Every Second With You

Chapter Fifteen

Trey

Funny, how we try to plan for things, and anticipate perfect moments, but then life comes and punches our plans in the mouth, leaving us with big fat lips. But then moments circle back around, and they become more perfect than we could have planned. And this is so much better than a Bed Bath and Beyond card, or the T-shirt I wanted to buy her.

Because this is real, and it’s what we have to do, and it’s the next step. “Harley, will you move in with me?”

She furrows her brow, leans away from me. “Wow. I didn’t expect that.”

“Well?”

“I live with Kristen,” she says, pointing out the blatantly obvious.

It irks me slightly, but I push forward. I’m not backing down. “Harley, we’re having a kid. And you act like moving in together is weird?”

“We have a lease and stuff.”

“I know. But it ends eventually, right?”

She nods. “December, I think.”

“Move in with me then. You need to finish school, and there’s no reason for us to have two places. I know you’re not hurting for money in the short term, and I’m not either, but at some point we have to be smart, right?”

“Are you asking me to move in to save money?”

I shake my head and laugh. “Seriously?”

She shrugs, but her cheeks start to flush, and she knows she asked a silly question.

“I’m asking you to move in with me because I’m ridiculously in love with you. And for the record, I was going to ask you before you told me you were pregnant. This is something I want for us.”

“Really? You were going to ask before?” Her lips start to curve up.

“Yes.” I trace her top lip, mapping the beginning of her smile with my fingertip. “So is that a yes?” This time I’m not going to freak out. I’m not going to shut down. I’m going to face up to the future like a man, and I’m going to be the man she needs.

She nods happily. “Yes. You are always a yes. End of the year let’s move in together.”

Then she kisses me, sealing our deal, and doing that thing she does to me with the slightest touch.

Turn me on.

She turns me on, always. Constantly. I groan as she nips my lips lightly, and then kisses me in a thoroughly sweet but intensely seductive way. She breaks the kiss to whisper in my ear. “You taste like a yummy sandwich.”

I laugh. “So do you.”

“I want more.”

“More sandwich or more me?”

“Both in general. But right now, more you,” she says in a low voice as she presses her lips against my jaw, and runs a hand down my arm, making me harder.

“Now, you’re not playing fair. I have a meeting in ten minutes, and you’re killing me, but I have to take a rain check.”

Ilyas strokes his beard absently as he shows me the needle he uses for thin branches. “See? It’s like a sewing needle,” he says. Ilyas is built like a football player, inked like a biker, and he speaks with an accent that’s some kind of combination of Greek and Russian. We’re in the back of his shop, and the front is filled with customers. He employs several artists and they are hard at work on this busy day.

“Like this?”

I press the needle against my forearm, demonstrating.

“Yes. Exactly,” he says, nodding.

“And that’s how I do the leaves?”

“That is precisely how you do the leaves, but first you have to see the leaves,” he says, closing his eyes, drawing in a deep breath and widening his hands in front of his face. “Like a vision. You see them, you draw them, and then you ink them.” Yeah, so he’s also a combination of arty and precise, too. “It is best when they are delicate. Have you seen ugly tattoos of trees? Fat, non-descript branches? Splotchy leaves? Hideous blossoms?” He spits on the black tiled floor, disgusted even by the mention.

I nod. “Yeah. I’ve seen some like that. I don’t want to do ones like that.”

“No. You don’t. You want to make transcendent ones. You want a tattoo that is like a painting. That moves someone, like a museum piece can do. Do you know how to do that?”

I flash back over the ink I’ve designed, the ways clients have responded, the remade heart on Harley’s shoulder. I grab my phone and show Ilyas a picture of her heart and arrow tattoo.

“That is very good. Hector said you had great talent. And if you want to make this cherry blossom, you need vision, a needle and a steady hand. And practice. I want you to draw and draw and draw, every day and night, until the cherry blossom feels like a part of you. Like a part of your heart.”

I nod.

“Come now. You watch me. I am starting a lily design in ten minutes using this technique.”

Then I spend the rest of the hour studying Ilyas’ technique, memorizing the move of the needle, the focus in his eyes, the way he shades in the lines.

When he’s done, he shows his client the design, and she gasps in awe.

That reaction never gets old. It’s one of the reasons why I do what I do For the priceless moment when a client first sees his or her ink.

“It’s gorgeous,” she says, and throws her arms around Ilyas.

After she’s done, he walks me out. “Now, you go. And you practice. You will show me the tree you make this week, and if it’s as good as Hector says, then I will introduce you to some artists you can learn even more from.”

“That would be amazing.”

I thank him many times over. Things are falling into place. This feels like potential, like possibility, like a future that makes sense. The more I hone my craft, the more I can grow and improve in my job.

As I leave, it hits me that my job is not just for me anymore.