Chapter 1

1

DANIEL

December 23rd: Whimsical Ink.

“Maddy, let’s go.” The door crashes behind me and I wince. Not exactly the best impression, but whatever.

“Bit busy.” Her voice comes from the back corner.

Ah, she’s in a session. Oops. Probably should have checked before interrupting.

“What are we doing today?” I yank out a chair beside the tattoo bed and collapse into it, careful not to jostle Maddy.

She wipes blood and ink off skin. “Ignore him. I don’t know him.”

I clutch my chest. “I’m hurt. How could you say that?”

The man she’s tattooing laughs and she removes the buzzing needle until he stops.

“Don’t worry about it. How you going, Dan?” Sage asks.

“Good, good. I’ve come to steal this one away.” Not that she knows that. “How’s the wife?”

“Perfect as always.” He glances at Maddy hunched over his arm. She’s working on a floral design, which makes sense since Sage owns the flower shop at the corner of the street.

“Not raised your rent yet?”

“She refuses to. Getting her favourite flower today. If she won’t raise the rent, I’ll get more tattoos for her.”

I laugh. Only Sage would do that. And Poppy will love it too. She owns the building and, rumour has it, flooded the place when he moved in.

Maddy straightens, wipes his arm, frowns and bends down again. “How do you two know each other?”

I shrug. “He has the best flowers.” Anytime the business needs flowers, we go to him, and if I ever needed flowers for my personal life, I’d go there too. I glance around Maddy’s studio. Maybe she needs some flowers?

“If you’re here to get something added to your sleeve, I don’t have time today.”

“Like I’d show up unannounced.”

She holds the needle away from skin, and her blue eyes ice me over. But it’s fine. I know she loves me, she just doesn’t know it yet.

“You do it all the time.”

“Do I?” She’s right. I do. Any chance I get. Any way to be near her.

Did I start getting tattoos to be close to her? Maybe. Not exactly… Okay, fine, a little. But I already wanted a tattoo. I just decided to have her do it rather than research a different artist. Or any artist.

“You know you do.” She turns to Sage, makes a few more strokes and wipes his arm. “Okay, you’re done. Let me grab the aftercare stuff.”

She rolls her chair to the side, snaps her gloves off, and takes items from the shelf.

“What are you doing?” Sage mutters.

“Nothing.” I cross my arms, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Really? You aren’t trying to worm your way into her heart, despite the fact she’s your best friend’s little sister, and all she does is glare at you?”

“She doesn’t always glare at me. Besides, Oliver’s left her alone for Christmas, so I thought I’d take her somewhere.”

Sage scoffs. “Good luck. I hope Oliver doesn’t kill you.”

“What’s with the whispering?” Maddy asks, wheeling her chair back to us.

“Nothing,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “When you say something that quickly, it’s real believable.”

She wraps Sage’s arm and takes him to the counter to pay, while I stay put beside her station.

“Have a good Christmas. See you later, Dan.”

“Merry Christmas,” I yell. The door slams behind him. Now to execute my plan. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

She locks the door, returns to her station to sanitise everything, and slips the gold ring she always wears back on her pinky finger. “Nothing. Oliver’s travelling, Mum’s on a cruise. I’ll probably keep the studio open instead.”

My eyes widen. I knew she’d do something like this. Keep the studio open for no reason instead of joining friends for Christmas. “Even tomorrow?”

She shrugs. “Why not?”

“It’s Christmas Eve and your birthday!”

“So? No one’s around or they’re too busy to celebrate.” She rolls her eyes. “As usual,” she mutters.

“Um, hello.” I gesture to myself, slightly offended she didn’t want to celebrate with me. Too bad. She’s going to anyway.

“You’re probably busy.” She finishes righting her station and sits.

“Nope. And what are you doing for Christmas?” I know exactly what she’s doing. Her brother buggered off, and she feels too guilty joining friends, so the plan is to kidnap her.

She sighs. Kinda in the way you would when a toddler keeps asking the same question. “I told you. Nothing.”

“Wrong. You’re coming with me to the family bach.”

She blinks at me. “No. I’m keeping the studio open.”

“Do you have clients booked?”

“No, but?—”

“You’re closing the studio and coming with me. Get some R they danced around each other for years before doing anything.

“You’re going to open the studio on your birthday, by yourself, while everyone else is shut and at the beach and your staff have the week off?”

“Yep.”

“What’s the point of opening? No one’s getting tattoos on Christmas Eve.”

She crosses her arms. “It gives me something to do.”

“Coming to the bach gives you something to do. It gives you time to relax, eat good food, and breathe some sea air for your constitution.” Have I ever sounded so pretentious?

My sister Emma reads those historical romance book things and they always want sea air to recover. Although Maddy works by the beach, so maybe it doesn’t matter?

Maddy smirks and bites her lip to cover the grin I know she’s trying to hide. “Sea air for my constitution?”

“Yep. Your sickly nature needs the air.”

“Rude.” She stands and turns her back to me, but she can’t hide the smile from her voice. Bag slung over her shoulder, she strides to the door. “Send me photos when your delicate constitution has been restored.”

I follow her outside like the puppy I am and wait as she locks the door to say, “I don’t look sickly. But you need a nap.”

“Thank you kindly for pointing out the circles under my eyes.”

“I meant the slumped shoulders and despair in your eyes.”

She blinks at me. “Have you seen your sister recently?”

“No. Why?” Is commenting on how tired someone looks not flirting?

“You’re too concerned about my constitution to not have seen her recently.”

“Well, come with me to the bach and she’ll tell you herself.”

“No, thanks.” She turns left and walks down the street, away from the beach and from me.

“Let me take you home, at least.”

She spins and walks backwards while I follow her. Brown hair whips in the wind and she tucks pieces behind her ears. “Don’t worry about me. I can get home fine.”

“I’m sure you can, but let me drive you anyway. Get out of the heat and into air-con.”

She waits until I catch up to her and pivots to walk normally. “Maybe I drove here and don’t need a ride.”

“I know you don’t own a car. You took the bus, didn’t you?” Our eyes lock in a staring contest and she glances away first. I knew it. “Come on, I parked a street over.”

“I’m fine walking.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to.” I grab her hand and tug her across the street towards my car. Her bag falls off her shoulder and I snag it, keeping a hold of her hand so she can’t leave and pretend the bus is better than me.

Her hand’s soft.

There’s a sigh of defeat beside me and she mutters, “Fine. But I’m not coming to the bach.”

Sure thing. I’ll just leave you alone on your birthday.

She wishes.

We reach my car and I step around her so I’m closer to it. Don’t need her looking through the window and seeing the bags and groceries cluttering the boot of the car.

I open the passenger door, slip her bag beside her feet and round the car to the driver’s seat.

“Home we go.”

And by home, I mean my family bach to force her on holiday.

She’ll forgive me.