Wallflower Ink

Chapter 10

· Jace ·

True to my word, I kept our conversation out of personal territory, and Merri had met my conversational prowess stride for stride.

While the rest of the evening hadn't been completely comfortable for either of us, neither had it been a total disaster. Looking back on it now, I shake my head as I unlock the door. Stepping inside then turning the closed sign to open, I continue through the shop, turning on lights as I go.

It's Tuesday. As per our agreement, I'll work on Merri's back piece on Mondays, after I've finished designing all the templates I will eventually need to use. I'm normally closed on Sundays and Mondays, so setting aside the entire day will not interfere with my regular business hours.

While the artwork I'm planning for Merri will pay significantly, she can't be my only client--I still have a business to run and a reputation to uphold. My going AWOL while I cater to one customer would go over about as well as a lead balloon, and I'm not willing to kill my career for one job.

Coming back to the front desk then slipping behind it, I toss my keys on its top then thumb the play button on the answering machine by the phone. As each message plays--five in total--I jot down names, numbers, and notes for each.

Judging by the calls, business seems to be picking up. That's a good thing.

I allow myself a small, indulgent smile. Eventually I might be able to hire a couple more tattoo artists, but it will still be a while before I can afford that particular luxury. While each job I take adds to my profits, they are slow to build. The funds I need won't come overnight, so I have to continue biding my time and being patient for what I want.

I plop down in the seat and begin returning phone calls. By the time I finish, nearly an hour has passed. My first appointment will be at eleven, twenty minutes from now.

Leaving the reception area, I make my way into my parlor. Compared to the room I have at Merri's house, this is like walking into a broom closet now. I smile at the thought.

I like my shop--everything is within easy reach, I know exactly where everything is, and I don't have to worry about ink spills or scuff marks on the flooring, not that Merri has hinted to those things being a problem.

But I worry about them.

I'd thought she'd had money, given the way she speaks and the manner in which she carries herself. Hell, it was she who'd made my payment seem like small change. But I suspect she's living off her savings now, considering what she'd told me about quitting her job.

I won't damage her home without repairing it afterward, and that would cost me money I simply can't afford. If she's moving, she'll be selling the house eventually, and I can't foresee any potential buyers being overjoyed by ink stains on the hardwood floor. I sigh at the possibility of an additional expense then push the thought away. I'll cross that bridge if and when I come to it.

I turn my focus to preparing for my first client of the week. By the time I have my instruments, little ink cups, and clean shop towels all laid out neatly on the metal tray next to the chair, the bell over the door chimes. Glad today will not start out like Friday had, I turn and greet the newcomer with my trademark smile.

***

By the end of the day, I'm tired but content. I've locked the door behind the last customer and I'm tidying up. When my phone rings, I answer it with a tired hello, then listen intently to the speaker on the other end.