Permanent Ink (Something to Celebrate #1) (14 page)

Blair would believe it. But she asked anyway. “Like what?”

“The girls from city hall were suggesting putting the junior high dance squad in Betsy Ross costumes and making them do a kick line on a float.” She let out a loud laugh. “Or a flag routine. It changes depending on who’s talking about it.”

“Oh, God.” Blair’s eyes went wide. If the accounting girls were organizing the parade, there’s no way they’d win that contest.

Crystal laughed again. “And Sheila Simmons says that you’re getting a major celebrity to be the parade marshal. Who is it? I’m dying to know.”

Blair shrugged. “It’s a secret.” There had been no progress on that front—yet another thing to check on.

“Maybe it’s
you
, Ben,” Crystal said.

“Me?” He shifted in his seat. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, it better not be that skinny woman with the bird name.” She slapped her order pad on the table.

“Starling,” Blair supplied.

“Yeah,” Crystal said. “Whatever.”

Ben didn’t comment, even when Blair looked at him, so she smiled and turned to Crystal. “It won’t be Starling. Besides, the tattoo festival and the Fourth of July parade are two separate events.”

“How are you gonna pull that off?” Crystal asked and then shook her head. “Never mind. None of my business.”

This time it was Blair’s turn not to comment. She picked up her menu. “Can I get a club sandwich?”

“Same. Could we make it to go?” Ben shifted in his seat again, but when Blair glanced up at him, he shrugged. “It’s going to rain. We probably need to get that tour of the town in.”

Crystal stood up. “Not a problem.” She bent down near Blair. “If I hear any more crazy shit about the parade, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.” Blair smiled up at her and then turned to Ben as Crystal walked away. “So. You don’t want to be a star?”

Alarm flashed in his eyes for a second. “No thanks.”

“Then why are you doing Ink Fest?”

He nodded at her for a moment. “It’s Grizz’s swan song. He wants to hand the festival over to me.”

“But you…”

“I’m more than happy to do it.”

Plus you need the business
, Blair thought.

Oh, wow. He
did
need the business, and she was trying to…what? Get his festival cancelled by overflowing the commons with parade crowds?

Yes.

Shame began to crawl up her spine. He was sweet to her. He made her laugh…and he sent her hormones into overdrive. How could she hurt him? She couldn’t. There had to be another way—there had to be another
place
that could hold that festival.

Feeling his eyes on her, Blair reached out for the water and took a gulp. A second later she choked—and coughed.

“You okay?” Ben reached across and squeezed her arm.

“Sure,” she croaked out. “You think we could talk about—”

“Something besides the parade or Ink Fest?” Ben interrupted.

She nodded. “You read my mind.”

“I’m getting better and better at that,” he said, running his fingers up her arm.

She shivered, and though she told herself not to, she met his gaze. It was simmering—like it had been earlier at his studio, and she couldn’t look away—she couldn’t even breathe.

“Here’s your food!” Crystal announced.

Blair jumped about a foot when a paper bag was plunked down next to her elbow.

“Thanks, Crys.” Ben handed some folded bills to Crystal and eased out of the booth. “Ready?” He held out his hand to Blair.

She took it. And then she let him lead her out of the diner, her fingers twined with his—even though she could feel about a dozen pairs of eyes on her back.

When they emerged on the sidewalk, the air was muggy and the sidewalk stained with fat raindrops. She took a deep breath. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Don’t thank me until you’ve tasted it,” Ben said, tugging on her hand. “Come on. We’re going to get soaked.”

Blair ran with him across the street and by the time they’d covered half of the town commons, the sky let loose. “Uh-oh.” She slipped her purse off and stuffed it under her T-shirt. “Hurry.”

Ben gave her a funny look. “What is that—a thousand-dollar purse?”

“No. But it has the Ink Fest folder and my list inside.”

“Ah.” Ben slowed down, gripping her fingers tighter. “Wouldn’t want those to get wet.”

“Ben.” She tugged on his hand and pulled him down the sidewalk.

“Hmm?” He slowed down even more.

Blair felt the back of her shirt plastering to her skin. Her hair whipped around her shoulders in wet ropes, and she tugged harder. “
Ben
!”

Without warning, he dropped the paper bag and turned and lifted her into his arms. When she shrieked, he tightened his grasp, walked to a park bench, and sat, settling her onto his lap. The purse slid to the ground.

Her wet shirt was pressed to his, and the steamy heat of his body coursed through her. She looked up at him, her breath hitching. “What are you doing?”

He gazed at her. “Indulge me,” he murmured.

She blinked up at him through wet lashes and before she was aware of it, her chin tilted. And then his mouth was on hers, moving. Searching.

Rain ran in rivulets down her neck, her arms, making her tremble. She wrapped her hands behind Ben’s neck and he groaned, taking the kiss deeper. He tasted sweet—hot and shockingly familiar. She pressed closer, shifting on his lap, ignoring the lightning that flashed beyond her closed eyelids and the following clap of thunder.

When Ben began to pull away, she made a sound of protest and snuggled closer. They were surrounded by trees. Nobody could see.

“Blair,” he murmured. “We’re drawing a crowd.”

She looked around. Nobody was on the sidewalk on Enterprise Street. Nobody was on Main, either. Only sheets of rain, parked cars and dim lights in the shop windows.

“Where?”

Ben grinned. “Oops. Thought I saw someone watching.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Way to kill the mood.”

“I had to.” He stroked wet hair back from her face. “I’m about two seconds away from laying you on this bench right now.”

“You…oh.” She started to smile. “You’re a bit…frustrated?”

He rolled his eyes. “I deserved that.”

“Mmm.” She looked at him—his dark, wet hair, his tight jaw. The fire in his eyes.

Slowly, she slid from his lap and picked her soaked purse up from the ground. She caught his hand and pulled him to his feet, melting against him when his arms came around her.

He bent and nuzzled his lips to her neck. “It was worth getting all frustrated. I got to kiss you in the rain.”

“So worth it,” she agreed, her breath catching in her throat as she glanced at him—at the sheer longing in his gaze. An awareness of power—unfamiliar and exhilarating—made her lips curve into an undeniably seductive smile. “Let’s go back to your studio.”

Without another word, he grabbed her hand and began to run.

Chapter Thirteen

Yesterday, after they’d dashed through the rain back to his studio, he’d grabbed a stack of towels from the storage cabinet and they’d dried off. Unfortunately, the drier Blair got, the more uptight she got, too. Not embarrassed—but she’d acted…sensible—as if reality had seeped back in and given her a smack. Which it had, he supposed, because for the rest of the afternoon, it had been all business.

Taking her around town, meeting some of the other business owners. Talking about Ink Fest. It had been difficult to pry his gaze away from her soft aqua eyes and full lips, but when he had, he’d finally begun to pay attention to what she was saying. And what had come out of that sexy mouth had been absolute genius. Blair had managed to incorporate a family feel by adding things like temporary-tattoo booths, kid-friendly food vendors, and a Mom versus Dad tattoo competition. There were also contests for amateur art and classes in creating custom flash. It was a celebration of tattoo culture. In Celebration. He loved it because what he really wanted was tattooing to get the respect it deserved. This version of Ink Fest would go a long way toward doing that.

Ben had never considered the art of organization sexy before, but when Blair was involved, it was sizzling hot. He reminded himself that it wasn’t going to be
all
business, all the time. They had a date on Friday night. A double date with Ivy and Marcus—but still. A date.

He was still marveling as he walked into the lobby of Grizz Ink in Syracuse on Wednesday night, because he came with a binder full of customized plans—color-coded, fully explained plans that were going to make the tattoo festival amazing, and it was all thanks to Blair. Spending most of the day with her yesterday had only confirmed what he already suspected—she was somebody really special. Unique. Gorgeous.

He grinned as he thumped the bell sitting on the counter—or really, the door laying on top of two sawhorses. The place was kind of a dump, but Grizz didn’t need a fancy studio. Hell, Grizz could work out of a port-a-potty and he’d still have a line around the block.

“Old man, are you back there?” Ben called. He heard movement from behind the crooked curtain across the room, and Grizz grunted.

“Come on back.”

Shifting the binder, Ben pushed back the curtain to enter Grizz’s studio, and he stopped short. Starling sat in a tattoo chair, long legs stretched out in front of her, and Grizz occupied another, an anxious look on his craggy face.

“Thanks for driving over, son.” Grizz took a long swig from his can of soda and then crushed it flat. He didn’t meet Ben’s eyes.

Great. Something was up, and it sure as shit involved Starling.

Ben gave her a brief smile. “Thought you were out on tour to festivals down South.” At least that’s what Grizz had implied when they’d talked earlier today.

She stood up and stretched, drumming her hands against her flat belly. “Yeah. But I cut it short to come back and see you.” She walked toward him, or rather, slithered, and Ben froze in the doorway.

“To see me?” He glanced at Grizz, who examined the can in his thick fingers. No help there. “What’s going on?”

“So much is going on,” she answered. “Have a seat.”

With another brief smile, Ben walked across the room and dropped into one of the chairs in a row across from the three tattoo stations. “Okay, like what?” He held the binder to his chest as if he were a twelve-year-old nerd and it was a brand-new schoolbook. Starling stared at it, then him, with a patronizing smile on her face. He loosened his grip and placed it on the seat next to him. “Either of you going to tell me what’s up?”

“What ya got there?” Grizz pointed to the binder.

Suddenly, Ben didn’t want to share it. He didn’t want Starling’s fingers all over it, and he definitely didn’t want her fingers all over Ink Fest. She was the headliner, plain and simple. “This is a binder,” he said slowly.

Starling looked at him with dry amusement, as if he were a naive kid. “What’s in it, Ben? Is it about Ink Fest?”

Was she that much of a diva that she had to know every detail about the festival? Ben stopped just short of rolling his eyes. “Blair—the event planner—has given me a general assessment, a budget breakdown, and some great ideas for a theme.”

“Ugh,” Starling said. “A theme? This isn’t a prom. It’s a tattoo convention.” She wiggled her fingers impatiently. “Let me see.”

Ben handed it to her. She
would
see…see that Blair’s plans were near perfect.

As she flipped through the pages, Starling’s lip curled. And curled some more. Finally she looked up. “As I suspected. This looks more like a county fair than a kick-ass tattoo festival.”

“It’s different than some of the festivals I’ve been to, yeah,” Ben acknowledged.

What was it to her, though? Blair had set aside a main-attraction booth space, front and center. Starling could have that. “But you’ll be well taken care of,” he added.

“I don’t see how,” she muttered. “Sex sells, Ben. Not cotton candy and Hello Kitty.”

Grizz laughed. “Hello Kitty is sexy. Inked one on a girl’s back last week.”

Ben didn’t comment. There was something in the air, something really negative.

Flipping through a few more pages, Starling sighed. “This won’t work.” She slammed the binder shut and handed it to Ben. Peering across the room, she leaned forward and adjusted her halter top in the mirror on the opposite wall. “You see, sweet Ben. People come to see me for a reason. I have a reputation to maintain. Why the hell would I do something to damage it?”

Ben didn’t answer. He looked at Grizz, who avoided his gaze. “What’s going on, Grizz?”

Grizz tossed his empty soda can into a trash bin across the room. “Starling asked if she could buy me out. I already know that you don’t want to, so I said yes.”

Ben stared at him, not knowing what to say. He had to say
something
, though. Something other than are-you-fucking-crazy? Starling wasn’t an idiot, but Ben had a gut feeling that she was a flake. Sure, she’d been on magazine covers and tattooed some Hollywood stars and won some awards, but she was a traveling one-woman show. Who wanted to settle down…in Syracuse? He forced another smile. “Wow.”

Starling burst out laughing. Grizz didn’t.

Ben looked at Grizz. “When did you sell?”

“Signed papers earlier today. I was gonna wait to see how you two work together.” Grizz scratched his chin. “But I’m exhausted, Ben. Ready to retire and she was ready to buy. You two are both talented, and you’ll work it out about the future.”

“Are you saying that…what
are
you saying, exactly?” Ben asked.

Starling gave a throaty laugh. “Grizz knows the score. When I buy his studio, I’ll be on board for the long haul, and that means being involved with Ink Fest long-term. You and I will be working together.”

Ben knew no such thing, but one thing was pretty clear. Grizz didn’t think he could handle Ink Fest. The irony was not lost on Ben—he hadn’t wanted to do Ink Fest in the first place, but the more involved he got, the more of Blair’s ideas he saw, the more he wanted to invest himself. Not sell himself out as some kind of asshole tattoo star—but at least take more of an interest. Still, it hurt that Grizz thought he was lacking.

“If you’re that worried about me fucking it all up, then why did you tap me to run Ink Fest in the first place, Grizz?”

Grizz shifted uncomfortably. “It ain’t like that. I know you can do it, and I’m trying to help you out by bringing her on board.”

Ben’s throat constricted, and he stood up, trying to keep the hurt from his voice. “I didn’t ask for help, but I appreciate the offer. I’ll think about it.”

Starling snorted softly. “Men.”

“Didn’t mean to offend,” Grizz said. He finally met Ben’s eyes.

Ben nodded at him. “I know. But Ink Fest is going as planned.”

Starling flopped back into the empty tattoo chair and crossed her legs. She gazed at her patent leather boot, turning it this way and that.

“Oh, Ben,” she sighed. “Play nice. I want to be your partner in Celebration, not your competition.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that you don’t have much traffic in your studio. I think I’d like to guest for you for a while.” She paused. “Before I set up this studio the way I want it, of course.”

There was silence for moment and Starling sighed. “Come on, Ben. Look at the big picture. We need to get to know one another if we’ll be working in the same area. I can bring you clients.”

Ben’s stomach flipped. All of that was true, but he didn’t want her there, in his space. In Celebration. He exchanged a look with Grizz, expecting the older man to back him up. Grizz raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a good offer, son.”

“I only have one station in my studio, Starling,” Ben said slowly.

She pointed at the stations on either side of her. “So I’ll move some equipment. It won’t take very long. What do you say, Ben? A short-term gig.”

“Why would you want to come guest for me in a small town when you could be setting up shop here?”

She avoided his stare. “I’ve never owned my own place. Need to learn that side of the business. Maybe you’ll teach me.”

Grizz glanced at her and then stood up and walked to the curtained doorway. “I’m closing up and sending my clients your way, son. Think you can handle it?”

Apprehension spiked in Ben’s chest, mixed with relief. This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To build his client list?

He nodded at Grizz.

“Of course I can handle it.”

…

By late Friday afternoon, Blair was on top of the world. Or at least on top of a short ladder, storing the remnants of the silk flower baskets she’d arranged for the May Day event, which would actually take place tomorrow, days
after
May Day. Celebration liked its celebrations on Saturdays, and that worked out fine for her, because she’d had very little time to get this thing planned. But she’d done it.

Well…that was no shock, really. At her old job in the city, she used to arrange last-minute kids’ parties that were twice the size in half the amount of time. Smiling, she climbed down onto the shag carpeting in the old bedroom of the trailer and glanced at her list on the worktable. Every task for May Day, except for the Maypole ribbons, was crossed off.

“Damn straight,” she muttered.

She’d coordinated this event in four days, which included overhauling tired decorations and arranging for food and drink. She’d even spent a couple of hours poring over recipes in Lola’s kitchen, hunting for refreshments to impress the citizens of Celebration. No lukewarm fake lemonade this year. No way. This time around there would be cupcakes and punch, finger sandwiches and a cookie-decorating station. Nobody would ever accuse Blair of being domestic, but she knew how to read and how to dial the numbers of old ladies who loved to cook.

Thanks to Ben introducing her around to the downtown business owners on Tuesday afternoon, she now had a page full of contact numbers and enough gossip to fill a season’s worth of soap operas. The wealth of it had come from Alberta Fields, who owned Sparkle Pets, the pet-grooming studio—cats preferred. Apparently Alberta had a houseful of cats at home. She was also a retired English teacher and a member of the town council,
and
the sworn enemy of Mildred Parkett, the town librarian. Blair hadn’t caught the exact reason why, but it had something to do with banned copies of
Catcher in the Rye.

Then there was Dan Hammer, the owner of the convenience store at the end of the block. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but apparently he was anti-tattoo. He’d glared at Ben as if Ben were about to rob him blind. Blair had been wary, but she shouldn’t have worried. Ben took it in stride, his irresistible smile making her heart flip over. Like it was right now, because for the rest of the night? She would be with him.

But unless she managed to focus, time was going to run out and she’d be going on their date in a great dress, but it would be paired with messy hair and no makeup. She needed to wipe the goofy smile off her face and focus. It would help if Kaley would focus, too—after all, she’d offered to help with the final May Day touches, but instead, her cousin was lounging in the kitchen, jabbering up a storm on her phone.

“Kaley!” she called.

“Hang on,” Kaley answered.

Muttering, Blair reached into a bin and pulled out a handful of satin ribbon and began to count. Before she could finish, Kaley appeared in the hallway, the phone pressed to her chest.

“Blair?”

“Just a sec.” She paused, realizing that she’d completely lost count. “Argh. Could you wind up your phone call? I really need your help.”

Kaley sighed. “Fine. I wanted to ask about the May queen really quick. Can I try on the wreath?” She leaned against the door frame and stuck a bare toe in the carpet. “Because I never got to wear my pageant crown, and I was hoping—”

“The May queen?” Blair interrupted. “What are you talking about?”

Kaley looked up with a pained expression. “Oh crap. You don’t have the wreath? Didn’t you talk to Cassidy’s grandma?”

Blair clenched the ribbons in her fist. “Who is Cassidy’s grandma? Who is Cassidy, for that matter?”

Kaley let out another sigh and flicked her thumb on the phone. “Cass? You’re on speaker. Please tell my cousin who your grandma is.”

Cassidy’s high-pitched voice squawked out of the phone. “She’s the librarian. Not the school one, the town one. And, Kaley, you better not be angling to be the queen. You already got your turn!”

“No I didn’t! Blair did it for me because I was stupid and let you get me plastered,” Kaley yelled toward the phone. “And you’re not eligible to be queen since your grandma chooses.”

“She can choose me if she wants,” Cassidy huffed.

“She won’t,” Kaley said shot back.

“What are you girls
talking
about?” A churning started in Blair’s gut that had nothing to do with her date with Ben in—she looked at her watch—forty-five minutes. She dropped the ribbons on the floor. “Oh, no.”

“You’re gonna freak, aren’t you, Blair?” Kaley grimaced and held the phone up. “She’s a perfectionist, Cass. She’ll freak.”