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His humor fades, and I watch discomfort rise to the surface. But he doesn’t shut down. Instead, he shares another hidden piece of himself with me. “I drew all of the designs myself.”
So, that’s it. Ben has an artistic soul, but he’s living an analytical life.
“Wow, really? That’s so amazing!”
He grins when I shove his shoulder.
“Do you only draw tattoos? Or do you draw pictures and then decide to get them tattooed on you later?”
He shrugs. “A bit of both. I started out just drawing. Then, I got interested in the skill and technique that went into tattooing. I wanted to see if someone could translate my drawings onto skin. And they could.” He’s quiet for a moment, but I get the sense he has more to say. “I wish I could.”
“You want to learn how to tattoo?”
“I mean, yeah. In an ideal world where I’m not sick and I don’t have to get a real job to support myself.”
“Tattooing is a real job. Plenty of people do it. Probably don’t make as much as lawyers, but I’m sure they make a living wage.”
Ben nods noncommittally. He’s lost his happy amusement, withdrawing his hand from mine.
I decide to let the subject drop. For now. And, since I’m no longer sitting next to a stripping Ben, I’m confident I can drive us to the bakery without accidentally running over any pedestrians.
“Thank you for sharing with me,” I speak quietly as I maneuver the car through crowded streets.
“No problem.”
“I mean it though. Your artwork is beautiful.”
Ben’s smile is tight, like it pains him to hear my compliment.
“Can I ask you for a favor?” Immediately, I regret my question. I don’t deserve a favor after already demanding so much from him today.
“Anything.”
“Never mind.”
“Ask me, Holly.”
Normally, I don’t give in to demands easily, but Ben’s smooth voice makes it hard for me to refuse him.
“Would you draw me something?”
BEN
“You want me to draw you something?”
No one’s asked me to create anything for them in a long time. Now, here’s this intriguing girl driving my car and asking that I draw for her.
“Yeah.” She throws a smile at me before returning her eyes to the road.
“What do you want?” I want to ask her that question all the time. And not just about art.
What do you want from your life? What do you want to be happy? What do you want in a man?
But I’m also trying not to scare her away.
“What should I want, Ben? Draw me what you think I’d want.” Holly delivers these instructions as she parallel parks on a street I’m not familiar with.
She wants me to choose?
