Page 94 of Right Up His Alley

Basically, it’s now or never.

“I’ll be right here when you get back. No matter what happens, I’m proud of you, Ezra. I know none of this has been easy.” Truett squeezes me one last time, and I know my time is up.

I take a shaky breath and reach for the door handle, my fingers slick with sweat. “I love you,” I whisper like a sacred vow meant to steady my nerves.

As I shift to stand, the portfolio in my lap slips, nearly crashing to the ground. My heart lurches as I fumble to catch it just in time. Great. Hopefully that’s not a sign of how this is about to go.

The warm Texas air hits me the moment I step outside. It’s that weird time of year where the mornings are warm enough for short sleeves, but by nightfall, the temperature drops low enough to make you regret not bringing a jacket. Texas weather is fucking ridiculous. Still, each step toward the shop feels heavier than it should, like I haven’t walked this exact path thousands of times before. By the time I reach the front door, my hand lingers on the handle for only a second before I force myself to push it open.

The blast of cold air from the AC—finally fixed after months of being broken—hits me the moment I step inside. I half expect to see Damien waiting for me at the front desk to wish me luck, but he isn’t there. Instead, a man sits behind the desk, looking up just as I freeze in place. He smiles warmly—a smile that stuns me because I can’t believe he’s here. And I can’t believe I forgot who the damn owner was!

“Zeke?” I don’t mean for his name to come out accusatory, but I feel like my mind’s playing tricks on me. But of course it makes sense now. I knew Zeke was Damien’s uncle, but conveniently forgot he was also the owner of The Skin Quill. I don’t know if I’m thrilled or terrified by this.

Probably the latter.

Zeke laughs, a soft, gravelly sound. “Hey, Ezra. We keep running into each other, don’t we?”

“I didn’t know you were going to be here.” It’s a dumb thing to say, but my brain is slowly processing everything, trying to keep my nerves in check.

I haven’t seen or spoken to Zeke since Truett and I were in Dallas. He made an offhand comment about how, with a little more practice, I might be persuaded to work for him. At the time, I brushed it off as him just being nice, but now the words keep circling around in my head. Did he actually mean it? And if he did, have I practiced enough to even come close to meeting his standards?

“I’m just checking in on my shops, seeing if there’s anything I’ve been neglecting. Plus, Damien mentioned you’re looking for an apprenticeship. I’m trying to make sure all my shops are fully staffed before I finally retire. Did he tell you he’ll be taking over my Dallas shop with my daughter?” Zeke asks.

“No, he hasn’t.” The news is shocking, but considering every time I’m around Damien, he’s been busy with clients or showing me the ropes, it’s not a surprise he hasn’t mentioned this yet.

“I’m getting old, Ezra. My eyesight isn’t like it once was. So, I’m making some changes to my shops.” He looks down at the portfolio in my hands, reminding me what I’m here for. “Can I see what you brought?”

My hands tremble as I fumble with the portfolio, nearly dropping it before I manage to pass it over. Zeke takes it without a word, leans back in his chair, and starts flipping through the pages one by one.

He grunts at some. Shakes his head at others. His expressions shift too quickly for me to read—disappointment? Confusion? Disgust? I can’t tell. Each reaction tightens the knot in my stomach. I try to stand still, but my fingers thrum against the counter. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, loud and frantic.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he closes the portfolio with a soft thump and slides it back toward me without saying a word. I stare at it, throat dry, unsure whether I should pick it up or apologize. Maybe I should just leave and tell Truett moving in together isn’t an option anymore.

Just as I’m about to cut my losses, Zeke gestures for me to sit down. I really don’t want to—far too much pent-up nervous energy. Still, I do as he requests and take a seat across from him in a warm leather chair.

“You’re a good artist, kid. Damien shared some of your work with me, and it’s damn good for a beginner,” Zeke says, and the anxiety deflates like an oversized balloon. “But you still have a lot to learn.”

I sit up straighter in my chair, nodding. “I know. I want to learn new methods and techniques. Damien has taught me a lot, but⁠—”

“Damien’s good, but he’s still young and has more learning to do himself,” Zeke cuts me off. “What I said in Dallas is still true. I want to take you under my wing. I think you have great potential. You just need a solid mentor to get you there. I like your work, Ezra, and I think you’d make a great apprentice.”

My brain struggles to keep up with his words, each one landing slowly, like a drop of water in stillness. I think you’d make a great apprentice.

How long have I longed to hear something like that? How many times have I imagined a moment like this—where someone sees potential in me, where I’m offered a future that’s mine to shape? A future not dictated by Spare Time, or by family expectations, or the silent pressures I’ve carried for years.

The weight of it all—the obligations, the doubts, the relentless sense I have to earn my place, lifts suddenly from my chest. I didn’t realize how heavy it had become until it was gone.

And in its place: wonder. A quiet, spreading warmth. I let the words settle into me fully, savoring them. This is what possibility feels like.

“Now, usually apprenticeships aren’t paid positions, but I think that’s fucked,” Zeke says. “I can pay you a small sum, and all the tips will go in your pocket. After the year is up, we can negotiate a more livable wage. We can also talk about your future at this shop. I gotta admit, Ezra, I don’t want to work here for too many more years. Like I said, I’m ready to retire and spend my golden years traveling. But I need to leave the shop in capable hands. I know you have experience with running a business⁠—”

“Wait.” I put my hands up, not certain I’m following him. “Are you saying you want me to run the shop?”

“Not now.” He chuckles good-naturedly. “You have some learning to do, and I hope, over the year, we can cover that. But, yeah, Ezra. I’m saying this position would lead to becoming a full-time artist and possibly a shop manager. I will still be the owner and involved as much or little as you need me, but you would be the face of the shop. You don’t have to answer me right now, but I want you to think about it.”

Think about it? Fuck, that’s all I have thinking about since I discovered my passion for tattooing. And now Zeke is just giving me the opportunity? Part of me wonders if this is a dream, but no. It’s the universe giving me exactly what I want for once.

“You still need to prove yourself,” he says, seeing the far-too-giddy expression on my face. “But I believe you will. So, what do you say, Ezra? Want to be my apprentice?”