CHAPTER FOUR

ABIGAIL

What am I doing?

When Finn offered to give me a temporary tattoo, my initial instinct had been to say "No". Not due to lack of interest but out of fear. Which is what pushed me to agree and come back today.

Ella, Saoirse, and I can talk about ways to step out of my comfort zone, but it's up to me to actually accept opportunities ? to make that first step. Hopefully, I don't regret this particular one. Anxiety causes sweat to form on my overheated skin, and my heart's pumping a mile a minute. Logic tries reminding me not to blow this out of proportion; it's supposed to be a fun adventure, getting a tattoo. However, reason doesn't hold a candle to the sweeping worry pervading my body.

Is it too late to back out?

Yes.

My car's parked, and I'm wasting time sitting here overthinking versus going inside and proving it's no big deal. Taking a deep breath, I shore up my courage, grab my purse, and get out. A couple of other vehicles are in the lot as well, and it occurs to me that there could be an audience for our session. The possibility almost makes me turn around.

Multiple pairs of eyes greet me as I enter the cool interior of the parlor. Waiting clients stare ? a menagerie of people covered in ink. Clearly, I don't belong here.

"Abigail, I'm glad you made it. Follow me." Finn appears like magic, and I appreciate his presence. At least, I won't have to sit awkwardly waiting up front with everyone else.

"Are you sure it's a good time? You look pretty busy."

"Those are Kyle and Mandy's clients; I don't think you've met her yet." He holds a hand out to motion me inside a square space with two chairs. Light-colored walls stand slightly higher than my waist to provide a semblance of privacy. "So, there's no need to worry. You're my priority ? no one else."

The bold statement sounds more proprietary than I'm sure he means it to be, but a shiver of excitement shoots through me nonetheless, converting part of my nervous energy into something more pleasurable. Sitting in the larger chair, I scoot until my back hits the leather. My ankles cross, hands resting in my lap, while Finn shows me a pretty design of an open book with flowers blooming from the center.

"Oh, that's beautiful! Can you put it on my wrist? Or the back of my hand? Somewhere easy and manageable." Thankfully, the library doesn't have strict rules about tattoos, so I won't have to hide his art which obviously is meant for display.

His talent surprises me. When I think of artists, I picture a more sensitive type painting detailed canvases. The delicate work Finn created proves my preconceived notions need to be adjusted.

"Great minds think alike." He washes his hands before putting on gloves and dropping into a rolling chair next to mine, wheeling closer. Pulling over a silver tray and a cushioned armrest, Finn lifts a set of markers. "Just so you know, these are brand new, never been used before, for your protection. Lay your arm over this ? wrist up ? and we'll get started, so you're not late returning to work."

Work. The library.

For a moment, real life had retreated like Valhalla Ink truly was a door to another world. Various drawings adorned the walls of the parlor, but an obvious Norse theme pulled it all together. Ever since I met Finn, his Sons of Anarchy vibes have dominated my mind, but I can see a bit of Thor in there, too.

A Viking image of him ravaging my body pulses in my core, and mortification floods my system. You can't think like that when the man's literally right in front of you!

Oblivious to my inappropriate thoughts, Finn lifts a hand up, pausing before beginning. "I've got to hold your arm steady with one hand while I draw with the other. Is that okay?"

The kind gesture wrings a swell of emotion from my chest. No one ever asks before touching, never checks my boundaries. But this man did ? with no prompting and against any expectations. Then it occurs to me why he might pose the question.

"Michael said something, didn't he?" Humiliation leaves me frozen as I read the truth in his sympathetic gaze.

"Just in passing. I overheard a conversation between him and Kyle. But it's not a problem; whatever you're comfortable with works for me." It didn't for Michael. My resistance to his touch was the largest issue between us.

"You can do what you need to." I nod for him to get started, and he grins like my acceptance made him proud. The first cold brush of the ink-tipped marker tickles, but it's his warm hand on my forearm that draws my attention. A layer of latex separates us ? a thin barrier that does nothing to diminish Finn's heat.

Attempting to focus elsewhere, I explain, "Professional touches don't bother me as much as… personal ones." An awkward laugh bubbles up. "Honestly, there isn't an excellent reason for the aversion except for years of touch-deprivation that have built into this mountain which seems too high to surmount."

Despite my embarrassment, it's nice sharing with him. Maybe because he's practically a stranger, or maybe it's the unusual connection I feel with him. Either way, I ramble, trying to help him understand while he calmly listens.

The glide of the marker is soothing as the design comes to life. Mesmerizing and impressive. It's obvious why Finn is so sought after. Before Michael brought me to Valhalla Ink, I'd looked up reviews online, and most of them sang Finn's praises.

"Scaling a mountain doesn't happen overnight; it takes patience and time. Don't beat yourself up about it." His thumb caresses my skin, almost absent-mindedly, but the repetitive motion comforts me. Once again, he upends my expectations with sweet understanding. "Besides, a man worth his salt will know you're worth waiting for."

My heart stutters as Finn glances up at me, his mouth hovering above my wrist before blowing a soft, warm breath across the drying ink. Thighs clenching instinctively, the intimate action lights me up like a firework in the night sky. Michael never caused such a reaction, and it confirms I made the right decision. Not settling or giving into his wants before I was ready.

Another smile forms on his bearded face, and he changes the subject. "So, does anyone ever call you ‘Abby'?" A pink rose blooms above the book he's drawn, and the vibrant colors almost make me wish it was permanent.

"Not really. I wouldn't have an issue with it if they did, but I think there's something about me that gives off more of an Abigail vibe. Old-fashioned, closed-off? Like people aren't comfortable with the familiarity of Abby." Although Ella and Saoirse used to call me by the shortened version of my name after we first met, it quickly dwindled until they stuck with plain ‘Abigail'. I never asked about the change since it wasn't a big deal, but maybe I should have questioned it.

"Abigail's a pretty name. Old-fashioned maybe, but not closed-off. And neither are you. If it's alright, you can be Abby to me."

"I'd like that." It feels special ? having a nickname only he uses. Curiosity blooms as I imagine what being special to Finn means and wonder why it matters so much to me.

Isn't it obvious?

You've never been special to a man in your life. Isn't it about time you found out what it's like? Finn smiles at my acceptance before continuing to draw. I study his intent expression and make my decision.

Yes, it's about damn time I discover what it's like to belong to a man ? to belong to this man. If only he'll have me...