Making my way out onto the porch, I breathe in the salty air and feel content. Something I have not experienced in a long time.
An older man waves as I walk out onto the path, and the ocean is right there, ten steps away.
I wave back with a smile that matches his. With no destination in mind, I walk toward the main street, wanting to see what small-town life is like. I’m used to the city—a concrete jungle of headlights and sirens stuck on repeat in my skull. Sidewalks are crammed with strangers who never meet your eye, each footstep counting down to the next appointment. Everyone is always busy, never stopping to appreciate what is around them.
I reach the main street, which is marked as: The Promenade. They’ve blocked off the road, with street vendors on one side, set up on the grass, and storefront shops on the other.
A neon sign dazzles me with the words:Ebb & Ink.I have always wanted a tattoo, but my mother’s voice rings through my head.Classy women don’t have tattoos. The thought has me moving toward the store.
Pushing through the door, I step into the small room, and the soft sound of music is inviting, making the space feel safe.
“Shore, I swear to fuck, if you are here to annoy me... I don’t want to see how good your dick looks. Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” a gorgeous specimen of a man says as he walks out from the back room.
He’s at least six feet tall and lean, with dark hair that has a slight curl framing his face. He is shirtless, showing off his tattoos. His sleeves are of an ocean—sea creatures, octopus tentacles twisting, a shipwreck, and crashing waves curling around his skin.
Deep hazel eyes meet mine, flecks of gold catching the shop lights. “I thought you were my friend. He discovered underwear this week and likes to show me how good his package looks.”
A laugh escapes me. How I wish I could be so carefree, to be excited over underwear.
“I’m Ripley, but my friends call me Rip,” he says with a lopsided grin.
“It’s nice to meet you, Rip. I’m Kinsley.”
Normally I would have convinced myself to walk out by now, especially with how young he looks. He barely looks legal with his baby face.
“Before we go any further, I should let you know getting ink here is different. I pick the design, and my customers roll with it. It’s what I’m known for.”
I stare at the man and wonder if I trust him enough to put something on my body that I didn’t pick.
“What if I promise to just do a small quote? You seem like a woman who would like something small and hidden from the world—something only for you.” He smiles wide at me, and I blink again.
“Shit, okay. Let’s do this.”
I’m never impulsive. I always make sure something fits my image, the one my mother created for me after Teddy. But right now, there is nothing stopping me and I can do what I want. I don’t need to let her get her way all the time.
Not even twenty minutes later, I’m lying on his table on my side, a sheet draped over my breasts. My dress is pulled down around my waist while he sets everything up.
He starts up the machine. “So what brings you to town—business or pleasure?”
“I suppose pleasure. I needed a break from the city.”
He laughs lightly. The slight sting of the needle hitting my skin makes me hiss, but it’s nothing overly painful, just unexpected.
“We see a lot of city people come and leave really fast. Small-town life isn’t for them. Our stores close early, so we spend a lot of time with others in the community.”
“Your stores shut early?” I ask, probably sounding like a snob.
“They do. Most shut at around five or six. Some restaurants stay open, but as a whole, the town is closed by six.”
“Wow. I don’t remember what it’s like to finish work that early. Some nights I don’t get home until midnight.”
He stops tattooing and wipes my skin. “I couldn’t imagine spending my entire life working. When do you have time to do anything else? To enjoy life?”
I snort. “Enjoying life is an option? I guess that’s why I’m here. Turning thirty next week has made me put a hold on my life. I want to see what else is out there. And, well, finding out what I want from life is where I start.”
“It’s a good place,” he agrees.
For the rest of the tattoo, we remain silent. It’s nice to not have to fill the void with meaningless chatter. When he is done, he tells me to have a look in the mirror. I try to get up without losing the sheet or my dress and he smirks, turning around when I motion for him to do so.
