by Anna Martin
“No, I get it,” Max said. “Our lives turned out different than how we expected.”
“I brought Victoria back here when we found out she was pregnant because I wanted to raise my kids close to my family. She hated her parents, so that wasn’t really a problem.”
“You love Sweetwater,” Max said, finally getting it.
Tyler nodded. “It’s family. The whole town is like family now. I became part of the community when I joined the sheriff’s department, and I don’t regret that. I like that I get to raise June in a place where people know who we are. She never got brothers or sisters, but my definition of family has expanded since I had dreams of a big family of my own.”
“Maybe I’ll figure that out too, if I stay here long enough.”
“I hope so,” Tyler said, really meaning it. “This is a good place. There’s good people here.”
“I thought I’d regret it,” Max said. “Even when I put together the business plan and did all my research and made sure I could afford it, I still kind of expected to regret leaving the city. But since I’ve been back….”
“It’s all right?”
“Yeah,” Max said with a huffing laugh. “It’s all right.” He glanced over at the clock on the wall. “I should get going.”
“Okay,” Tyler said, rising with him. “I’m on night shifts all next week, so I won’t have a chance to stop in. But I hope it goes well for you.”
“Thanks,” Max said. “Me too.”
Tyler leaned against the doorframe as Max got into his car and drove away, then closed the door and carefully locked it. He didn’t like the idea that he was Max’s only friend in Sweetwater at the moment. The thought was humbling.
When he went to bed, much later than usual, Tyler decided he couldn’t hide his attraction to Max any longer. He’d been shocked when Max kissed him, and reacted with a defensive instinct that was a kind of self-preservation. That wasn’t really fair to Max, though.
For a long time—the longest time—Tyler had ignored any sexual feelings toward other men. It hadn’t been appropriate, it wasn’t simple, it didn’t make him feel good to acknowledge or confront how he felt, so he just didn’t. His family had moved to a new church after his brother Josh had come out, so at least he didn’t have to deal with listening to how he was going to hell for those feelings, but he still wasn’t ready to confront them.
Then he’d met Victoria, who was bright and wild and funny, and he loved her. He would never deny that. And he’d figured… why not marry his best friend? So what if theirs wasn’t a relationship overflowing with deep passion and sensual romance? They were best friends, and Tyler convinced himself that was enough.
It became easier after they got married. He had everything he was supposed to want in life, so why mess everything up with his complicated, unwelcome feelings?
With sleep eluding him, Tyler let his mind drift to Max. He’d never looked for anything specific in the people he’d dated in the past, though now he had Juniper, he considered different things important. Seeing Max interact with June and get along with her so well was undeniably something that made Tyler feel like dating him wouldn’t be a huge mistake. Anyone who didn’t get along with June was automatically out.
But it was more than that. Max was funny and kind and talented. Tyler thought he was hot too. He’d been drawn to Max’s arms since the first time he’d seen him back in Sweetwater, those wiry muscles under really stunning ink. He liked the little dent in Max’s chin, the way Max wrinkled his nose when he laughed, his studious, serious eyes.
Looking at Max set off something in Tyler that he’d ignored or suppressed for a long time. Max made him feel things. Maybe, just maybe, it was possible for Tyler to have that passionate, romantic relationship. The type of relationship that, if he was honest with himself, he’d always yearned for. With a man.
He rolled over in bed and huffed at the ceiling.
Yeah, he was definitely attracted to Max. The question was, what was he going to do about it?
Chapter 7
For the first two days of Sweetwater Ink being open, Max didn’t do any tattooing at all. He really wasn’t expecting any passing business, so when he didn’t see another soul for the whole of Sunday morning, that was okay. He got the studio properly cleaned up after the party, with the front door thrown wide-open to let in the fresh air.
For now, his personal laptop was also the business laptop, and that was okay too. He got it set up on the ugly desk that he still hadn’t gotten around to fixing up and started working on his Facebook page. At the grand opening party, he’d been handing out business cards with Sweetwater Ink’s social media information, and he wanted to keep the pages regularly updated for the precious little audience he’d already curated. Uploading some great photos from the opening night was a good way to start.
At lunchtime he locked the door and headed down to the bakery. Not because he needed any more baked goods; he was going to be eating leftovers for the rest of the week. He was more interested in the people and the gossip, and finding out how the people of Sweetwater were responding to its newest venture.
Walking to the other end of the block took almost twenty minutes, he was stopped so many times. Everyone wanted to know how his mama was doing, how was the ranch, how was the studio. Had he met any nice girls—oh, boys! Well, isn’t that sweet. Did he know Josh and Toby Reed-Masters? They might know a nice Southern boy he could date.
By the time he got to the bakery, he really needed a coffee.
“Hey,” Max called when he walked in. It seemed he’d caught the end of the lunchtime rush; the café tables were pretty busy, but the counter was quiet.
A young girl was working the counter. Max guessed she was weekend staff because he’d never seen her before, but Kendall, who owned the business with her friend Bella, spotted him and came out from their little kitchen at the back.
“Hey, Max.” She greeted him with a hug. “How did it go on Friday night?”
“I was here to ask you that,” he said with a grin. “What’s the hot gossip, mama?”
Kendall laughed. “Hungry? I can take five and catch you up.”
“I only came here for coffee,” he said. “I’ve got leftovers.”
Kendall looked offended by that and went behind the counter to make him a coffee and put a huge croissant on a plate for him.
“You drink it black, right?” she asked.
“Like my soul, yeah.”
She made a face at him and grabbed a bottle of water for herself.
A couple had just vacated the spot by the window, so Max cleaned the table while Kendall brought over their drinks and plates.
“I watched a movie once,” Max said as he sat down, “which was set in Paris, and they dunked the croissants into coffee. It sounds weird, but it’s so good.”
“You dunk my croissants into coffee and I’ll dunk you into it,” she said, waving a threatening finger at him.
“You’re no fun. Tell me what people are saying.”
Kendall shrugged and sipped her water. “I’ve been out back most of this morning, it’s been crazy. But everyone who was there had a great time. Both me and Bella filled out your appointment request forms.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Max said.
“I wouldn’t if I didn’t mean it. I think there’s generally a lot of good feeling about the studio. You’re always going to get the old people who think it’s out of place for the town, but there used to be a phone store there before you moved in. Well, it was empty for almost nine months; then you moved in. As far as I’m concerned, more business in this area is always going to be a good thing.”
“Right,” Max said emphatically.
“The fact that you’re local and you grew up here helps. You’re not an outsider bringing a new business in. People have a lot of love for your mama, and everyone knows John from the ranch, so they’re more accepting, I think.”
“Okay,” Max said. Her words were a weight off hi
s shoulders.
“Someone was asking yesterday which church y’all’s family go to.”
“Oh no.”
Kendall laughed. “I said I didn’t know. My family go to First Baptist and I’ve never seen your mama there, so I’m guessing they’re Presbyterian?”
“Methodist.” Max shrugged. “I haven’t been to church since I left here ten years ago, except for weddings, baptisms, and funerals. You can tell them that ain’t gonna change anytime soon.”
“I’ll let you tell them yourself,” she said mildly. “I think the biggest taboo isn’t that you’re tattooing people in Sweetwater—it’s that you’re doing it on a Sunday too.”
“You open on a Sunday,” Max argued.
“After church I do. There’s no point in me opening early. No one would come in anyway. If they’re not in church, they’re pretending they are.”
“Jesus.”
“Comes first on Sundays,” she finished for him. “How far away is Pittsburgh? You forgot all this?”
“More like blocked it from my memory. My mom never made me go to church anyway, so I didn’t really go regularly after I was maybe twelve. She took a lot of shit for letting me do as I pleased.”
“I don’t think that’s about to change.”
That made Max laugh. “At least she has plenty of practice.”
“Right.”
“Will you give me your fried chicken recipe?”
“Over my dead body,” she said sweetly. “That’s my grandma’s recipe.”
“It’s damn good.”
“Damn right, it is. You did good, kid,” Kendall said, leaning over to punch him on the shoulder. “Thanks for hiring us too. We’re trying to expand our catering option, so it was a chance to show off.”
“If you need a testimonial I’d be happy to do it,” Max said easily. “All the food was amazing, not just your chicken.”
“Oh, Max, I think I’m going to like having you on the block,” Kendall said with a laugh. She stood, brushing flour off her bright pink apron. “Gotta get back to the grindstone, though.”
“Let me pay for this,” Max said, digging into his pocket for change.
“Forget it.” She waved his money away. “If you have a travel mug, then I don’t mind filling you up in the mornings. Just send people down here when they’re done with their tattoos and need a sugar fix.”
“I can definitely do that.”
“See you later, hotshot.”
Max wasn’t entirely sure if Kendall was flirting with him or if that was just her manner. He thought she was very pretty, with her curly blonde hair she wore in a messy bun, and curves that filled out her pink apron very nicely. Still not his type, though.
In the afternoon he started working his way through the appointment requests that had been left in his fishbowl. About thirty-five people had asked for appointments, which was definitely more than he’d expected. There were some really interesting ideas in the mix, accompanied by some terrible sketches. He actually appreciated the terrible sketches; they gave him something to work with.
By Wednesday, when he opened for real, Max was ready to get tattooing again. Between finishing his job in Pittsburgh and reopening at Sweetwater Ink, it had been almost two months since he’d actually gotten to do any tattoos.
Fortunately, he already had his first appointment.
“Hi, Mom.” He stood aside so she could walk in.
“I’m so nervous I’m fit to puke. I can’t help but think that my daddy’s gonna kill me, and he’s been dead for near on twenty years.”
Max laughed and pulled her into a hug. “Don’t be nervous. This is going to be great.”
His parents had helped him set up for the party on Friday night and stayed for the first hour or so, but John had an early trip planned for Saturday morning, so they didn’t hang around. Max let his mom wander around and look at everything in daylight while he prepped his station.
“You painted all this?” she asked, gesturing to the walls.
Max nodded. “Yeah.”
“You’re so talented.” She looked at him, her expression slightly awed. “I always knew you were talented, of course. But look at you now. I’m so proud.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “Come on, let’s do this.”
“Lord help me.”
That made him laugh. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. I’m not going to bully you into it.”
“No, I want it. I’m just scared.”
Max had already checked with her doctor that it was okay to tattoo someone who’d had a stroke. Since her recovery was going so well, Dr. Langford didn’t think it would be a problem.
It wasn’t a complicated tattoo. Max had helped design it, though the idea was all his mom’s. In some weird coincidence, Max, his mom, and John all had the same star sign. Max had been born the day before his mom’s birthday—she called him the best present she’d ever had.
To celebrate the three of them, she’d chosen to get the stars of Libra tattooed on her upper arm, almost on the ball of her shoulder. For Max, that meant he only needed to do seven stars and the fine, dashed lines that connected them.
“Okay,” he said when the design was transferred to her arm. “Are you ready for this?”
“No.”
“I’m going to start with a tiny line, just so you get a feel for it, okay?”
“Okay.”
“If you need a break, just let me know.”
“Okay.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“I love you.”
She turned to him and gave him a fond, exasperated smile. “I love you too.”
“Let’s do this.”
Max tested his machine, then leaned in close to do the first line.
“How’s that?”
“Not as bad as I thought,” she admitted.
“Told you so.” Max grinned.
Max moved through the first few stars quickly. He didn’t want to draw it out any longer than necessary and didn’t want to put his mom through too much stress.
“Doing okay?” Max prompted.
“Yeah.”
“We’re about halfway done.”
“Already?” She sounded surprised.
“Yep.” Max wiped off the excess ink and appraised his work so far. He was pleased with how it had turned out.
The whole tattoo only took about fifteen minutes. When he was done, Max cleaned the skin of ink and the few little drops of blood, then smoothed some ointment over the top.
“Let me grab a mirror.”
Max whizzed across the room on his rolling stool—there was something childishly awesome about doing that—and grabbed the hand mirror from the counter.
“There you go,” he said, passing it to her.
“Oh, wow.”
“Happy with it?”
She nodded. “Yes. I can’t believe I didn’t let you talk me into this years ago.”
Max laughed. “I was never going to talk you into it,” he said, spreading a little more ointment over the tattoo so he could wrap it up. “It had to be your idea.”
He talked her through all the aftercare procedures she’d need to follow and gave her a printed handout, then helped her stand up.
“Thank you for being my first customer,” he said as she drew him into a hug. “It means a lot to me.”
“I can’t believe I just got a tattoo,” she murmured, leaning back to cup his face in her hands. “I am a fifty-year-old woman. I should know better.”
“You did really well.”
“I’m so proud of you, Max. I’m so pleased you’re home.”
He didn’t have words for that, so she kept going.
“I’m going to take a picture of it when I get home and put it on Facebook. And tell all my friends to come and get tattoos as well.”
“Sweetwater is going to have the biggest community of tattooed fifty-something women in the county,” Max teased, earning him a swat on the arm.
&nb
sp; “Honestly, Max. It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Anytime. Just let me know when you want the next one.”
She looked slightly horrified at that thought, and Max ushered her out of the shop before she could say anything else.
Later in the week, Max worked late on Friday night for a couple who came in wanting matching tattoos. He’d already decided he was going to use his mornings as time to sketch and prepare, and potentially work later at night to be more convenient for clients who worked during the day.
The couple was a lot of fun. They’d been together for ten years, and to celebrate their anniversary, they were getting matching Hershey’s Kiss tattoos. It was silly and different, and Max tried not to let himself get too melancholy watching their obvious love for each other.
When they left, it was just after eight, and Max took his time cleaning and setting up for the next day. After only a few days in business, Sweetwater Ink was starting to fall into place.
Max had decided to keep the tradition he’d started in his first job as a tattoo artist and pin up all his stencils on a plain surface. The stencils were all drawn on transparent paper, and made great decoration for an empty space. Max had also splurged while in an antique store a few streets over—he’d become addicted to trawling thrift and antique stores since he found his beloved ugly desk—and bought an enormous gilt mirror. He knew from experience that people wanted to post pictures of their tattoos to Instagram as soon as they were finished, and he hoped the mirror would become part of Sweetwater Ink’s online signature.
It hadn’t escaped his notice that he’d given himself another thing that needed to be cleaned. He really needed an assistant.
“No assistants until you’re making money,” Max muttered to himself, grabbing the spray bottle of disinfectant and getting to work on the mirror.
He startled when there was a knock at the door. He’d already locked up, not expecting anyone else for the rest of the evening.
“Just the friendly neighborhood beat cop,” Max said, grinning at Tyler in his uniform. He didn’t want to think about what it meant that Tyler kept coming by the studio, even when he wasn’t supposed to be in the area. “What can I do for you?”