Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Come on, old man,” she teases. She stands and offers me her hand, and of course I take it. It doesn’t matter where she wants to go, I’m damn sure going to follow her.
“Do we need something?” I ask her. We did our grocery shopping yesterday.
“Nope, just take a drive with me, husband.”
“Let me grab my keys.”
She smiles and rushes to slip her feet into her flip-flops. She’s waiting for me by the door, and we walk out to my truck together. She darts off to her side of the truck and has the door open and slides inside before I even make it to my side. The rain has let up, so right now, it’s just a drizzle, but it’s still a dreary day. I’d much rather be snuggled up with my wife on our living room couch, but I can see whatever this little adventure is, it’s something she really wants to do, so that’s what we’re doing.
“Right or left?” I ask her, as I idle at the end of our driveway.
“Let’s go left.” I do as she says as she messes with the radio, turning it to a country station and keeping the volume low. She sings softly to each new song that comes on. When I reach the stop sign in the center of town, I glance over at her.
“Left, right, or straight?”
“Hmm.” She taps her index finger against her chin as if she’s not sure, but I know my wife. She has a destination in mind. “Let’s go right.”
“Do I get a hint as to where I’m taking you?”
“Just a Sunday stroll,” she says, but I can hear the smile in her voice. A quick glance over tells me that I’m right.
“What are you up to, Mrs. Lanigan?” I ask her.
“Why do I have to be up to something?” she asks.
“Because I know you.”
“Fine,” she relents. “I might have a destination in mind.”
“Are you going to tell me where? I am the one driving, after all.”
“Nah, you’re doing a fine job. Take a right at the next stop sign.”
“Are we going to the shop?” I ask her.
“We are,” she confesses.
“Why are we going to the shop?”
“I want another tattoo.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised. “You hadn’t said anything. Do you know what you want?” I’m not gonna lie, the idea of putting more of my work on her soft skin lights a fire inside me. This is me. Being a tattoo artist is all I’ve ever wanted to do, and to have my wife accept my career so openly, even going as far as wanting her own ink, means more to me than she will ever know.
“I do.”
“Are you going to tell me?” I laugh. “I mean, I am the guy doing the work, after all.”
“I thought I could call Forrest, see if he wants….” Her voice trails off when my hand covers her mouth.
“Nope. None of that. Bad words, Brogan. So very bad.” She’s laughing so hard her entire body is shaking. She licks at my hand, and I pull it away from her mouth, wiping it on my shorts.
“I was just teasing. Of course I want it to be you. I’ll tell you when we get there.”
The rest of the drive to the shop is silent as I try hard to think about something she mentioned that she wanted. The only tattoo she ever said she wanted was the one she has. I’m certain of it.
“Here we are,” I tell her, parking my truck. “Now, are you going to tell me?”
“Patience, my dear husband.” She reaches for her handle, opens the door, and climbs out of the truck. I watch her as she walks toward the front door, and hovers under the awning waiting for me.
I let us inside, lock the door, and move down the dim hallway to my office. Inside, I flip on the light, and lean against my desk, arms crossed over my chest as I wait for her to tell me what’s next.
“Can you do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Can you write our last name on a piece of paper?”
I furrow my brow in confusion, but do as she asks and hand it to her. She shakes her head. “You keep it.”
“Why?”
“You need it for the stencil, right?”
“What?” I ask, but then her words register. “You want to get our name tattooed on you?”
“I do. In your handwriting.”
The conversation from the day I gave Brogan her first tattoo filters through my mind. “Left bicep. Closest to your heart.”
“Right where I want to always keep you.”
“Come here.” I pull her into my arms, and hug her so tightly I’m surprised she’s able to breathe, but I just can’t seem to help myself. This woman, she’s my entire world, and I’ll never be able to tell her what this means to me. Then again, maybe I can say it another way. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I dial Lachlan.