Page 17

Chapter eight

Gage

“Who’s that for?”

Axel hovers over my shoulder as I finish a sketch for a client that’s coming in later tonight.

“The guy’s name is Tucker.”

“Ah, yeah. Harold’s boy. Didn’t know he was in town.”

I shade in the branches of the tree he asked me to design, a symbol of his growing family. “Oh, he doesn’t live here?”

Axel shakes his head, leaning his forearms against the top of my desk. “Last I heard, he was in West Virginia with his wife and kids, but Harold is turning seventy this week, so Tucker must be here for the occasion.”

I try not to focus on the fact that everyone in this small town seems to know everything about each other and, instead, dial in on the finishing touches of this design.

Axel nods toward the trunk of the tree. “Now the dartboard on the trunk makes sense. Harold is always playing darts with Baron and Thompson at Catch & Release.”

“That’s Dallas’s restaurant, right?”

“ Yup. I figured you’d know that place pretty well by now.”

Shaking my head, I pick up the brown pencil and darken a few branches. “Haven’t been there yet, actually.”

“Really? Aren’t you married to his sister?”

Fuck. I was hoping to avoid this topic a little longer.

I set down my pencil and twist to face my new boss.

I’ve been working at CC Ink for three weeks now, and except for the occasional small talk, Axel has left me alone.

I’ve had several walk-in clients leave happy, and I’ve paid my booth rent on time.

We never got into specifics about why I needed a job, but I guess word’s finally spread about the youngest Sheppard sibling tying the knot.

“I am.”

Axel crosses his arms over his chest. “Then I figured you’d have enjoyed the family discount ten times over by now.”

The truth is, ever since the birthday party, I’ve been avoiding her family.

That day did something to me, made me yearn for that life when I know it’s not a possibility.

Big families are foreign to me, and meeting hers just confirmed that it’s better if I keep my distance.

That way, it’ll be easier to say my goodbyes when the time comes.

I shrug, turning back to my design. “Just haven’t gotten around to it, I guess.”

“That Hazel is quite the catch. How’d you trick her into marrying you?” The teasing lilt in his voice is easy to detect, but something about those words makes my stomach turn, like she would need convincing to marry me.

Forcing a grin, I say, “She couldn’t resist the ink, Axel.”

His boisterous laughter echoes in the small room. “If I had a dollar for every jackass who’s come in here getting inked because he thought he’d attract more women.” Shaking his head, he says, “Hell, I could retire now instead of in a few years.”

I g lance around the tattoo shop. It’s small, but honestly the perfect size for a town like Carrington Cove. I didn’t even know this shop existed until a year ago, but back then I never dreamed I’d actually be living here, needing a new place of employment. “How long have you owned this place?”

“Twenty years,” he says, running a hand through his short, gray hair. Axel is covered in tattoos himself, though time has softened the ink on his skin. “My wife’s been on me about trying to sell the place. She wants to travel, but there’s not much time for that when you own a business, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” I admit. “But I can imagine.”

Owning my own shop has always been the end goal, but the last place I would want to set up shop is Carrington Cove. I have clients and friends back in Orlando that I know would support me. That’s where my life is.

Definitely not here.

“I’ll find a buyer one of these days. The other guys here have no interest in being the boss, and regardless, I don’t trust them not to run this place into the ground.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone,” I say, picking up my pencil again—half to get back to work, half to signal that I don’t want to be recruited as his retirement plan.

He claps me on the back. “Only time will tell. Well, I’ll let you get back to it. Make sure to lock up when you’re done.”

My appointment with Tucker is the last one for the day, which means I’m responsible for closing up the shop when I’m done.

“Sure thing, Axel.”

With a nod, he walks back to his office, leaving me alone with my work—and my thoughts.

Tho ughts of Hazel and her family… And Axel’s not-so-subtle hint about selling the shop.

I never expected Carrington Cove to pull me in, but with each passing day, keeping my distance gets harder.

***

“Say cheese?”

Hazel’s eyes pop up from her computer as she grins, wiggling her sock-covered feet at me. “Cute, huh?”

I arch a brow. Her socks are covered in little cartoon wedges of cheese with bold lettering across the bottoms.

“Is it a photographer thing, or are you really passionate about dairy products?”

She just shakes her head as I walk past her into the apartment.

I have to admit, this woman’s zany sock collection is extensive. From slogans about pickles to puns about wine, I don’t think I’ve seen her wear the same pair of socks since I moved in three weeks ago.

And I hate that I look forward to discovering what pair she’ll have on each night as she lounges on the couch editing photos or coloring.

“Did you have a good day?” she asks as I grab a soda and join her on the couch, sinking into the cushions as my back protests from hours of leaning over clients.

After chugging wine that first night out of desperation, I had to remind myself that alcohol is the last thing I should be reaching for right now.

Yet another change in my life I’ve had to get used to.

“Yeah. I made good progress on the design for Tucker, and we got half of it done. I’m finishing the other half tomorrow so he can surprise his dad with it at his party on Sat urday.”

“Gosh, I can’t wait to capture the look on his face when he sees it.”

“You’re going to Harold’s birthday party?”

Hazel tilts her head. “Uh, yeah. Who else do you think would be taking the pictures?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I just figured people would snap some on their phones or disposable cameras. Those are making a comeback, aren’t they?”

Hazel scoffs. “They are, but the quality is horrible. Besides, I’m the resident photographer for all major milestones in this town. I made it a law when I opened my business.”

I blink a few times. “You’re joking, right?”

“Sure, but you know what I mean. I almost feel like it’s my duty to capture the memories of my friends and neighbors.”

I study her for a beat. “Why?”

Hazel stares down at her computer before quietly saying, “Because when someone’s gone, all you have left are the pictures. And I, for one, want to make sure that the people I love get to have those memories.” Her eyes lift back up to mine. “I know I wish I’d taken more pictures with my dad.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat and turn back to my soda.

We haven’t spoken much about my aunt since the first letter came.

After Michael’s party, we slipped back into our own lives, only interacting when necessary.

There’ve been a few nights like this where we’ve talked on the couch after a long day of work, but for the most part, I’ve been avoiding Hazel just as much as her family.

I swear, everywhere I turn there’s somebody who knows someone in the Sheppard brood and questions quickly follow about how I’m now married to the youngest sibling. Then, without fail, those are followed by mentions of my aunt and how much she’s missed in the community.

Fuc k, I miss her, and just as Hazel said it, I realize I don’t have many pictures with her to reminisce on—yet another regret I’m forced to live with now.

I haven’t let myself dwell on her absence too much though, opting to only push forward—selling her house to Penn and checking days off the calendar until my time in Carrington Cove is over.

Right now, I feel like it can’t come fast enough.

“Would you like to see some of the last ones I took of Diane?” Hazel asks, pulling me back to our conversation.

My heart starts beating wildly, but I do want to see what she captured. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

She rearranges herself on the couch, scooting next to me and clicking through a few files on her computer before opening a folder that contains hundreds of pictures of my aunt, her dog, and Hazel.

Fuck. They really were close.

“I love this one,” Hazel says, pointing to a shot of Blueberry staring up at my aunt, a big, toothy smile on his face as his tongue hangs out the side of his mouth.

As if sensing that we are talking about him, Blueberry sighs from his bed in the corner of the living room.

“Yeah, that’s a good shot.”

“This one’s great too.” Hazel clicks through to a photo of my aunt in her motorized scooter, her eyes closed as the wind whips through her hair. Her oxygen line hangs off her face, but I barely notice it because she looks so enraptured by the feel of the breeze on her skin.

“She looks so frail in this one.” I point to another picture on the screen. Hazel opens it with a click, and my chest tightens. My aunt is sleeping in her recliner, Blueberry curled up in her lap. She looks smaller compared to the other pictures Hazel and I just looked at.

“ That was a few weeks before she died,” Hazel explains, emotion thick in her voice.

Before I lose it in front of her or smash my soda bottle against the wall, I stand from the couch and drain the rest of the bottle, heading into the kitchen for another.

Just then, the doorbell rings.

Saved by the fucking bell. A trip down memory lane, complete with the guilt that comes with it is not how I wanted to spend my evening after a long day.

It’s something I don’t want to deal with at all, if I’m being honest.

I hear the front door opening and closing, but Hazel doesn’t say anything when she steps into the kitchen a few moments later.

She doesn’t have to—because she’s holding a pink envelope in her hands.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“I was wondering when this was going to come,” she says.