INK: A Love Story on 7th and Main

  “Whoa.” A breathy voice behind Emmie spoke as the music changed. “That was superintense, right?”

  “So intense.”

  Emmie turned and saw the Instagram gang from the day before. “Hey. Sorry about the drama.”

  “No way,” Kim said. “Are you kidding? Everyone is going to be talking about this. It just made your grand opening a story.” She bumped Emmie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m totally Team Emmie. Ginger’s a bitch and a half.”

  Emmie tried not to wrinkle her nose. “Eh, it’s no big deal. I mean, everyone gets weird about exes, right?”

  “Right. But it’s pretty obvious that Ox has moved on, right?”

  “Moved on?”

  “I mean, I love my brother, but it’d be so much cooler if he worked at a place like this.” Kim looked around the shop. “Bombshell smells like beer. Like, all the time.”

  “Right.” Emmie glanced over at the tattoo counter, but she didn’t see Ox anywhere.

  Or Spider.

  “Oh no.”

  “What’s up?” Kim asked.

  “Sorry, I just have to…” Emmie never finished her sentence. She walked down the hall and into the office near the alley door. She heard voices as soon as she approached.

  “…what the fuck you’re doing,” Spider said. “Grow up, man. You couldn’t just leave her alone? You did exactly what she wanted.”

  “I don’t want her here. I don’t want her around Emmie.”

  She leaned against the wall next to the door and listened. She didn’t care if she was eavesdropping. After all, it was her shop and they were talking about her.

  “Emmie’s been around plenty worse. That girl may look shy, but she’s tougher than you think.”

  “I’m… I’m trying to leave that shit in the past, Spider. Start new. You of all people should understand that.”

  “You think I left my shit in the past?” Spider snorted. “Your past never leaves you all the way. That’s not the way it works. Not unless you cut it out, and you don’t want to go there. Resolve shit with Ginger. She’s your neighbor and she’s not a bad person. But you were a dick to her.”

  “I was a dick?”

  “Did you cheat on her?”

  “Fuck no! She’s just suspicious as shit. She knew for months I wanted out. She was picking fights all the damn time.”

  “If you didn’t cheat on her, she’ll get over it. But for fuck’s sake, man, just leave her alone. You could have let her hang out for a while and ignored her. She would have gotten bored—this isn’t her crowd anyway—and then she’d go. Instead, you had to make a big deal about it.”

  Emmie heard shuffling feet.

  “I don’t like her around Emmie.”

  “Get over it. Emmie’s a big girl and she can take care of herself. What are you really worried about? Ginger talking shit about you?”

  Emmie leaned toward the door. Ox didn’t say anything.

  Spider continued, “Emmie’s not going to listen to shit about you from Ginger. That’s not who she is. But you better decide what you want, man. And you better not be playing my girl.”

  “I’m not. I just don’t want—”

  “Man, you don’t know what you want.” Spider’s voice got louder, as if he was walking toward the door. “But you better figure it out.”

  Emmie tiptoed down the hall before anyone came out of the office. She turned left and walked up the stairs before she went back to the party. Her mind was whirling, and she needed a few minutes on her own. Unfortunately, she heard Ox’s voice from the hall just as she reached the landing.

  “Emmie?” Ox was looking up the stairs. “Where are you going?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  He started walking up the stairs. “Where are you going?”

  Emmie cleared her throat. “I just need a second to breathe, you know? So many people out there.”

  “So you’re running away? Is this because of Ginger?”

  “Of course not.” Did he think she was a ninny? “I just… I need time. Alone time.”

  He’d reached the step before the landing. They were eye to eye. “You need alone time.”

  “On a fairly regular basis, yeah.”

  Ox frowned. “Why did you go into retail again?”

  She shrugged. “I can talk about books. I can always talk about books. But stuff like this? It wears me out. Big crowds are not—”

  “What’s your favorite book? I’ve never asked you that.”

  Emmie blinked. “My favorite book?”

  “Yeah, what’s your favorite book?”

  He was trying to distract her. It was a nice thought, but an impossible question. “What’s your favorite tattoo? Can you pick one?”

  Ox smiled. “No.”

  “Kind of the same thing.” Ox kept looking in her eyes, and Emmie was starting to feel scrutinized. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure that’s all it is?” he asked. “You just need a breather?”

  “I told you I’m fine.”

  “I’m sorry about Ginger. I should have just ignored her.” He was examining her face like he was searching for something. “I fucked up. Did she ruin it?”

  Emmie shook her head. “Of course not. Everyone’s out there having a great time. Daisy’s food rocks. We haven’t run out of beer. Everything is fine.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I think I hate the word fine when it’s coming from you.”

  “That’s too bad, because it’s a really useful word that most English speakers use regularly.”

  “It’s a useless word that doesn’t describe anything. People use it when they want to shut you up.”

  Emmie frowned. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.”

  “Have I told you I like it when you act all fussy?”

  “I don’t act fussy. What does that even mean?”

  “And you use punctuation when you text.” His searching eyes landed on her lips. “Nobody does that.”

  “I do that.” She squirmed under his gaze. “Ox—”

  “You look amazing tonight.”

  “Thank you.” Her chest was tight. Why was it so hard to breathe? “I think you were wrong about the shirt though.”

  “Oh yeah?” His voice was soft, nearly a whisper.

  “Yeah.” She swallowed. “Nobody’s tried to touch my back. Everyone has been really cool.”

  “That’s good, ’cause I don’t want to have to break any fingers.”

  Emmie blinked. “Which would be a complete overreaction.”

  “Really?” He slid his hand along her waist and around her back, teasing his fingers along her spine. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.”

  She could feel the heat from his chest, feel his hand resting hot on her skin. “Ox, what are you doing?” She put a hand on his chest. “You said—”

  “I really want to kiss you right now,” he said. “And I know I shouldn’t.”

  Her mouth fell open, but she couldn’t speak. Did he just say…?

  “That mouth is not helping.” He leaned closer to her, their lips a breath apart.

  Emmie’s fingers curled into the muscle on his chest. “Ox—”

  He closed the inches between them and softly bit her lower lip, closing his mouth around it and flicking the sensitive edge with his tongue. Everything in Emmie’s body heated. She raised her other hand to draw him closer just as he pulled away.

  “That wasn’t a kiss,” he said, his breath still hot on her lips. “So I didn’t break the rules.”

  “You didn’t?” Her lip felt marked and swollen. She wanted to taste him, wanted to feel the rub of stubble against her jaw. “I feel like that’s a technicality.”

  A low, frustrated sound rumbled in his throat. “Emmie.”

  “Ox?”

  He let her go and stepped back. “Take your minute. One of us needs to go back to the party.”

  Emmie blinked and tried to clear the fog in her head. “Right.” She started down the stairs only
to have Ox put a hand on her hip, blocking her and nudging her back toward her apartment.

  “Me.” He was fighting a smile. “I’ll go down. You take a minute to enjoy the quiet.” He nodded at her door. “I’ll send Tayla up if you disappear for too long.”

  Emmie nodded. “Okay.” She turned to the door but turned back before he walked away. “That just happened in real life, right? I didn’t imagine that?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “Have you imagined it?”

  “Not that. Precisely.” Her face was burning. “I have a good imagination; I read a lot.” She cleared her throat. “And I am going in my apartment before this gets any worse.”

  He backed down the stairs, bracing himself on the railing. “You mean any better?”

  She raised a finger. “You should not be saying things like that, Miles Oxford.”

  He pursed his lips. “Are you sure?”

  “Your rule. This was your rule.”

  He gave her a slow smile. “Yeah. But I forgot to tell you I was always shit about following the rules.”

  Emmie opened the door to her apartment and escaped before she did something really, really stupid.

  By the end of the weekend, Emmie had formed two different book clubs, an adult romance group and a YA fantasy group. She’d added over 150 names to her mailing list. She’d scheduled the first movie night and taken the card of a local historical writer who wanted to organize a signing.

  She’d also managed to avoid any more narrow hallways occupied by Miles Oxford.

  It hadn’t been too difficult. Ox had been as busy as Emmie. He had half a dozen regular clients he’d had to reschedule who were eager to get back in his chair, along with new appointments for custom pieces and some of the new “book art” he was advertising.

  Monday was her day off, and Emmie was treating Tayla to a massage at Duchess Day Spa, a small storefront on the other end of Main Street. It was a tiny place, heavily decorated in pink, with a royal theme that reminded Emmie of some of the new modern royal romance covers she’d seen lately.

  Tayla groaned loudly from behind the curtain where Jocelyn, the owner of the shop, was giving her a massage.

  “I needed this so much,” Tayla whimpered. “It hurts so good.”

  “When was the last time you had a massage?” Jocelyn asked.

  “Far too long.”

  Jocelyn called, “Emmie, you next?”

  Emmie looked up from her book. “Are you going to beat me up?”

  Jocelyn poked her head out from behind the curtain. She was a smiling woman in her forties with smooth brown skin and hair she usually wore in braids. This month the braids were threaded with purple and pink extensions. “Of course I’m not going to beat you up. This one asked for deep tissue.”

  Emmie smiled. “Then yes. But more the ‘relax my troubles away’ massage, please.”

  Jocelyn nodded and ducked back behind the curtain.

  “You know, Emmie doesn’t need a massage to relax,” Tayla said. “She needs to bang her business partner.”

  “Oh really?” Jocelyn said, “You better spill, missy.”

  Emmie was grateful Jocelyn’s manicurist had already gone to lunch. “Jocelyn, does banging one’s business partner ever seem like a good idea?”

  “Depends on what the business partner looks like.”

  Tayla laughed. “Right? And this one is smoking and looks at her like he wants to bite.”

  He did bite. Emmie didn’t say it. She hadn’t told Tayla anything about opening night, and she wasn’t planning to.

  “I like the sound of this boy,” Jocelyn said. “Who is it?”

  “Miles Oxford,” Emmie said.

  Jocelyn tore the curtain back. “You’re in business with Ox? I thought he worked at Ginger’s place. Weren’t they together?”

  “They were, but they broke up over a month ago. He reopened his shop in my bookstore. In that corner where Betsy was always thinking about putting a café.”

  Jocelyn closed the curtain again. “This is what happens when I take a vacation to my mama’s house. I miss everything.”

  “Aren’t day spas where everyone in a small town trades gossip?” Tayla asked.

  Emmie opened her book again. “No, that’s the beauty parlor.”

  “Truth,” Jocelyn said. “You hear everything at Vivi’s. But that’s what I get for letting my sister do my hair. Emmie, I don’t know about that Ox boy. He’s hot as sin, but he’s got poor taste in women from what I can see. You need a man. You’re too mature to settle for less.”

  Tayla asked, “Are you married?”

  “Twenty years next anniversary.”

  “Wow, that’s awesome!”

  “Not all of us are lucky enough to find a Reggie,” Emmie said. “And since I’m not going to be banging Ox, this is a stupid discussion.”

  “This isn’t a stupid discussion,” Tayla said, “because you have not seen the zings.”

  “Zings?” Jocelyn asked.

  “So much zinging. Like little stars shooting all over that place. I’m surprised they haven’t lit all those books on fire.”

  Jocelyn laughed out loud. “Well, I will say this: Ox comes from a nice family. His mother and sister are very good women. And he’s started his own business now. Maybe he’ll get his head screwed on right. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a nice boy, but I don’t think he knows what he wants. Mind you, lots of ’em don’t until they find the right woman, so there’s that.”

  Emmie stood. “Does anyone want coffee? I’m going to get coffee.”

  She walked out the door before either of them could respond, dying to leave the chatter about her and Ox.

  The problem was, Emmie had a sneaking suspicion that both Jocelyn and Spider were right. Ox didn’t know what he wanted. She’d pushed him into opening the shop with her. He’d set down rules and then teased her into breaking them. Did he want a lover or a business partner? She wondered if he’d had the same rule with Ginger at the beginning. Maybe this was all a game to him.

  Emmie nearly ran into another pedestrian she was concentrating on the ground so intently. “Sorry!” She almost swerved into a lamppost before he caught her arm.

  “Emmie?” Adrian Saroyan smiled. “Hey!”

  “Hi!” She righted herself and hooked her purse higher on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I was thinking about something, and I just didn’t…”

  “No worries. I’m glad I ran into you.” He laughed. “Or I caught you.” He leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow. “Not unlike Mr. Willoughby and Marianne.”

  “Oh!” Emmie smiled. “Have you finished Sense and Sensibility already?”

  “Not yet, but I’m liking it so far.”

  Well, that would explain the positive Willoughby reference. “Cool. I’m just headed down to the café.”

  “Bookshop closed today?”

  Emmie nodded.

  “Yeah, most of the shops downtown are closed on Monday.”

  “Ox might be working, but we’re at Duchess. Jocelyn’s currently beating Tayla up. It’s my turn next.”

  “Nice.” He laughed. “You deserve a day off after how hard you’ve worked. The opening was great. I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk more, but I really liked everything I saw. Great atmosphere. I picked up a few books and that one for my mom. It looked like everyone was having a great time.”

  Adrian was smiling, and Emmie was wondering if his teeth had been capped. Had they always been that white? He was wearing another suit and another pair of immaculate shoes. Emmie was wearing jeans again, but Tayla had forced a stylish sweater over her Edgar Allen Poe I Put the Lit in Literature T-shirt.

  He was just so… nice. Was it an act? Was she too cynical? Was she reading too much into character motivations that might not be anything more than straightforward interest?

  Adrian cocked his head. “Are you all right?”

  “Coffee,” she blurted. “I need coffee. I only had one cup this morning.”

  “I don’t
drink it,” he said. “I try to get up and run in every morning. That’s what wakes me up.”

  Oh dear Lord, that sounded disgustingly healthy.

  “Well, that’s… great. For you.”

  Adrian smiled bigger. “I know I’m abnormal. You’re not the first person who’s given me that look. Come on, I’ll walk you to Café Maya.” He cocked his arm. “I wouldn’t want you running into anyone else.”

  “I promise I’m not that clumsy.”

  “So it’s just around me?” He shrugged. “I’ll take that.”

  Emmie couldn’t stop the smile; she linked her arm with his. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over my heroism,” he said. “I’ve been reading Austen, and you’re the first woman I’ve met who came close to swooning. I think it might be a sign.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cary Nakamura walked into the shop and paused just inside the door, looking around and nodding. “This is good.”

  “Yeah?” Ox walked over to shake his neighbor’s hand. “You like it?”

  “I do.” He glanced over behind the book counter. “There any coffee made?”

  “No. You want a latte, go down to Daisy’s. I’m not your mom.”

  “My mom could beat you up.” Cary was about fifteen years older than Ox, but he’d been a client as long as Ox had been tattooing. He was a neighbor from Oakville and had orange groves just north of their acreage. When Melissa had started planting, she’d turned to Cary for help. Ox had more than once wondered if the older guy had a thing for his sister, but he didn’t ask. It was none of his business. Cary had been friends with Calvin. It was complicated.

  “How’s your crop looking this year?” Ox asked.

  “If I wanted to talk about my oranges, I’d call your sister. That’s all she wants to talk about. Ever.”

  “Fair point.” Ox sat down on his rolling stool. “I know jack shit about oranges.”

  “Stick with what you know.” Cary flipped a chair around and pulled out a piece of paper. “So this is the only picture I have of my dad’s shoulder. You can see the chrysanthemum is pretty faded, but—”