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  He didn’t talk about his customers even though Emmie knew some of them were pretty famous. He didn’t Instagram or Snapchat or Facebook. He didn’t even have a mobile phone. He had a home phone and an answering machine.

  It drove his wife absolutely crazy.

  “Where’s Daisy tonight?” Emmie stayed completely still as the needle moved back and forth over the same small area. He was shading on her lower back and it hurt like the devil. Tattoos were something Emmie loved, but not because of any kind of endorphin rush. She liked having them. She hated getting them.

  “Taking dinner to Sandra tonight.” He lifted the needle. “Do you need a break?”

  “I’m okay. Sandra have the baby?”

  “Yeah, last week. Little boy.”

  “Cool.” Emmie knew Daisy and Spider had been trying for kids for a while. Daisy hadn’t confided in Emmie, but she knew Spider worried. “That’s cool for them.”

  “Yeah, they’re pretty excited. Cute kid. Lots of hair. Danny keeps talking about the kid playing football, and he can’t even lift his own head.”

  Emmie smiled. “Good to have dreams.”

  “I guess so. Dan played in high school I think.”

  “Did you?”

  “Didn’t have time for sports, Mimi.”

  And that was all he’d ever say about that.

  “Do you know a guy named Miles Oxford?” she asked.

  “Ox? Yeah, I know him. He’s pretty good. Works for Ginger, right?”

  “He did. They broke up. She was throwing his stuff out the window of her apartment yesterday.”

  The needle lifted, Spider sat up, and he busted up laughing. “She didn’t.”

  Emmie smiled over her shoulder. “She did. He came into my shop to get some boxes to put his stuff in. Then she started throwing his stuff at my shop.”

  Spider was still laughing. “Welcome to Metlin.”

  “When did it turn into reality TV?”

  “More like one of Eddie’s telenovelas.” He nudged her back into position. “More fill on this wing.”

  “Any of the purple yet?”

  “It’s not time for the purple. Be patient.”

  “Fine.” Emmie turned her back and braced herself on the back of the chair. “So you know Ox.”

  “He’s not a bad guy. Kinda stupid about women. He’s a good artist, but not as good as Ginger.”

  “Ginger’s good?”

  “Yeah, she’s more than good. After me, she’s the best in the area. She’s just moody as hell and can’t get a handle on her temper. But her portrait work is fucking amazing.”

  “Do you do portraits?”

  “Nope. I’ve sent her some business over the years.”

  The needle was burning long lines in her back. Emmie bit her lip and closed her eyes. “What about Ox? You said he’s good?”

  “He’s damn near as good as Ginger, especially in black and grey. His work is really… three-dimensional. Architectural. He’s not as good at portraits though.”

  “Good thing I don’t want to get a face on my ass then. I don’t think Ginger likes me very much.”

  Spider snorted. “She’ll get over it. She’ll get over Ox too. Both of ’em oughta know not to shit where they eat.”

  “Not everyone is as wise as you.”

  “I know.” He lifted the needle, set it down so he could rest, and reached for his beer. “And ain’t that a fucking shame?”

  Chapter Six

  Emmie was sitting at the counter and looking through her first inventory order when she saw the old black pickup pull into a spot on 7th Avenue. Ox stepped out of the truck, and Emmie tried not to straighten her sweater. She was wearing her new Book Nerd T-shirt that morning. Sure, she’d chosen her outfit more carefully, but that was just because she knew she was having company in the store. She would have put in her contacts for Ethan or Jeremy too.

  Probably.

  Ox paused at the 7th Avenue door, looking it up and down before he pulled it open. He stepped inside and stood in the empty branch of the store. “I didn’t realize that door was there.”

  Emmie nodded. “Yep. Two doors. The Main Street door is just the fancy one. It’s a big shop. When my grandma was growing up, that part of the store was all toys and this half was books.”

  “Huh.” He turned, taking in the space. “It’s such a cool building. I think this is the coolest building on Main Street. I love that Betsy never tried to modernize it.”

  Emmie smiled. “Same. It needs some updating and new paint, but I’m so glad she never covered the woodwork. I need to fix the tile in the entry though.”

  “I love what Daisy did with the tile in front of her place.”

  “With the different colors? Yeah, it’s perfect for the café.”

  “Speaking of the café, I was going to grab a coffee,” Ox said. “Can I get you one? My treat to say thanks for letting me keep my stuff here.”

  Emmie shrugged. “Sure. I’m ordering books this morning, so I’ve been stuck at the counter. A latte?”

  “Regular?”

  “Yep.” That was her. Regular. Average. “You know what? Can I get an extra shot of espresso in that latte?”

  “Your wish. My command. I’ll start loading this stuff up as soon as I bring caffeine.” He paused as he was leaving. “I see what you mean about the tile.” He kicked a few loose pieces to the side.

  “I think Ethan is going to help me with it.”

  “I’m sure it’ll look great.” He shook his head. “I’m gonna miss working downtown.”

  Emmie watched him walk out the door. She was staring at Ox’s truck—an old Ford that reminded Emmie of her mom’s truck—when two motorcycles roared south on 7th Avenue. Emmie turned back to the computer to check out the selections in the nonfiction section about motorcycles and custom cars. She was adding several automotive books to her shopping cart when Ox returned.

  “Auto Repair for Idiots or Basic Car Maintenance?” Emmie asked as he walked to the counter.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want a good automotive section in the shop,” Emmie said. “Especially considering how many people in Metlin are into classic cars. I was gonna order a couple of basic manuals for newbies too. So Autos for Idiots or Basic Car Maintenance? Which one would you buy if you were learning how to fix your car?”

  He set down her latte. “Seeing as I wouldn’t buy a book that called me an idiot, I vote for Basic Car Maintenance.”

  “The ‘for Idiots’ series is very popular.”

  Ox leaned on the counter. “Well, idiots have no self-respect.”

  Emmie smiled and added both to her cart. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Daisy added something to the grounds when I told her it was for you.”

  “Oh!” Emmie perked up. “Roasted cloves probably.”

  “Cloves in coffee?”

  “It’s really good. If you suck up to her, she’ll let you try it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He drummed his fingers on the counter and set his coffee down. “I better get started.”

  Ox walked over to the boxes and started sorting through some of the random stuff on top. After he’d left the day before, people from Bombshell kept bringing stuff over. A flannel shirt from the break room. A photo album. A borrowed tattoo gun. Emmie had pointed to Ox’s stacked boxes with each new person and smiled. Ginger had not made another appearance.

  Thank goodness.

  Ox was muttering to himself and sorting through his stuff as Emmie worked. He plugged in the borrowed gun, and a soothing buzz filled the room. Emmie felt the smile curl her lips. She loved the sound of tattoo guns. The smell of ink.

  The smell of ink…

  Emmie looked at Ox’s back and the line of dark ink down his spine where his shirt gaped in back.

  Focus, Emmie.

  She looked at his stuff. Then over at the empty half of the shop that opened onto 7th Avenue.

  “Hey, Ox?”

  “Yeah? Sorry about t
he noise. I just need to make sure this works before I—”

  “Where were you planning to work?” Emmie interrupted him. “I mean, Ginger let you go, and Spider says you’re good.”

  He smiled. “You asked Spider about me?”

  “You have a clientele, right?” She ignored his question, thinking aloud. “I mean, if Spider moved halfway across the country, I’d still fly out to have him work on me. Do you have clients like that?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know if any of them would fly across the country, but yeah. I mean, most people like who they like.”

  The thought was nascent. Messy. But interesting. Maybe even a little… exciting?

  “You already have a business,” Emmie said quietly.

  “Yeah. I’ll do okay. I just need to find a space to rent. But all my clients have my number. I have theirs. Most of the ones I called last night want to reschedule as soon as I find a place.”

  A picture was forming in Emmie’s mind. An unexpected picture, but was it the right kind of unexpected? Would the idea turn more conservative customers off? When you thought about it, everyone got tattoos these days. Her grandma had let Spider give her a tattoo of a book on her arm. In fact, Emmie would estimate half her customers in San Francisco had book or literary tattoos of some kind. Favorite book covers. Quotes. Scenes from stories.

  Emmie smiled. “People love ink.”

  “What?” Ox dropped the tattoo gun back in the box.

  “Huh?” She blinked.

  “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  Ox cocked his head. “Could have sworn you did. You’re in your own world over there, aren’t you?”

  “I do that a lot.”

  “Daydreamer?”

  “Always.” Emmie hopped down off the barstool behind the counter and walked around to the empty half of the shop. “You need a space to rent.”

  “Yeah.” He pulled out another tangle of cords. “There are a few shops—”

  “You need space.” Emmie looked around. “I have space.”

  “Yeah, but…” He frowned. “I need tattoo-shop space.”

  “Why not bookshop space?”

  “Because it’s a bookshop. Not a tattoo shop,” Ox said. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m feeling fine. I’m feeling great, in fact. And I think I have an idea that might work for both of us.”

  His eyebrows went up. “You want to put a tattoo shop in your bookstore?”

  “I think I might.”

  He grinned. “You are a daydreamer. I mean, it’s cute as shit but also kinda nuts.” He put down the tangled cords. “But seriously cute.”

  Emmie ignored the cute comment and walked over to his stack of boxes, leaning on the side. “What kind of tattooing do you do?”

  Ox crossed his arms. “The kind where I put ink into people’s skin. What are you trying to get at?”

  Emmie bit her lip. “Okay, here’s the part where I confess I kinda looked through some of your stuff last night.”

  His eyes went wide. “What?”

  “Just the photo albums! The bald guy brought them over.”

  “That’s Russ.”

  “Okay, Russ brought over a stack of books and said, ‘Ginger don’t want his stuff on the counter anymore.’ And he put a couple of photo albums and some business cards—you need new ones, by the way, the neon green is not a good look. Anyway, he put all this stuff on the top of the pile. And I was curious, so I looked through your albums. Your work is really good.”

  Ox looked more confused by the minute. “Thanks.”

  “And I noticed that you tend to do a lot of old-school stuff and a lot of black-and-grey work. Really artistic. Some Celtic knot work. But not anything too graphic.”

  He shrugged. “Not my thing. What are you trying to say?”

  “You’re an artist. Like, an original artist.”

  “I do a lot of custom work. What—”

  “People love ink.” Emmie held out her arms. “I’m saying my people—book people—love ink.”

  Ox looked at Emmie’s bare arms. “Ink in books?”

  “All kinds of ink.”

  Ox narrowed his eyes. “Are you serious about this?”

  Emmie nodded. “Books and tattoos. Think about it.”

  “I am thinking about it. That is not… typical.”

  “But why not? Book people like tattoos. Who’s to say tattoo people don’t like books?”

  Ox’s face seemed to be set in permanent scowl mode. “I really don’t think you’re thinking things through.”

  “Why not?”

  He raised a hand and his index finger went up. “One? Noise. Tattoo shops are noisy.”

  “But more so at night, when bookshops are closed. Unless we have an evening event like a signing or a book club, and we can work around stuff like that. Hell, we can probably have a book club tattoo party.”

  Ox closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. “Leaving that one alone for right now. Two, tattoo shops have to meet a shitload of health-code regulations. Are you prepared to do that? I need a sterile environment, and I don’t see sinks or counters or—”

  “We’re putting in a lot of that stuff anyway because we’re going to be serving coffee and sometimes food in here. Not for sale, but for events and stuff, so I wanted counters because it’s more practical. And the floors are hardwood. We can add counters for you that fit the shop. In fact…”

  Emmie walked over to the counter and held her arm out. “Everything from here over is going to be coffee and hangout area. Bulletin board. An area we can use for signings and that kind of thing.” Emmie walked to the left. “Bookshop is here obviously.” She walked to the center of the shop and held out her arms. “Sitting area that can be shared. Sofa. Low chairs. Coffee table. Hangout place.” She walked over to the empty space. “Tattoo shop. Some low bookshelves here to define the area for you. Maybe put graphic novels over here. Mystery or horror or sci-fi. Whatever you think would appeal to your customers most. They could buy a book to read while they’re waiting for an appointment or getting their tattoo.”

  Ox’s frown was softening. “So you’re saying we could overlap hours without sticking to the same schedule.”

  “I wouldn’t want kids story hour to have a tattoo gun buzzing in the background, would I? So I’d put story hour in the morning when you were closed.”

  “And if I have a customer who curses like a sailor—“

  “No problem. You book him for after bookshop hours and he can curse away.”

  Ox’s face had moved from scowl to contemplation. “What’s in this for you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Emmie, what you’re talking about could be really expensive. Renovating this shop so it meets the regulations for tattoo parlors—”

  “This has obvious benefits for my business,” she broke in. “Any tattoo involves patience. You have to wait for a turn if you’re a walk-in. You end up taking breaks for bigger pieces. And if they’re waiting in the shop, your tattoo customers could buy a book to read while they wait or have a cup of coffee because… coffee goes with everything.”

  “Okay, I can kind of see it.” Ox started nodding. “And your book traffic might bring in some walk-ins for me during the afternoon and early evening because those are usually my slow times.”

  “If you put up some book-related flash and some quotes from famous writers, you’re going to hook a lot of new customers. I’m serious. Book readers can be huge tattoo fans.”

  “Really?”

  Emmie nodded. “Really. Every single person who worked at Bay City Books had tattoos. Some of them had a lot. I know a lady that had an entire library inked on her back.”

  “Everyone, huh?” He looked her up and down. “What about you?”

  Emmie ignored the question. “And can you imagine how much attention this could get for both of us? Have you ever heard of a bookstore with a tattoo shop inside?”

  “I can h
onestly say no.”

  “Nobody in Metlin is going to make a big deal about me reopening Metlin Books. Nobody is going to care if you open another tattoo shop in town. But if we combine this? Everyone will be talking about it.”

  Ox glanced across the street. “Ginger is gonna be pissed.”

  That did give Emmie pause. She had no desire to piss off her neighbors. “Maybe at first, but she’s losing your customers anyway, right? And the kind of new customers you’re going to be attracting are—let’s be honest—not the kind who are likely to go to her shop in the first place.”

  “You mean the hipster artsy tattoo crowd who want deer antlers instead of skulls and ironic butterflies on their asses instead of hearts that say Mom?”

  “Yes, those people. Don’t make a face; you can charge them more for their tattoos, and they probably won’t bitch about it.”

  Ox pursed his lips. “There is that.”

  “But you are going to have to invest some stuff too,” Emmie said. “I’m willing to put in the sinks and the counters so they’ll match the rest of the store. But you’ll need some dividers for privacy screens. Your own chairs and furniture. All that stuff. And it’s going to need to match the look of the rest of the shop if we want this to work and not just be weird.”

  Ox said, “When I imagined my own shop, it always kinda looked like the old barber shop my grandpa took me to when I was a kid, you know? Weird art on the wall. Stuffed jackalope. Vintage beer signs.”

  “I’m cool with a stuffed jackalope,” Emmie said. “Beer signs would be on an individual basis. Deer heads are a hard limit.”

  Ox raised an eyebrow. “We talking about hard limits now?”

  She felt her face heat up. “Decorating limits. For our shop.”

  “Our shop.” Ox rubbed his jaw. “I’d be opening my own shop.”

  “We’re not going into business together. Not technically. We’d be two separate businesses sharing space. You’d have to pay rent.”

  Ox looked around the shop with newly appreciative eyes. “I’d be paying rent anyway no matter where I went. At least this building is cool. It’s downtown. Good foot traffic. I’d need a new sign…”