Permanent Ink (Something to Celebrate #1) (2 page)

“I’m an Easter queen,” she responded dumbly, leaning forward to place her hands on his shoulders, her heart racing.

“You’re something, all right,” he murmured near her ear. And then he lifted her against his chest and set her on the ground, pulling away slowly until his hands fell to his sides.

“I think you have some sucking up to do,” he said.

“Um…”

He reached onto the float, grabbed several bags of candy out of the cardboard box and handed her half of it. “Start giving it to the kids. I’ll help.”

Nodding, Blair followed his lead. Actually—she followed
him
as if he were a bodyguard. Which he could be. He was so tall and broad-shouldered and a lot bit intimidating-looking. Surprisingly, though, the kids didn’t seem scared of him, especially when he stopped walking to chat as he handed over wads of fun-sized candy bars.

She was dimly aware that she was standing a little bit too close to him, and when their hips bumped as he reached to hand out candy, he turned with a smile.

“Nice parade, huh?”

She raised her eyebrows and glanced back at the small collection of stalled floats. “If you say so. I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

“You didn’t. You just gave people an excuse to gossip.” He stuffed his hand into a bag of Three Musketeers and plopped the candy into several kids’ raised baskets.

“Gossip? Nobody even knows who I am.”

“That’s the point, Miss Finger Lakes,” he responded with a chuckle. “So…” He looked as if he was going to ask something else, but grinned instead. “So you’re new in town.”

Yeah, but not really. She was here for a few weeks…less, if she could get her life together sooner. Less would probably be good, especially after the entrance she’d made.

“I…”

“You here to take the town-planner job?”

“I…” she repeated, and then frowned. “What?”

“Guess not.” He shrugged. “Not many younger people end up in Celebration unless they are here for a job.”

She’d kill for a job, but not
here
.

“Now old people,” he went on in a chatty tone, “that’s a different story. They’re flooding the place. New senior center on the edge of town.” He gestured down the street with a large hand.

“Oh. That’s nice.” She stretched across an uneven patch of sidewalk to hand out more candy, and she bumped into him again. “Sorry.”

“I’m not.” He smiled at her again—a slow smile that made her breath stop.

Jerking her gaze away, she glanced around the street. The parade was held up, and the crowd was getting restless. Down the block, the wire stretched in the air above the street dipped in the middle and a mangled ribbon with a few feathers flapped in the breeze.

“Well…” she said slowly, “I guess we should hurry up with the candy so the parade can get back on track. Not sure I should linger too long—I am the Easter-chick killer, after all.”

He laughed. “Okay.”

Oh, that laugh. And his voice—deep. She stood there trying not to look at him, but damn—she’d just been through the strangest episode, and her ability to play it cool was seriously malfunctioning. It was as if she was dreaming, and knew it, but couldn’t force herself awake.

After a moment, he turned with a smile and gave her a questioning look—a why-are-you-staring-at-me kind of look—and she gave herself a mental shake.
Candy. Kids. Give.
With another nod and an unfortunately panicked-sounding giggle, Blair looked around and spotted the little girl who’d been crying. Quickly, she walked toward her, bent down, and stuffed a handful of chocolate coins into the child’s Easter basket.

“Are you Ariel or Merida?” asked the girl.

Ariel or…oh. Disney princesses. Red hair.

“Neither one. I’m just me.” Blair winked at her.

“Where did you get your crown, then?”

It probably came out of a catalog and cost about fifteen dollars.

No. Don’t say that.

Blair squatted next to her. “It’s pretty, huh? Do you want to try it on?”

The girl nodded, and Blair unwound it from her hair. She placed it gently on the little girl’s thin blond curls. “There you go. You look beautiful.”

An “
aww
” sounded from the people around them. Blair smiled.

“Wear it for a few minutes and then someone else gets a turn, okay?”

At that, several little girls crowded around. Blair smiled at them, too, and filled their baskets with candy. After helping each of them with the crown and posing for a bunch of cell-phone photos, she finally stood up and scanned the street for her tattooed rescuer.

He was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Two

With a low whistle, Ben Lambert turned around on the sidewalk and went back inside his studio, passing the long counter and the single tattoo station before walking into the cluttered office. He eased into his desk chair and drummed his fingers on his knees.

“Holy shit,” he uttered.

The mystery Miss Finger Lakes was beautiful. Up close
and
far away. Even though she’d taken off the sash and the crown, when he’d spied her across the town commons, she’d been elegant and graceful, her long red hair blowing in the breeze. She
did
resemble a princess. A princess who was hoofing it back up Main Street, but still.

He should have run across the commons and offered her a ride back to where the parade participants had parked on the edge of town, but…yeah. Maybe she’d parked right around the corner.

She was probably taken, right? Or really high maintenance; most beautiful women were. Plus she was just here visiting Lola Whitaker—her aunt. That’s what the folks gossiping had said as he’d cleaned up the confetti with them outside his studio on Enterprise Street. And though he’d pried casually, that was
all
they knew. They didn’t even know her name. Why the hell hadn’t he asked her name when he’d had the chance?

No, it was for the best that he hadn’t. He groaned, wishing that he hadn’t seen her up close. Or rescued her shoe, or touched her soft curves. Because there was no guarantee that she’d stay in town, and he didn’t have time to be distracted by her.

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He had nothing
but
time. And it had been that way for months.

A year and a half ago, right before Christmas, he’d been working in a tattoo studio in Syracuse and doing a brisk business. But he’d been itchy—ready to go it alone, if the right opportunity popped up. And it had. He’d spied an ad in the paper for a free commercial rent deal in a small upstate town struggling to turn its downtown around. That town was Celebration, and he’d taken the deal and never looked back. But traffic into his studio had been slow at best, and the rent deal? That had expired six months ago.

After raking a hand through his hair, he flipped open the appointment book on the desk. None today, closed tomorrow on Sunday, two appointments on Monday, and then empty squares as far as the eye could see. He stared at the blank calendar, familiar anxiety flipping over in his stomach. Ben was getting really sick of that anxiety, because he prided himself on being a laid-back kind of guy. He hated drama, but what was worse—he hated that he’d managed to ignore reality for so long. What had he been thinking? That he’d open his own shop and clients would come flooding in just because he existed? He should have known better.

Meeting Lola Whitaker’s niece today had jolted his senses into overdrive, and he’d been a bundle of nervous energy since the minute she’d slid into his arms. It wasn’t like him to be so keyed up, but in a way, she’d done him a favor. She’d woken him up and made him think. It’s
what
he was thinking that made him even more nervous.

For three months, Ben had been evading his mentor, Grizz Carson. The man wanted Ben to take over as sponsor for the Central New York Ink Fest but so far, Ben had said no. He didn’t want to disappoint Grizz, but Ben was very content in his comfort zone—creating art on people’s bodies. Talking with customers, working with them to come up with beautiful, custom designs…that’s all he really wanted to do, but those customers—hell,
any
customers were few and far between.

Ink Fest would help put him on the map.

It was time to make a decision, damn it. Before he could second-guess himself, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed.

“Talk to me.” Grizz’s raspy voice sounded through the phone.

“Hey, man,” Ben said, “What’s up?”

“Why do you have time to call me on a Saturday afternoon?” Grizz demanded, ignoring the greeting.

Ben laughed, trying to keep the sound relaxed. “There was a big parade today, and I was helping clean up. Thought I’d take a break and call you.”

“Oh yeah?” Grizz said.

Ben heard a
thump
through the phone and smiled, picturing Grizz heaving up on the handle of his old recliner. The man was settling in for a chat. “Yeah,” Ben continued, “so I was thinking that you’re right. Celebration would be a good location for Ink Fest, and I wanted see if the offer is still open for me to take over sponsorship.”

“Hell yes, it is.” The sound of the recliner’s footrest creaking back down reached Ben’s ears. “Hang on. Let me get something to drink,” Grizz said.

As Ben waited, he splayed a hand across his chest and took a deep breath. Was he really about to do this? Take on a tattoo festival—solo? It was the fastest way to make a name for himself, though, and it wasn’t as if the ads for Skinnovations that he’d taken out in the
Celebration Crier
had done much good at all. Neither had his homemade website, which had a grand total of two hundred hits.

Grizz cleared his throat. “Okay. I’ve been running this thing for thirty years and I have to say, it’s going to be great to have the bitch off my back.” He laughed. “But don’t worry, I’ll help you the first year. After that, you’re on your own. I’m closing up my studio at the end of the summer, and I’m moving to the Caribbean.”

Ben gripped the phone. “You’re
what
?”

“I’m retiring! I don’t see how that’s such a shocker, son. You know the studio could have been yours. I offered you a partnership, but you told me you wanted to go it alone. And after only two years of apprenticeship and three years of working for me, I might remind you.”

“I still do want to go it alone.”

But Ben knew he didn’t want to travel the same path as Grizz—racking up awards, traveling the circuit and becoming a “name.” All Ben wanted to have a comfortable stream of clients and enough money to live his life. But he couldn’t pull that particular reality out of thin air. He had to
make
it happen.

Grizz grunted. “Eh, I’m actually glad you turned me down because I felt the same way at your age. The dude who’s helping me now ain’t half the artist you are, but he’s willing to work on weekends. And the older I get, the more I want weekends to myself.”

“Don’t blame you,” Ben responded. He took a deep breath, but didn’t say more. His own weekends had been as empty as Grizz’s.

Grizz was silent for a moment, too. “So you’re in?”

Ben shook his head, staring across the room at the walls. He’d covered them with tattoo posters and the one smack in the middle was an ad for Ink Fest, featuring Grizz, a six-time national tattoo competition champion. Grizz was a legend. Grizz had clients lined up for months. And Grizz had chosen Ben as his protégé. Even if fame wasn’t his cup of tea, Ben would be stupid as hell not to swallow his pride and take what was offered. He wasn’t stupid.

“You’re in?” Grizz repeated.

“Yeah,” Ben found himself answering. “But I need to get it cleared with the town council. And see if I can rent some empty storefronts next to mine for artists’ stations. The vendor booths can be outside on the town commons, but it will be crowded.”

“Crowded is fun,” Grizz commented. “Sounds like you’ve already thought this through. Why’d you wait so long to call me?”

“I’ve been spending time thinking about logistics.” Ben paused. “Speaking of, we’ll have to break down the festival pretty fast, because a few days after it is the town Fourth of July parade.”

“Of course it is. But you shouldn’t have a problem getting approval. Didn’t you give the mayor a tattoo last year?” Grizz asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah. She was my first customer.” Ben stood up, a flicker of hope replacing the tension in his stomach. “And the town needs the money a professional festival would generate. And like I’ve said before, Celebration is different. Most of the people here wouldn’t bat an eye at Ink Fest. Not even the people at the retirement home. Hell, I’ve given a couple of them tattoos already.”

“Good. You’re never too old to get inked. Hang on a sec.” The sound of a can popping open sounded through the phone. “Ahh,” Grizz said. “Cheers, son.”

Ben raised an imaginary glass, picturing Grizz with his can of Orange Crush. Grizz hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in five years, but Ben knew that every day was a struggle. “Cheers.”

“So…you finding time to go out with anybody in that pea-sized town?”

Ben shook his head. What was he supposed to say?
No…I haven’t dated anyone in months—okay, more than a year. And no, there’s not a woman who’s caught my eye?
Because technically, that wouldn’t be true—not after this morning. So he laughed.

“I’m working on it, Grizz.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said the last time. I can’t believe there’s not even
one
stunning single girl in Celebration.”

Oh, there was.

The front door of his studio jingled, and Ben walked to the office doorway and looked around it optimistically. He could use the walk-in traffic, but standing there was just a kid who was nowhere near old enough to get a tattoo. “Be right with you,” he said anyway.

“Got an appointment?” Grizz asked.

“Yeah,” Ben answered. It wasn’t until Monday afternoon, but technically, he wasn’t lying.

“All right. Call me when you get the go ahead from the town council,” Grizz said.

“Will do.” Ben paused. “And thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Sponsoring this festival is the best thing that could happen to you, you know.”

“I’ll talk to you in a few days.”

After hanging up, Ben strolled into his studio and leaned his forearms on the counter, staring at the glassy-eyed kid, who he recognized as a sophomore from Celebration High. “What can I do for you?”

The kid gave him a nervous smile. “Uh, I want a tattoo. A wolf on my ankle. Like, wrapped around it.”

“The only wolf wrapped around your ankle is going to be your sister when she finds out you were in here,” Ben responded in a wry voice.

The kid’s mouth dropped open. “How do you know who my sister is?”

“Because,
Brandon
. I came and talked to your art class at school last semester during the art-fair day and there was a whole pack of moms—and your sister Crystal—standing in the back.”

“Yeah,” the kid said slowly. “Oh yeah. I remember now.” He shuddered. “They were being like, all weird and whispering about you. Said you were tasty.”

Ben coughed. “I don’t remember that part, but I do know you’re not old enough for a tattoo. Come back in two years if you’re still serious, but really, I recommend thinking about it and then waiting a lot longer than that.”

The kid rolled his eyes. “Dude, I’ve wanted a tat since I was thirteen. I’m not changing my mind. And no wonder you’re not busy if you tell people to go away and think about it.”

“Thanks for your opinion.” Ben gave him a tight smile. “And here’s one for you. Lay off the weed. It will rot your brain.”

“Huh?” The kid’s face went pale, and he took a few steps back. “I don’t know what you’re—” He fumbled for the door handle. “Okay, then. Bye.” He stumbled outside and left the door hanging wide open.

With a chuckle, Ben walked across the floor and shut it. Then after only a second of hesitation, he flipped the sign over to “Closed.” Nobody else would come in today because in the fourteen months that he’d been open, he’d only had five walk-in appointments on Saturday afternoons. Besides, he was about to get really busy—because for the rest of today, the only thing that would be occupying his mind was Ink Fest, and how the hell he was going to pull it off.

He pulled the large blind down on the door and walked over to his tattoo chair. Sinking back onto the leather surface, he let his eyes slide shut, but the first image that came to mind wasn’t of ink and crowds of people—it was of a gorgeous woman, with soft, aqua-colored eyes and long red hair.

And he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate until he found out more about her, more than the gossip he’d heard on the street. Like why—if she was just visiting her aunt—she’d arrived in town driving a big-assed van. A smile crept across his face as he crossed his ankles and rested his hands over his stomach. No matter what was going to happen in the next few months, there was change in the air for Celebration. For
him
. And he hoped that some of that change would involve her.