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  Ginger spun around, her assessing gaze raking over Emmie, who was wearing work jeans and an old flannel. Her hair was up in a bun on top of her head and likely dotted with paint.

  Ginger’s gaze moved quickly from assessing to patronizing. “Look at you. You’re a mess.”

  Emmie forced a tight smile to her lips. “Well, that’s generally what happens when you paint.”

  Ginger strolled around the shop, which was beginning to take shape. The furniture had come, a mix of the old couch from Daisy’s aunt and some vintage wingback chairs Emmie had collected in San Francisco. Paired with a midcentury coffee table and a Persian rug Emmie had stolen from upstairs, the shop was beginning to look eclectic, bohemian, and cozy, exactly the kind of place customers would want to linger and hang out while they drank coffee and chatted about book recommendations.

  It was not coiffed, precise, or glamorous, however.

  “Well, this is… interesting,” Ginger said, staring at Ox’s side. “Letting the country boy out, I see.”

  Emmie stood and set her paintbrush down. “Can I help you? We’re not open yet. Ox isn’t here. But if you want to leave him a message, there’s a notepad on the counter over there.”

  Ginger spun and smiled at her. “No message for him. He’s a handsome one, isn’t he?”

  Emmie forced herself to keep smiling. “I suppose so. But we’re business partners; it’s not personal.”

  “Oh.” Ginger cocked her head. “I guess you wouldn’t be, would you?”

  Bitch. “If you don’t have a message for Ox—”

  “He at his mom’s this morning?”

  Emmie didn’t want to tell this woman anything, so she just stood there with a hand on her hip, trying for an expression that said bored and impatient without being rude.

  “Miles Oxford.” Ginger ran a finger along his counter, her mouth curling around Ox’s name. “So handsome. So sexy. So… devoted.” Her voice fell on the last word. “He’ll always pick them over you, by the way. You know that, right? I hope you’re not too invested in this little business because at some point they will make him choose, and he will choose them.”

  The punch landed exactly as Ginger had intended. Emmie felt sick to her stomach. She had invested everything in the shop, and she thought she had a partner as dedicated as she was. Ox had talked about his family—his mom, sister, and niece—with affection, but there’d been no indication that they depended on him. He always seemed like his own man.

  But what did Emmie know? Did she know Miles Oxford as well as his ex-girlfriend who’d been with him for over a year? She knew Ginger was trying to unnerve her, but how much of what she said was true? Emmie had no idea.

  If Ox abandoned INK, she’d have spent a large percentage of her renovation money on a part of the shop she had no way of using. She’d be up shit creek. She needed him to pay rent and bring in business. She needed him to make her vision work.

  “Well,” Ginger said. “This has been informative. Nice to meet you…”

  “Emmie,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Emmie.” Ginger smiled, all bubbles and sweetness. “Isn’t that cute? Emmie. Like a little doll.” She waved over her shoulder as she sauntered out the door and across the street.

  No, her first meeting with Ginger was not at all what Emmie had expected.

  Chapter Nine

  Emmie clutched the back of the chair, wincing at the bite of the needle against her shoulder blade.

  “You need a break?” Spider asked.

  She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m fine.”

  Daisy called from the kitchen. “Take a break and we’ll have dinner, babe.”

  Spider patted Emmie’s shoulder. “The boss speaks. We’ll eat and then finish that shoulder.”

  “And the left?”

  “Probably next week. Then you’re done.”

  Spider left the room and Emmie eased a loose tank top over her head. One of the downsides to having Spider do her tattoo was that he had to fit her in around his regular clients and his commissions. Spider’s shop was low-key, tucked into a quiet residential area near his and Daisy’s house. He didn’t even have a sign, but it was always busy. When he wasn’t working on tattoos, he worked on paintings. He’d sold a dozen of his pieces in a gallery in Las Vegas last year, and he and Daisy had refinished the hardwood floors. When he worked on Emmie’s tattoo, he worked at home.

  Emmie unwound the tight bun at the top of her head and braided her hair over her shoulder, leaving her back clear. She heard Tayla and Daisy laughing in the kitchen and followed the sound.

  “Something smells good,” she said. “Can I get a beer?”

  “There’s a growler of Metlin's in the fridge,” Daisy said.

  Emmie grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured herself a glass of brown ale from the local brewing company. Daisy had given control of the kitchen to Tayla, who was baking something in the oven. It smelled like cheese. Emmie approved.

  “How’s the back going?” Tayla asked.

  “Fine. After he’s finished filling in this shoulder, we just have the left one to go. Then a little shading and it’s finally done.” Emmie looked her up and down. “Are you always coordinated?”

  Tayla spun around, her cherry-patterned apron whirling around her. “Daisy found one that matched my dress! Isn’t it cute? Not all of us can look great in hobo-chic or whatever you’re calling that outfit.”

  Emmie glanced down at her yoga pants and loose tank. “Oh yeah. I’m Instagram-ready.”

  “You’re pretty, have amazing skin, and gobs of auburn hair. You can wear anything and be cute. Appreciate your power.”

  Daisy made a spin-around motion with her hand. “Let me see.”

  Emmie turned and let Daisy see the growing pattern of vines, leaves, and butterflies on her back. The outline was in deep green and the whole design, when it was finished, would look more like a pre-Raphaelite painting than a traditional tattoo. It had been Spider’s idea to turn the silly butterfly tattoo she’d gotten in college into something more. Emmie would never forget the look of disappointment on his face when she’d come home for Thanksgiving.

  Some college kids worried about disappointing their parents with bad grades. Emmie had disappointed Spider with substandard tattoo work.

  “It’s going to be so incredible,” Daisy murmured. “I love this look. I wonder if he’d be willing to do more.”

  “Yes.” Spider walked into the kitchen and slapped Daisy on her backside. “For you, mama? Anything, you stubborn girl.”

  Daisy smiled and lifted her face for a kiss Spider quickly granted. “I’m picky,” she said. “Not stubborn.”

  He slid his arms around her and lifted her up. “You picked the best one, so I know you got good taste.”

  Emmie rolled her eyes, but secretly? She loved watching them. Spider and Daisy adored each other. “Get a room.”

  “I got a house.” He set Daisy down, grabbed a kitchen towel, and flicked it at Emmie. “And you’re in it. So mind your manners.”

  A timer buzzed on the stove. Tayla clapped her hands. “Okay, everyone in the dining room. I’ll grab the casserole. Emmie, grab the salad?”

  They settled in the small dining room attached to the living area. Daisy and Spider’s house was an old Spanish bungalow from the 1930s they’d been fixing up since they bought it. Ethan pitched in for free beer, but the young couple had done most of the work themselves.

  Tayla set the steaming chicken casserole on the table, and Spider refilled everyone’s drinks. Daisy said a quick grace, then everyone dug in. Tayla had made something with green chilies, chicken, and cheese. As far as Emmie was concerned, that was never a bad combination.

  Spider asked, “How’s the shop coming? When you guys gonna open? I had someone asking after Ox the other day.”

  “Probably three weeks?” Emmie said. “I might do a light open a week or so before, but I know he’s still waiting on his chair.”

 
“We need to plan an event,” Tayla said. She’d started moving her things down the weekend before. “Grand-opening reception or something, you know? Do cocktails. Wine and cheese.”

  Spider raised an eyebrow. “I’ll bring the beer.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Daisy said. “You should call Hugh over at Metlin Brewing. If you do some cross-promotion with local businesses, you’d get more customers in because they’ll promote your event too.”

  “That’s an idea,” Emmie said. “I just know that it can’t come soon enough.”

  “Is the shop done though?” Tayla asked. “I thought Ethan was still installing the counters.”

  “He is, but that’ll be done this week.” Emmie’s car money was officially gone with the finished counters. She hadn’t been able to buy the beautiful copper espresso maker she’d longed for, but as Tayla reminded her, she wasn’t opening a café. The counters were a wiser investment.

  That was Emmie. Always making the wise investment.

  “Two more weeks,” Tayla said, “and I’ll be your willing servant.”

  “Ox been pulling his weight around the shop?” Spider asked quietly.

  “He’s been great,” Emmie said, trying to rid her mind of the doubts Ginger’s visit had planted. “Really. He’s working just as hard as Ethan and me. He’s been sanding all the cabinets this week while he waits for his stuff. Ethan says they’ll be ready for finishing next week.”

  “Good.” Spider finished his serving of casserole and reached for seconds. “Tayla, this is great. Thanks for cooking.”

  “I plan on hitting you up for tattoos after seeing your work on Emmie.” Tayla peeked over Emmie’s shoulder again. “It’s amazing.”

  Daisy said, “Now if she’d just wear anything that showed it off.”

  Emmie muttered, “Not this again.”

  Tayla set down her fork, clearly recognizing an ally. “Right? She’s the queen of unflattering career dress.”

  “I have tried to take her shopping so many times.”

  “Me too!”

  Emmie tried to catch Spider’s eye. “Make them stop.”

  He shook his head. “I’m out of this one.”

  She scowled. “Worst pretend brother ever.”

  “I’m just sitting here drinking my beer.” He finished his glass and Emmie could swear he was fighting back a smile.

  “I am not your guinea pig,” Emmie said to Tayla. “I wear professional clothes because I’m a professional.”

  “But you don’t work in San Francisco anymore,” Daisy said. “You own a bookshop in Metlin. There is no reason for high-necked dress shirts to be part of your wardrobe.”

  Tayla said, “Like it or not, you are part of your marketing when you own the business.”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” Emmie said.

  Tayla pulled on her braid. “That means Instagram-ready, chica. Not just your shop, but you too.”

  “That is superficial and horrible and an indictment of our sexist culture,” Emmie said. “Forget it. I’m selling books. Not myself.”

  “It’s not sexist,” Daisy said. “You know how the girls flock to Ox’s chair? It’s not just because his work is good.”

  Emmie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he’s good-looking. So?”

  “Has he taken his shirt off yet?” Tayla asked. “I feel like there have to be some abs happening there based on the muscle tone everywhere else.”

  Spider rose. “Pretty sure that’s my cue to leave. I’m not talking about some dude’s abs. Why am I always the only guy at dinner?”

  “Because you’re a lucky, lucky man?” Daisy handed him her empty plate. “Thank you, babe.”

  “I’m inviting Ethan next week,” he said. “We need more testosterone in here.”

  “What about Jeremy?” Tayla asked. “You know, cute comic shop Jeremy?”

  “Definitely my cue to leave.” He took their plates to the kitchen, leaving Emmie alone with her tormentors.

  “I don’t care that Ox is hot,” Emmie said. “Remember? I’m very carefully not noticing.”

  “But you’re just as hot as he is,” Tayla said. “That’s the point. The nerdy-cute bookseller with the superhot tattoo artist.” She set down her fork. “Oh my God, you guys could be on a romance-novel cover. You have to make this happen. You know writers.”

  Daisy said, “They would look hot on a book cover.”

  “I’m never, ever going to do that,” Emmie said, tugging nervously on her braid. “Just stop. I’m not supposed to be noticing how hot Ox is, remember?”

  “I wonder how he got that name,” Tayla said. “Come on, I can’t be the only one.”

  “Oxford. Miles Oxford.” Emmie stood. “Okay, I’m out. Getting a needle poked in my back a thousand times a minute is less painful than this conversation.”

  “We’re giving you a makeover before the grand opening!” Daisy said as Emmie cleared her plate. “Don’t try to fight us. You know you’ll lose.”

  Emmie kept on not noticing how attractive Ox was for most of the next week. She was in her own little world in the shop, sorting books, ordering supplies, and cleaning. Always, always cleaning. Most of the woodwork had been done, but it seemed like fine sawdust still hovered in the air, just waiting for an even surface to settle on. Emmie was determined that the books wouldn’t come out until the air cleared.

  She was standing on a short ladder, dusting in time with the music blaring from her laptop, when she felt a draft on the small of her back. She spun around and nearly fell over in shock; Ox’s arms came around her hips.

  “Sorry! I noticed your tattoo and—”

  “You thought it was okay to sneak up on me and lift my shirt?” Emmie glared at him.

  “Shit.” His mouth fell open and he backed away. “No. Sorry. I called your name a couple of times, but you didn’t hear me, so I walked over and… I just noticed— I shouldn’t have looked. Is that Spider’s work?”

  “That’s not okay,” she said, her cheeks heated. “That’s really not okay.”

  “You’re right.” He wiped a hand over his face. “I was curious, but I should have asked.”

  “It’s personal,” she said. “And it’s not finished.”

  Ox pressed his lips together. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I was surprised by it and impressed with the work, but that’s not an excuse. Will you forgive me?”

  Emmie saw sincere regret in his expression. “Fine. Yes. I forgive you. Don’t do it again.”

  “I promise I won’t. I should know better. People touch mine all the time and it’s not cool.”

  “Exactly.” She stared his chest. “So are you going to take your shirt off? It’s not like I’m not curious about your ink too.”

  Ox ripped his shirt over his head. “Sure, what did you want to see?”

  Emmie slapped a hand over her eyes, but not before she’d gotten a whole heaping eyeful of hard muscles and intricate ink. “I was joking!”

  “You asked.”

  She parted her fingers, positive her face was bright red. “I was joking.”

  His skin begged to be touched. A three-dimensional geometric pattern covered the left side of his chest, flexing with the muscle as he moved. Each piece of his ink was a different optical illusion that fed into the next. Cubes and lines intersected with stylized chess pieces and an old-fashioned clock. Emmie wanted to stare, but she was equally afraid of being rude and getting dizzy.

  He caught her gaze. “Careful what you joke about. I’m not shy.”

  “Clearly.”

  Ox slung his T-shirt over his shoulder.

  “You’re just going to leave your shirt off?” She forced her hand down, trying to keep her eyes on his face.

  “It suddenly feels hot in here.” His tongue peeked out and licked his lower lip. “I have to say, you don’t seem like the type.”

  “What type?”

  He looked her up and down. Emmie was still standing on the short ladder, so he didn’t have to look far
down. “Hair in a bun. Collared shirts. Big sweaters. You’re all buttoned-up. It does make me wonder.”

  She didn’t ask about what. She had a feeling it would destroy her sanity. “Well, I… like buttons.”

  I like buttons? What the hell, Emmie?

  “Buttons can be fun,” Ox said. “For all sorts of things.”

  Emmie frowned. “What are we talking about?”

  “Buttons.” He reached over and flicked the bottom button of her cardigan. “Okay, Buttons, I better get back to work.”

  He stretched his arms up and yanked his T-shirt back over his chest. Emmie tried not to whimper as the beautiful, beautiful skin was covered up. Then his words registered.

  “You’re not calling me Buttons,” she said. “That is not a good nickname.”

  He walked back to his corner of the shop. “You don’t get to pick your nickname.”

  “Buttons is like a nickname for a cat or something.”

  He bent over and picked up his sanding block, muttering something under his breath that sounded like, “Here, kitty kitty.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Ox started sanding the cupboard door. “So, that’s Spider’s work, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “It looks good. Again, really sorry about not asking. That was rude. But when you’re ready to show it to me, I’d love to see the whole piece.”

  When you’re ready to show it to me…

  Ha! That would be… roughly never.

  Chapter Ten

  He was an idiot and he was surprised she hadn’t slapped him for nosing in where he didn’t belong. He was as bad as one of Abby’s goats.

  The tattoo had been a shocker, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Emmie had grown up with Spider, she likely didn’t have any qualms about tattooing. He’d spotted her examining his ink more than once. It was one of the reasons he’d been so quick to pull off his shirt. She liked it.

  But her work?

  He’d only gotten an impression of it. Leaves and the edge of a wing. A bird? The vivid red had been the first thing to catch his eye. He didn’t work in color much even though he’d been trained across all different styles—his specialty was black and grey.