JJ
The second tattoo station existed before Stitch knew about it.
Not physically. The chair was still sitting in an online cart while the long wall of my shop cured beneath its second coat of charcoal paint, but in my notebook the space beside mine already had his name written over it.
I stared at that name for several seconds before calling him.
He answered with, “If this is about Kinsley, I still haven’t heard anything.”
“It’s not.”
A pause.
“That sounded suspicious.”
“I have a question.”
“Worse.”
I smiled and sat on the edge of the reception counter we had dragged in that morning. It needed refinishing, but the size was right, and I could already picture a tablet, appointment book, and whatever ridiculous candy bowl Millie eventually convinced me we needed.
Charlie was in the
