JJ
The tattoo shop smelled like green soap, stencil paper, and burned coffee by the time the morning rush finally slowed down.
Stitch was in the second station over arguing with a client about why getting his ex-girlfriend’s name tattooed across his ribs was “objectively the dumbest s**t” he’d heard all week while Kinsley sorted inventory behind the front counter pretending everything between us wasn’t still cracked straight down the middle.
Normal.
Or at least the version of normal I’d learned to survive inside.
I was cleaning my station when the front bell chimed overhead.
“Welcome to—”
The words stalled in my throat when I looked up.
Nixx.
Black Henley today.
Black jeans.
Heavy boots.
And those same gray eyes locking onto me immediately like he hadn’t looked anywhere else f
