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Authors: Kirsty Dallas
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busy. Go down to the sandwich bar and get our usual.” Marz had given a direct order so it seemed, because Chantelle immediately turned and left, a highly satisfying scowl on her lips as she did so.
“Lacey, I want you to meet Bree, Bree, this is Lacey.” The older woman made her way around the counter. She looked totally Martha Stewart and completely out of place in a tattoo shop.
“So, this is your Breeze,” Lacey said fondly. I was surprised she knew of me, and more surprised she had referred to me as ‘Harper’s’ Breeze. Marz and Yoshi were grinning from behind us and Harper was actually blushing. Like, God for real blushing—red cheeks, red ears, and all. Well, if wonders never cease.
“Yeah, this is my Breeze. We wondered if you could help us out with something, one of your own specialties?” I shuffled nervously. There was no way in hell I was getting a tattoo. Not a chance!
“I know I can,” murmured Lacey looking at me like she was trying to figure out an intricate puzzle. She reached out her hand and I reluctantly took it. She was such a strait-laced motherly looking lady and I was worried I would do anything she asked of me, even get a tattoo, which I wouldn’t. No tattoos, uh-huh. We followed Lacey through a door and down a short corridor lined with a long desk full of art supplies, drawings and computers. We then entered another doorway and Lacey flicked on a light. The room was a smaller copy of the large tattoo studio out front—clean, professional but much more private and feminine. Without saying a word, Lacey grabbed a folder and flicked through a few pages until she found what she was looking for. She turned the folder around and placed it on the reclining chair before me. The photos were all of women and they were all bald. The before pictures were disturbingly familiar—pale, so solemn, and completely hair free; the after pictures were quite different though. The girls were still bald but now they had eyebrows, and they all smiled with a new confidence they all seemed to wear after their visit with Lacey. I looked up at Harper, my voice gone, my eyes misting with tears that I didn’t want to shed here in front of strangers. I had walked into the tattoo studio with my mind made up—NO TATTOOS—but this was different. This was Harper’s way of fixing something that bothered me. He was giving me back something I had lost and it wasn’t the eyebrows, it was my confidence. In that moment I was absolutely, irrevocably in love with Harper. It was a dangerous emotion to accept because nothing had changed. I couldn’t be with him the way I wanted, but trying to stop myself from loving him would hurt just as much as cutting off my own arm. I dropped Lacey’s portfolio and wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Thank you,” I breathed with a sniffle. I was not going to cry, I would not cry!
“You’re welcome, baby girl. Like I told you though, you’re beautiful just as you are but if this makes you feel better then you need to do it.” I finally pulled away wiping the stubborn tears that had refused to listen to me. “Do you want me to stay here with you?” he asked. My hand gripped his tightly.
“I held your hand when you got your first tattoo!” Harper grinned.
“Any excuse to hold your hand is good with me.” Lacey prompted me to sit back in the vinyl chair and Harper sank down at my side, holding my hand just as he had said he would. We spent a long time looking at different styles, colors, shapes, and arches. Finally we decided on a shape very similar to my own brow line that we established from a picture on Harper’s phone. The color was going to be as light as my complexion was fair. All too soon Lacey was drawing the line that would be tattooed onto my skin and my nerves set in. We checked the line in a mirror, rechecked it and checked it again, until I finally laid back and held on tightly to Harper’s hand. As if sensing my nerves Harper began to
“Lacey, I want you to meet Bree, Bree, this is Lacey.” The older woman made her way around the counter. She looked totally Martha Stewart and completely out of place in a tattoo shop.
“So, this is your Breeze,” Lacey said fondly. I was surprised she knew of me, and more surprised she had referred to me as ‘Harper’s’ Breeze. Marz and Yoshi were grinning from behind us and Harper was actually blushing. Like, God for real blushing—red cheeks, red ears, and all. Well, if wonders never cease.
“Yeah, this is my Breeze. We wondered if you could help us out with something, one of your own specialties?” I shuffled nervously. There was no way in hell I was getting a tattoo. Not a chance!
“I know I can,” murmured Lacey looking at me like she was trying to figure out an intricate puzzle. She reached out her hand and I reluctantly took it. She was such a strait-laced motherly looking lady and I was worried I would do anything she asked of me, even get a tattoo, which I wouldn’t. No tattoos, uh-huh. We followed Lacey through a door and down a short corridor lined with a long desk full of art supplies, drawings and computers. We then entered another doorway and Lacey flicked on a light. The room was a smaller copy of the large tattoo studio out front—clean, professional but much more private and feminine. Without saying a word, Lacey grabbed a folder and flicked through a few pages until she found what she was looking for. She turned the folder around and placed it on the reclining chair before me. The photos were all of women and they were all bald. The before pictures were disturbingly familiar—pale, so solemn, and completely hair free; the after pictures were quite different though. The girls were still bald but now they had eyebrows, and they all smiled with a new confidence they all seemed to wear after their visit with Lacey. I looked up at Harper, my voice gone, my eyes misting with tears that I didn’t want to shed here in front of strangers. I had walked into the tattoo studio with my mind made up—NO TATTOOS—but this was different. This was Harper’s way of fixing something that bothered me. He was giving me back something I had lost and it wasn’t the eyebrows, it was my confidence. In that moment I was absolutely, irrevocably in love with Harper. It was a dangerous emotion to accept because nothing had changed. I couldn’t be with him the way I wanted, but trying to stop myself from loving him would hurt just as much as cutting off my own arm. I dropped Lacey’s portfolio and wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Thank you,” I breathed with a sniffle. I was not going to cry, I would not cry!
“You’re welcome, baby girl. Like I told you though, you’re beautiful just as you are but if this makes you feel better then you need to do it.” I finally pulled away wiping the stubborn tears that had refused to listen to me. “Do you want me to stay here with you?” he asked. My hand gripped his tightly.
“I held your hand when you got your first tattoo!” Harper grinned.
“Any excuse to hold your hand is good with me.” Lacey prompted me to sit back in the vinyl chair and Harper sank down at my side, holding my hand just as he had said he would. We spent a long time looking at different styles, colors, shapes, and arches. Finally we decided on a shape very similar to my own brow line that we established from a picture on Harper’s phone. The color was going to be as light as my complexion was fair. All too soon Lacey was drawing the line that would be tattooed onto my skin and my nerves set in. We checked the line in a mirror, rechecked it and checked it again, until I finally laid back and held on tightly to Harper’s hand. As if sensing my nerves Harper began to
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