Page 52 of Somehow You Knew

“Good to see you too, Hazelnut.” He turns to Gage, tone clipped. “Gage.”

Gage nods. “Dallas.”

Seems their friendly repertoire from my nephew’s birthday party can be pushed aside when sex enters the conversation.

“What are you two doing here tonight?” Dallas asks, flicking his eyes between us.

“Word on the street is that you serve food here, and we’re hungry, so…”

Gage chimes in before I can piss off my brother more. “We’re on a date.”

Dallas’s brows shoot up. “A date?”

“Yeah. Newlywed stuff, you know?” I force a smile, already exhausted and we haven’t even ordered yet.

“Okay. Well, if you’re in the mood for—”

I cut my brother off. “I know the menu, Dallas. I’ll give Gage the rundown.”

My brother nods, seeming to accept that response. “Suit yourself. Good to see you both.” He leans down and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Love you, Hazelnut.”

“Love you too.”

After Dallas walks away, Gage blows out a long breath, like he’d been holding it in.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Fine.” He picks the menu back up. “So, what’s good here?”

After I spend several minutes going over the best items on the menu while trying not to dwell on Gage’s obvious irritation, we place our order, then sit there in silence until I can’t take it anymore.

“You know, I never asked you why you became a tattoo artist.”

He shrugs. “Same reason most people do. I used to sketch all the time, so much so that I got in trouble in school for drawing instead of paying attention to what the teacher was saying. But my art teacher encouraged me to harness my talent and find a way to make money with it, so I learned how to tattoo.”

“That’s it?”

“Were you looking for something more meaningful? Something more…poetic?” he arches a brow.

I roll my eyes. “I mean, I’m sure the job has to have affected you in some ways by now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like Tucker’s tattoo, for example. You get to design art that lives on people’s bodies, pictures that mean something to them. Have you ever done a tattoo that really stuck with you?”

Gage stares down at his beer, and I realize this is first time I’ve seen him drink a beer. “The ones that hit me hardest are done in memory of someone. The worst are baby footprints with angel wings, or portraits of a child that someone lost.”

I reach out and cover his hand with mine. “I can’t imagine.”

“I try not to think about it too much. Loss is part of life, you know?” He pulls his hand back and adjusts himself in his seat. “Man, I’m starving. Hope the food gets here soon.”

I can tell that my question rattled him, so I don’t push further. “It usually comes out pretty fast.” Reaching for my iced tea, I take a sip before changing the subject. “So what do you think we should find for the apartment?”

“I don’t care.”

I sigh. “Oh, come on. We’re supposed to find something we both agree on.”

Gage’s eyes meet mine. “It’syourapartment. What doyouwant?”