Oh.”
“I can’t date. I have issues. I go to therapy,” I blurt out like a moron.
“Oh,” Kerry repeats. She studies me for a moment, then heaves her chest. “I’d really like to just hang out with you more, Luca. Is that okay? We don’t have to date.”
I rub the back of my neck as I think. I should say no. I should really say no. “I think that would be okay. I’d like to hang out with you more too.”
“Just to be clear. Your issues? You aren’t like physically violent or anything, are you?”
I smile. “No. Absolutely not. I’m just a pathological liar.”
She pretends to write on the palm of her hand. “Physically violent and a pathological liar. Got it,” she says with a laugh. “I think I can handle that. Plus, I think I’ll verify with Padraig.”
“Okay. Just remember, he’s an asshole.”
Kerry nods. Then she surprises me by closing in on me and wrapping her arms around me. I reciprocate.
She pulls back and looks up at me. Her smile is wide. I want so badly to lean down and kiss her.
“I’ll see you around, Luca.”
“See ya around.” Once again, I can’t think of anything to say. She has me tongue-tied. I give her a small wave as she turns and walks away. I’m not quite sure what I’ve gotten myself into.
Three Years Ago
“Get up, you fucking bum.” My body reacts in a jerky motion when something plunges into my abdomen.
“What the fuck, man?” I squint open my eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light from the curtain Milo just slung open. I look down at my stomach where he tossed a bottle of water. I slink up on the couch and sit, opening the water and chugging almost the whole contents.