Even now, I’m sitting here thinking about her when I should be focused on reacquainting myself with my business and calling old clients to let them know I’m back. Sure, as the owner I have plenty of other responsibilities as well, like bills and bookkeeping, and monotonous things that drive me up a wall. All I really care about is the art, but I started my own shop so I could do things my way.
“You know, it’s no good having you back if all you’re going to do is sit there and look like a decoration.” Jessie, the manager, flicks my forehead as she passes by me where I sit on a stool in the breakroom. She bends down and grabs a bottle of water from the minifridge. “I know you have a lot on your mind but go home and think about it. You don’t have to come back here yet.”
Sympathy drips from her words and fills her expression. I hate it and wish it wasn’t there. I don’t want her, or anyone else’s sympathy. When I got the call and dropped everything, my whole life, to travel back home to California from Virginia to take care of my sick younger brother—dying of a nasty brain tumor—I knew his death was inevitable just like he did. Sympathy feels like a filler emotion when death is unavoidable.
“I’m ready to be back.” I took three months after his passing to drive along the coast of California and then back home on my motorcycle. I’ve taken all the time I need. What I want now is to get back to normal. To tattoo again, feel the buzzing of the gun between my fingers, and to mess with the curvy gorgeous woman across the street.
Jessie gives a shrug and caps the water bottle. “All I’m saying is we understand, and I’ll keep this place running as long as you need me to.”
I level her with a look and tuck the pen into the pocket of my jeans so I’ll stop playing with it. “I’m here, Jess. I’m not going anywhere so get used to the boss being back.”
She laughs, tossing her teal-colored hair over her shoulder. “Now that’s the Travis I know.”
She leaves me to my thoughts, heading back to the main floor to work on her client.
Swiping an energy drink from the fridge, I shut myself in my office. Popping the top, I take a swig of the liquid cringing at the fake grape taste and immediately drop it into the trash, questioning how anyone drinks that stuff.
Picking up a stack of papers, I look through them and find that, at least in my quick perusal, Jessie has done a solid job keeping track of everything. I knew she would, but I guess a part of me hoped to find some flaw in the way she handled things in my absence just so I would feel useful.
There’s a piece of paper with names and numbers of clients who specifically wanted to wait until I returned for more ink, so with nothing else to do, I start making calls.
The door to my apartment creaks open and I flick the light switch on, bathing the entry in light. There’s something incredibly lonely about coming back to the same place, day in and day out, with no one there to greet you. No one who cares about you. No one who loves you.
Kicking the door closed with my boot, I lock it and secure the latch.
The apartment is small, and all I have to do is take two steps to my right to walk into my bedroom and the attached bathroom. Immediately, I remove my boots and then shuck my shirt to the floor. My pants next. Less than a minute after I walked into the apartment, I’m in the shower. The plumbing is shotty, so the water pressure sucks and sometimes the water changes from hot to ice cold back to scalding, but it’s mine. I could afford something nicer if I wanted, but since it’s just me and I’ve always been a workaholic as long as I have a place to crash that’s all that matters.
I spend way longer than necessary in the shower, but when I get out I feel halfway human so that has to count for something.
Yanking on a pair of shorts, I don’t bother with a shirt as I head across the hall to the tiny galley kitchen. There’s a half-eaten sandwich in the fridge from earlier. Not the most ideal dinner, but it’ll do until I can pick up groceries tomorrow. Grabbing a drink, I settle onto the loveseat that serves as my couch and turn on the TV. There’s no cable so I connect to Netflix and pick a show at random that should distract me for a while. Something about horrible bakers—and man, they are terrible. Not that I could do much better.
Kicking my legs up on the coffee table I stifle a yawn.
It’s been a long day. An even longer year. But I’m ready to return to a relatively normal life. I know the ache in my chest from the loss of my brother will never fully go away. I never imagined living a life without him in it, but I guess the universe had different plans.
I don’t regret dropping my entire life to go back home to take care of him. When my mom called and explained the situation, I knew she couldn’t do it alone. I was even more horrified that Colin didn’t want me to know at all—not because he felt I wasn’t worth knowing, but because he knew I’d do exactly what I did and rush to his side.
I would’ve been absolutely livid and hurt if I hadn’t gotten to spend his last few months by his side.
Still, even while I was gone, Alba was always in the back of my mind.
I don’t understand what is about the woman that I can’t get out of my head. From the moment I laid eyes on her I’ve been enamored. She’s wicked smart with a sharp tongue and undeniable wit that I find extremely attractive. I thought one night with her would be enough to quench my thirst, but I was wrong. I’m sure after the way I completely left town the last thing she’ll ever want is a repeat.
All I can hope is given enough time, I can convince her I’m worth the risk.
Chapter Three
Alba
“Who’s the prettiest baby in all the land?” Dahlia gurgles as I wipe the warm cloth beneath her double chin during her nightly bath. Bubbles float through the air along with the calming scent of lavender. Her chubby legs kick and splash at the water. “You are.” I tap her nose and she lets out the most adorable laugh that lights my whole world. She reaches for my finger, wrapping her fist around it and squeezing tight. “Look at you my strong girl.”
Plucking my finger from her grasp I finish wiping her down and pull her from the bath, wrapping her in a towel. She gives a little cry, sad to be leaving the water, but quiets once I start rubbing lotion into her skin.
“If someone gave me a full body massage like this every night, I’d be a happy camper too.” I smile down at her and she grins back, reaching up to try to grab my hair.
Finally, I stuff her squirming limbs into her pajamas and sit down on my bed with her in my arms, grabbing the book I always leave on the nightstand and start reading to her.
Her eyes grow heavy and I set the book aside, rocking her in my arms until she’s fully asleep. Slowly, making sure to keep rocking her, I settle her into the crib down the hall in her nursery. She stirs a little, letting out a tiny cry when my arms are no longer holding her. I hesitate, waiting to see if she’ll drift back to sleep and when she does, I breathe out a sigh of relief.
Climbing into bed, I turn the TV on—I always keep the volume low so I don’t have to worry about it waking her—and flip through the channels, settling on a ghost hunting show.
With that playing in the background I grab my sketchpad and pencil from the side table. I always try to spend a little time every night sketching something for my own pleasure and not anything commissioned for a client. I never want my art to feel like work.