Page 11 of A Heart On A Sleeve

eight

Sam

The Hollow Hearts Festival (Sam's Version)

At seven in the morning, it’s safe to say I’m not my best. Early Riser is a nickname I lost around the time my first tooth fell out.

Since then, it’s been more like Lucky to Be Up by Lunch.

Lately, I’ve had more and more responsibilities piling on that require me to get up early, though—not to mention how I tossed and turned after my interaction with Olive on her porch.

Today’s the Hollow Hearts Festival, which means I have to not only get in two clients before noon, but also check in on Mom’s booth and convince my sister to be my date. The first two things are easy, the third not so much.

The door chimes, announcing Xavier’s arrival.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” I ask, trying to drag myself out of my stupor.

“Too early for this shit,” he grumbles, practically flopping face down on my table.

“You can go to sleep, bro. Let the buzzing take you away.”

He won’t, only a true masochist could sleep through what I’m about to do to his skin. We’ve been working on a back piece for the better part of six months. Today I’m adding the final touches of shading and fixing up a few spots that didn’t heal perfectly.

Xavier’s been one of my closest friends over the years. A while back, eighteen months give or take, he was in a motorcycle accident. While he was lucky to walk away from it, his back suffered some serious road rash and scarring. He hates it, so we’re covering it up.

“Right. You get too much joy from torturing me,” he groans before yawning. “Tell me something to wake me up.”

“I got nothing, man. Business as usual around here.” Shrugging, I turn to grab a paper towel and sanitizer for his skin.

“Momma O gonna make you serve food today?”

“Nah. I’m helping with set up but attending the event for fun. Are you planning to go?”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it. Cami would kill me if I didn’t take her to get a funnel cake.

She’s scary when she has a craving.” He shudders at the thought of his very pregnant wife.

I chuckle but deep in the farthest corners of my mind, I can’t help but be a little jealous.

Not of the baby part—I just want to have someone who I don’t mind bossing me around. I thought by thirty-two I would.

“Happy wife, happy life. I guess,” I say, as I finish wiping his skin, setting up my ink, and prepping my gun.

“Speaking of wives, how’s the dating scene these days for Mage Hollow’s most eligible bachelor?” Xavier turns his head to look me in the eyes, not allowing me to spew any bullshit.

“It’s wicked boring. Same choices, different day.” I school my features, so I don’t give away the idiotic crush I’m harboring.

“Ahh. There it is.” He points his finger at my face. “Is a certain new-in-town Southerner getting you down?”

I scoff, audibly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Is that why Max said you’ve been hauling boxes for Beau Brooks at six in the morning every day this week?

There was something in there about her running in a sports bra .

. . what was it?” He places his finger on his chin, pretending to be deep in thought.

He waits longer than necessary, just asking for my anxiety to fill in the gaps.

“It’s not my fault that she thinks it’s necessary to run completely alone in the wee hours of the morning.

Someone’s gotta look out for her. That’s all it is.

” My tone is defensive. Can’t I just look out for the newest resident without everyone assuming it’s more?

No, dumbass, you can’t. Because it is more.

His eyebrow raises. “So you’re telling me you would be fine with Max making his move then?

I heard she’s wicked beautiful, everyone’s talking about her.

” He’s taunting me about my little brother moving in on my girl.

Except, fuck. She isn’t my girl. She ran back inside last night like her ass was on fire—though, to be fair, I probably did chase her off a little with my attitude.

“Not a problem.” The words come out jagged, like sandpaper in my throat as I say them.

“So, who are you gonna bring to the festival then?”

I don’t answer him right away, opting to start abusing his back instead. Normally, taking it easy on his fragile skin is top of mind, but right now I know I’m taking my frustration out on my best friend. Fifteen minutes pass in a blur before I decide to fess up.

“I’m going to con Bridget into coming along.

” A weird lump forms in my throat. Ever since Olive blew into my life, it’s been like my insides are claiming her as mine, when she most definitely isn’t.

I wish I was taking her to the festival today, seeing her face light up the first time she experiences one of Mom’s tortellini or wins a carnival game.

Since she flashed me on the sidewalk, images of her have been playing in my mind on an endless loop.

It’s weird, actually. I’ve dated many times before, but something is different with Olive.

She has this air of grace about her, as if the inside of her may actually be more beautiful than the outside.

Except, I have a feeling she doesn’t let most people see all sides of her.

For sure, not me. To everyone else in town, she is a sweet, quiet Southern belle.

Yet, when I have interacted with her, she’s always working double time to keep her guard up.

I wouldn’t even know how to begin to crack that arm’s-length facade she displays.

“How’s Bridget?” He’s fishing for information. Xavier knows all of my siblings well. He worries about Bridget the most for some reason, I guess because she’s only a year younger and used to follow us around.

“She’s fine. She dumped Jessa. Again.” I swallow hard. Xav has never liked Jessa. Not that I have either, but my sister insists on getting back together with her every single time they split up. Jessa is over-the-top dramatic, and she doesn’t treat Bridget well. It irritates the hell out of me.

“Let me ask you something,” he says, while sitting up slowly so I can wipe him down with sanitizer and put on his wrap. “If you thought you had a chance, would you go out with the new girl? Or is this just some game to say the bad boy got under the good girl’s skirt?”

“What? Are you joking? You know I’m not actually a fuck boy, right?” My heart is pounding so hard it might beat out of my chest. Does my best friend really believe I’m the town player?

“I know you aren’t deep down. But I can’t help but wonder sometimes if the image you display of being this badass, tatted-up, doesn’t-give-a-fuck guy is starting to sink in a little further than intended.

” His assessment floors me, like he took a sledge hammer and rammed it into my chest. Breathing is difficult.

There is one thing I know for sure: I cannot allow this assessment of me to harbor even a sliver of truth. Time to fess up.

“Alright, fine. You got me. I want to go for the girl like nobody’s business. I am practically a stalker at this point with how much I’ve been hovering. But I seem to put my foot in my mouth every time she’s around.” Resignation marks my face as I start applying his wrap.

“What do you mean? Why don’t you just sack up and ask her out?” Xavier demands.

I rattle off the list of excuses I’ve built over the past week.

“She’s out-of-my-league gorgeous. She’s younger than us, just getting started in her career, so who knows if she plans to stick around here.

Besides, there’s no way she’d want to be with someone like me.

She comes from money, and I’m pretty sure she has a perfect IQ. ”

“You’ve lost your mind. Cami is going to love this.” His shoulders shake with laughter at my expense.

“I bare my soul and you laugh. Why are we friends again?” I ask, huffing while I toss the scraps of my supplies into a trash can under my table.

A smirk pops the dimple in his right cheek. “It’s just that it took you long enough. Did you really think I didn’t already know? Lovesick puppy was written all over your ugly mug when I walked in. I had to make up a bullshit insult just to get you to crack.” Damn it, I need new friends .

“Okay, wise one. Doesn’t change that she probably believes I’m a bumbling fool.”

“Oh, yes it does. You deserve to be happy. Stop being a dense, self-deprecating asshole, and go after what you want. The chase might be rough, but the reward will be worth it.” With that, he stands, grabs his phone, and walks out.

He doesn’t pay, best friend discount and all, but still. Just walk away when I need support.

My second appointment went off without a hitch. An easy flash piece that took a quick forty-five from start to finish. My hands are grateful for the break they’re getting today. Ten years of tattooing, the last six on a daily basis, has earned me a very frustrating case of carpal tunnel.

“You going to spread that tablecloth, or are we going to stand around all day?” Patrick O’Reilly doesn’t allow anyone to slack on the job.

“Yeah, Dad. Is this the last one?” I ask, mumbling the words softly so my mom doesn’t overhear. No one wants to piss off Momma Mabel.

“Yep. That should do it. Have you met anyone new recently?” he asks, a sheepish grin blooming on his face.

“I’m going to kill Max. That fucker spreads more gossip than old Mrs. Beasley.” I guess it could have been Bridget, but Dad usually gets his gossip from my brother.

Dad chuckles and shrugs. “He just wants to see you happy. Between you and your sister, someone has to keep me informed.”

“Bridget is going to figure it out. Just give her time. And I’m not looking to date,” I reassure him, unconvincingly.

“Sure. I don’t believe a word you just said, and I don’t appreciate being lied to. Bridget did the same when I talked to her this morning.” His face shifts into the all-too-well-known look of dad disapproval.