Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(25)

He greeted us like we were the only customers he’d ever had, his attention perfectly zeroed in on Mo when she started asking questions. He introduced himself as Geoffrey Gilchrest and sat her down with a bottle of water while he gave her his credentials, which included a master’s degree from the New England Institute of Art and a three-year apprenticeship with a Hollywood tattoo artist who inked A-list celebs. By the time he was done, Mo was wide-eyed and practically panting to get started, but they took their time, flipping through portfolios as I examined the snapshots on the walls, looking for one that might be Jace.

I was a little surprised by the scope of the design Mo chose. Her other tattoos were small and isolated: one on each ankle and one on the left shoulder just above her breast. I’d pegged her for a tramp stamp this time around, and when she stripped off her shirt and bra and leaned over the padded rest, presenting her back, I thought I’d guessed correctly.

But no. The design was only anchored at the small of her back. From there, runners of gorgeous ivy crept up her back toward her right shoulder, while another tendril wrapped around her waist and climbed her ribs like a trellis.

The longer he worked, the more discomfort she evidenced. I admit, a few of those sounds reminded me a lot of that moment when Jace had demanded I f*ck him with hardly any prep—pained in the very best possible way. If Mo had been a guy, I probably would have gotten really turned on by the whole thing.

Instead, I just let her crush my knuckles and watched as the design she’d chosen blossomed into being on her skin. The most amazing thing about it was the variety of shades he used. This wasn’t just a uniform green ivy, it was marbled, shot through with stripes of green so pale they might have been white, speckles and veins so dark they were nearly black, and everything in between. This ivy had depth and texture. It looked like it was in 3D, growing out of Mo’s freckled skin, or possibly simply growing up around her, crawling up her body and surrounding it. As he worked, they talked about the possibility of someday adding more vines or perhaps blossoms of some sort.

Some of the detail work, they decided to leave until Mo was home for the Fourth of July because Geoff had another appointment coming in. When it was over, Mo sat there a while, catching her breath while I returned to browsing the designs, trying to decide whether or not my intuition that Jace had gotten his ink here was on the money.

Geoffrey covered Mo’s tats in petroleum jelly and bandages, then began cleaning up. “What about you?” he asked me with a smile and a wink. “Are you considering a tattoo?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Not just now, thanks.” It was tempting, but the swimming thing really was an issue, as I’d told Mo the last time she’d asked. I braced myself for the sort of pressure Mo usually laid on me, but Geoff just shrugged and accepted it, and Mo was too distracted with her new ink to try to sway me. She wasn’t even pushing me to ask about Jace, which was a minor miracle.

Note to self: when Mo pushes, take her to get inked.

We left with Geoffrey’s card in our wallets and an offer to call him anytime to consult or make an appointment.

Mo and I spent the remainder of the weekend lazing about as she waited for her tattoo to heal. It was a good thing Brendan had left to spend the week in Ann Arbor with Mo’s mom; it meant Mo could go around topless to avoid anything chafing. Which I really couldn’t have cared less about, but it was fun to tease her about flashing her rack all over anyway.

She left on Sunday, and I spent the day rattling around the empty house, unaccountably lonely for just having spent the weekend with my BFF. I’d been in Saugatuck for four weeks now, and still hadn’t found a job or figured out what I was going to do about school in the fall. That calm contentment Mo had noticed was nice, but if I didn’t get a move on, it was going to leave me stranded, the summer wasted and nothing to show for it.

Sighing, I grabbed my laptop and started searching for job prospects again. I was still at it when Mo texted from somewhere along the way up to Traverse City.

Forgot to mention one of the art galleries in town has a help wanted sign. You should check it out.

I scoffed as I reread the message.

What would I do at an art gallery?

I was expanding my job search to Holland when the next text came.

Well duh. work. who cares? just ask. Also, ask if jace is a regular at the tattoo shop. I forgot when we were there.

I chuckled again.

OK. I’ll check art gallery just for you. Pass on the tattoo parlor. Stop by Big Rapids on the way home next time and get laid so you’re not trying to run my life, k?

She must have been on the road again because I didn’t get a response until after I’d gone to bed in the eerily quiet house.

stfu you know I’ll run your life whether I get laid or not. deal w/it.

I decided not to dignify that one with a response.





We were two people with good intent

But our execution was painfully bad

And I know we loved the best we could

We tried to make it all okay

We tried to make it all go away

—Casey Stratton, “Rising Sun”

Brendan returned on Monday while I was down at the lake for my afternoon swim. With it being Memorial Day, even the private beach was busy. The local residents were all hosting parties and guests. It was a gorgeous, warm day, the water temperature finally approaching endurable on a regular basis, and I was happy to quit driving in to Holland to swim.