Page 20 of Pretty Thing

“It’s okay. I’m not angry. It’s just that we hardly know one another.”

Felix locks eyes with me and my pulse spikes. It’s as if he is gripping me by the throat and cutting off my air supply.

“I won’t do it again. What do you want to know about me? I want you to feel safe.”

Felix takes my hand, sets my phone aside, and entwines our fingers.

“Um…I guess for starters, what is your last name?”

“Blackwood.”

That name sounds a little familiar, but I can’t place it, and Felix doesn’t elaborate.

“How old are you?”

The corner of his mouth tilts up and my heart flutters.

“Twenty-one.”

“You said you’re a tattoo artist, right?” He nods. “Are you also a chef?”

I sniff the air and can now distinctly smell the food he mentioned.

Felix laughs, and I find the sound soothing and decadent like a rich molten chocolate cake.

“No, sadly, I only know how to make six things.”

He settles back into the couch.

“Do you do any other art, like for galleries?”

“No, nothing like that. But I do make sure people see my art.”

I’m not sure what that means.

Felix distracts me when he pulls up his shirt sleeve. An incredibly realistic skull is tattooed on his arm. It’s beautiful and intricate. The flower is a nice touch, and the tribal markings make it really stand out. He points to the space in the middle.

“I drew and tattooed these myself. Not sure what I’ll put here yet. I’ve been waiting for my muse,” he says, tracing the unmarked skin.

“It’s stunning. I can’t even draw a stick man.”

The weird nervousness from when I first walked down the stairs and saw him is all gone. He is so easy to be around.

“Let me fix you a plate. I know you’re not really hungry, but you need to keep up your strength.”

“Okay, but not too much.”

With a nod, Felix stands but doesn’t leave.

“Eden…I really am sorry if I overstepped. I just want to help. It makes me feel useful, especially now,” he says, and then he walks away.

Well, now don’t I feel like the paranoid asshole.

Sighing, I pick up my cell and read the rest of the messages he sent. I spot the calendar addition for a ten a.m. appointment. Re-locking the phone, I set it aside just as Felix walks back into the living room. With a dramatic flair that makes me smile, he hands me a plate. It looks incredible and smells even better with the homemade tomato sauce.

I freeze.

“Where did you get the sauce?”