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The latter.
“I’ve gotta go,” I said. “Thanks again for the welcome.”
With that, I turned and walked away. Something I’d never have had the discipline to do ten years ago. But now, given all I’d been through, walking away from Charlee Donovan wasn’t as difficult as it once would have been. And it needed to happen.
I might be the kid from the wrong side of the tracks. The one without a college degree. And certainly not the smartest one at any table. But I was smart enough to know that opening the door even a crack, letting Charlee in—something she seemed to be amenable to—would lead to one thing and one thing only.
A broken heart that took too long to mend. Too long to build the scars necessary to walk away from that table now. Time to focus on the shop and rebuilding a life here in Kitchi Falls. One that did not include Charlee fucking Donovan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
charlee
I was about to get back into my car when the light flicked on in his tattoo parlor.
When I first got to Casa Bella Catering, Grunt Ink had been dark. Still not open yet, so I just assumed he wasn’t in there, but now the light beckoned me.
No, it did not.
Lucas had made it crystal clear two nights ago he wanted nothing to do with me. And despite my resolve to break down his barriers and explain the choke hold my parents had over me, my father especially, I would not do it. I’d not completely forgotten our time together. . . just the opposite, in fact. And wanted to tell him that.
However, giving someone permission to treat me poorly, which was exactly what I was doing here, wasn’t in my DNA. So, while I might understand his anger—I had broken up with him at the urging of my father—that was many years ago. If he couldn’t even come to the table. . .
I reached for the handle of my car, hesitating.
Two things were true at the same time here. Lucas was not making it easy to talk to him, and pushing it felt like asking to be punished. On the other hand, simply letting it go and pretending I hadn’t thought about him for all these years seemed. . . disingenuous.
Worst-case scenario?
I walked into his place, and he refused to talk to me. Again.
Or, I got into my car, drove away, and regretted not at least trying.
Minimizing regrets was the only way to make a decision. Too bad it didn’t seem to be working with the promotion my dad was trying to give me. Would I regret taking, or not taking, that job? I had no idea. But I did have an idea about Lucas.
The half-block walk to his shop felt more like a mile. I was pretty certain of the reception I was about to receive, but still my feet moved, one in front of the other.
Grunt Ink Tattoo Studio.
The sign hadn’t been there before. Now it was above the door and lettered in the window. Army green. Appropriate given the name. Closed blinds on the windows and a wooden door meant I couldn’t see inside. I tried the doorknob and wasn’t surprised to find it locked.
Lifting my hand, I paused for a brief second. . . and then knocked.
I could hear my heartbeat pounding away in my ears. What was I doing? Lucas, if he did open the door, would probably just slam it shut when he saw me.
And just like that, the door was yanked open. The studio’s owner stared back at me with the exact expression I would expect. Impatience. Annoyance.
But maybe something else too.
“I was meeting a caterer and saw the light on,” I began, peering around him. It was almost exactly as I’d pictured a tattoo parlor owned by Lucas to look. Military themed, an American flag prominent above the counter. Behind it, a privacy wall where the actual tattooing took place, I assumed.
He stepped aside. Let me in.
I wandered over to one of the walls where black-and-white framed photos were hung. I recognized Tony Soprano and Raising the Flag on Iwo Jima and Ground Zero and Lucas’s favorite sports teams, intermingled with tattoo designs, but there was one I didn’t know.
“Who is this?” I asked.
Lucas moved toward me. I could feel him at my back but didn’t dare turn around.
