Forbidden Harmony (Harmony Falls #3) - Elizabeth Kelly Page 0,19

said. “Only one way to find out.” She suddenly slid off the bed. “Oh shit, girl, I gotta go. I said I’d meet Francisco at six at Donatello’s.”

“Wait, who’s Francisco?”

Harper grinned at her. “He’s a fun guy and attached to the totally casual, totally magical dick I’m riding. Later, sexy.”

Harper made a kissy sound and ended the call. Addison sat back in her chair, staring at her unopened juice. She was feeling sorry for herself and more than a little lonely. After a moment, she jumped up and grabbed her purse from the side table in the hallway.

The weather was a little cooler today. She would walk to the Walgreens downtown and pick up some more facial wash. Maybe stop at the bakery and pick up a little treat to eat while she watched Netflix later.

Okay, great plan, but maybe you should change first and do something with your hair.

She glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror. Her hair was up in a messy bun and she was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and no makeup.

She did kind of look like shit, but she realized with a weary sort of resignation that she just didn’t care tonight. She shoved her phone into her purse, slipped into her sneakers, and walked out the door.

* * *

Blinking back tears, her stomach rolling with nausea, Addison practically ran out of the Walgreens. She pushed past a group of tourists standing near the bus stop and dodged a teenager flying down the street on a skateboard, his elbow pads flapping uselessly from one hand.

She took a quick glance up and down the street before crossing to the other side that was quieter and in the shade. Her plan was to go to Grind My Beans, find a quiet corner at the back of the café and cry into an iced coffee, but her footsteps slowed as she stared at the bright red door in front of her.

Crimson Door Tattoo.

She’d never been inside Preacher’s shop. Why would she? She was a good girl and good girls didn’t get tattoos. She hitched in a breath as a hot tear slid down her cheek.

So, stop being a good girl. For once in your life, show the small-minded assholes in this town that you’re more than Harrison’s ex-fiance, more than a schoolteacher, more than just a good girl.

She reached for the handle, yanking the door open and stepping inside before she could change her mind. The shop was larger than she thought. To her right was a seating area with a large leather couch and a matching armchair. Binders, a few of them open to show the tattoo drawings they contained, were scattered across a glass coffee table in front of the couch.

The walls were covered with tattoo drawings. The ones featuring women in the nude, their legs spread in invitation and their large breasts bordering on obscene, sent a flush of colour to her cheeks and she looked hastily away from them.

A glass counter was to her left. A laptop and a small printer/scanner sat at one end of the counter and a display of white mugs with ‘Crimson Door Tattoo’ was sitting on the other end next to a spinning rack of ‘Crimson Door Tattoo’ keychains. Inside the counter were two glass shelves displaying gleaming jewelry.

A long table with sketchpads and pencils was tucked against one wall and the far wall had three doors, one marked discreetly with a washroom sign.

The air smelled strongly of antiseptic and she found that oddly comforting. The tile floor was cleaner than her floor at home and the glass counter was free of fingerprints and gleamed in the light. The whole place was much cleaner than she pictured and some of her nerves eased a little. She didn’t know why she expected Preacher’s tattoo shop to be small and grungy. He was a man who took pride in his work, she knew that just by the way he spoke to her class on career day.

There were three curtained stations, although all three of the curtains were pulled back at the moment. Each station had a tattoo chair, a small rolling stool, a large rolling cart with a tattoo machine, an autoclave, and a small bookshelf filled with boxes of disposable gloves, stacks of towels, different coloured ink and scraps of paper, some with tattoo drawings. Biohazard and sharp containers were screwed into the wall behind each station.

Music from a New Cassel rock station drifted out of small speakers affixed