“Anything else? When did you become my life coach?” I tease, knowing she is right. I need to learn to do things on my own as a single woman, and not as a wife or mother, which will be way easier said than done since I’ve been both since I was eighteen. I don’t know anything else.
She stands and comes around the table to give me a hug. “I don’t want you in a rut, that’s all.” She pulls away and smooths my hair. “You’re so cute, Ivy. Please do the things we talked about. Now, I better head home and feed my family.”
“Okay. I love you. Say hi to Sam and the kids for me.”
“I will, and think about getting on top of someone else, too. A good sexy fling could really cheer you up.”
“Go.” I point to the door, laughing at her.
IVY
YOU CAN DO THIS. YOU CAN do this. With each step from the parking lot to the sidewalk, I flip flop back and forth between forcing myself forward to the studio and running back to my car, driving home, and spending the rest of the night eating ice cream while curled up in bed with a book.
Just as Lindsay described, the building is very unique. It appears to have been a chapel or church at one point in its life, with grey stone exterior, stained glass windows, and a steeple on the roof. A stone sign on the front lawn has Hearts & Arrows Tattoo Studio engraved in large flourishy lettering. My heels click on the slate walkway as I approach a huge red wooden door with metal gothic accents. Taking a deep breath, I push the heavy door open, a cowbell announcing my entrance. I wince at the sound. No turning back now.
“I’ll be right there!” The words bellow from another part of the building beyond the foyer.
The interior of the studio is nothing like I expected. Actually, I’m not sure what I was expecting. I guess I assumed it would be like the cold, dirty looking tattoo places I’ve seen in movies—large men with long scraggly beards smoking cigars and hanging around looking sketchy. Hearts & Arrows is a mixture of luxurious Gothic and Victorian decor, with dark hardwood floors, and a red velvet antique couch with matching chairs in the waiting area. Artwork in ornate vintage gold frames hang on the walls. Picking up one of the aged leather bound photo albums from the mahogany coffee table, I realize it’s a portfolio of the artist’s tattoos and slowly flip the pages, impressed with his designs. The detail and shading is intricate and very realistic, especially the portrait tattoos of people and pets, which look like real photographs. Lindsay was right—this guy is truly gifted. My nervousness starts to ease up a little, knowing that at least the tattoo will be beautiful if I don’t pass out and make an idiot of myself.
“Okay . . .” He comes out from behind the large thick curtain divider and stands behind the glass counter in the waiting area. “You must be Ivy, my six-thirty? You’re my gift card winner.”
“That’s me.” I put the book down and turn fully toward him, and the moment our eyes meet, an odd sensation comes over me. A warmth sparks deep in my core and seeps to my heart, creating a flutter that spreads throughout my body.
Deep chocolate truffle eyes lock on to mine, while a crooked smile and curious tilt of his head tells me he feels it, too. In fact, I’m pretty sure he feels exactly what I’m feeling, judging by the inquisitive expression on his face.
He clears his throat nervously and extends his tattoo-covered arm and hand to me. “I’m Lukas. Have we met before?” Slipping my hand into his, that strange feeling buzzes through me, stronger now that we’re touching. Grounding myself, I take in the sight of him. He’s young, I’d guess early twenties, and he’s covered in tattoos. A faded grey t-shirt stretches over his broad chest and toned muscular shoulders, revealing full-sleeved artwork. His hair is long, a bit past his shoulders, and jet black with razored edges. Silver piercings decorate his eyebrow and lower lip. His eyes are dark with amber flecks—what we gals would describe as bedroom eyes. Way too sexy to be looking into for long periods of time. He holds on to my hand for a few moments longer than what would be the norm, then slowly lets go.
“No,” I answer softly, unable to pull my eyes from his.
Although something about him feels familiar, I know for a fact I’ve never seen him before. I would definitely remember him. Even though I’ve never been attracted to someone like him before, he definitely has something going on about him that’s warming my insides in a very foreign way and throwing me off my inner axis.
An adorable boyish smile slowly spreads across his lips. “You look so familiar.” He shakes his head, sending his shaggy hair flying around like a black halo. “So, you ready?” His voice is raspy, kinda like when you’ve been at a concert all night screaming.
“I think so,” I reply, smiling back. “This is my first . . . I’m a little nervous.” I clutch the bag I brought with me that has a pair of shorts and socks for me to change into, which he suggested when we emailed earlier this week.
He gestures with his hand for me to follow him behind the dark heavy curtain. “I love virgins. Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine. I’ll go nice and gentle. If you want to change into shorts, there’s a bathroom right through that curtain there. Just make a left.”