10 Things & Then I'll Go

Dance into the Moonlight

He laughs and pats my back. "You sure have a lot of questions."

"I do, you're very intriguing." I down the last of my drink, the alcohol buzzing through my veins making me brave. "Sorry, I just really want to know more about you. I've seen you come into the bakery for so long but I've never had the guts to actually talk to you."

"No apology necessary," he says. "I've been just as curious about you."

I blush furiously at his words and fidget by shifting my legs so I can cross them in front of me.

"Alright, so I went to college at the University of Texas at Austin. I never graduated, actually. I was there around three years."

"Why did you decide to drop out?" I ask.

He shrugs and I realize this is a natural habit for him.

"I never cared about college. My dad works for the University so my tuition was free. I guess that makes me sound spoiled, but I hated sitting through classes. I majored in fine arts but I never had any desire to work at an art gallery or anything. I just wanted to tattoo."

I rest my elbow on my knee and lean in closer to him. "When did you decide you wanted to be a tattoo artist?"

This makes him laugh so I look to him quizzically and wait for a response.

"Sorry, your questions are very direct. I feel like I'm on an interview right now."

My spine stiffens and I immediately regret my inquisition. When I apologize he shrugs, again, and proceeds to answer my last question.

"I first got tattooed when I was sixteen. A buddy of mine had a brother who tattooed and I talked him into doing it one night."

"What did you get?"

He pulls up his pant leg to reveal an intricate dream-catcher tattooed in black ink across the entire calf muscle. It was surrounded by other tattoos, all in black and gray ink, and even though they were different styles, the imagery flowed together and it all looked seamless around his leg.

"I had the idea of a dream-catcher for so long. This was my grandmother's and it reminds me of her. Thank God my friend's brother was a damn good tattooer or I would have ended up with a janky tattoo my first time around."

I lean even closer to his leg to inspect the dream-catcher and admire the rest of his work that I could see. The hand holding the pant leg up is covered with tattoos as well and without thinking I reach out to grab it, bringing it to my lap to get a better look. I turn his hand this way and that, tracing my index finger over some of the designs. A geometric design dons the back of his hand, an old ink pen extends up his thumb towards his wrist. On his middle finger, a French bulldog looks at me and it's so realistic I stare in awe.

"That was my first dog, Tiny. If I had to do it all over again, I'd probably put his portrait somewhere else, but I'm glad I get to see him every day when I draw."

I marvel at the designs and pull up on the cuff of his dress shirt when I see the hint of another tattoo there, an intricate pirate ship over his wrist.

"These are so amazing, Jackson." I release his hand and lean back. "How many do you have?"

"I've lost count at this point," he says. "There are still areas I am saving for later in life, but for the most part my arms, neck, and chest are tattooed. The majority of my legs are tatted up, too."

"Well, I only have one," I smirk.

With that, he reaches for my hand and flips it over to look at my fresh tattoo.

"How does this feel," he looks up to me with mild concern etched on his face.

I rub the skin around the tattoo. "It's fine, I think. I don't know what to compare it to, though."

"Well keep it clean and bandage it back up later," he orders.

"Yes, sir." I give him a fake salute and slip my feet back into my heels. I grab my glass and head back to the bar, looking for a refill.

The band resumes their place on the small stage so when I grab Jackson's fingers with my own he allows me to lead him back to the dance floor. We continue our easy rhythm for a song and take another break once I start wincing as my heels begin to seriously cut into my skin. Once we're seated again, we pick right back up with our question and answer time.

"What's the strangest tattoo you've ever given to someone?"

Jackson considers my question for a moment and then says, "I tattooed a pistol right above a woman's...hoo-hoo once."

My eyes bug out and I'm sure my face is ten shades of red. "WHAT?" I yell in response.

Nodding, Jackson takes a sip of his beer and laughs. "I've tattooed people in places you wouldn't believe, honey."

"Goodness," I take a healthy gulp of wine and shake my head.

"So, let me ask you some questions," he cuts in.

"Shoot," I say.

"When did you decide to become a baker and open your own shop?"

I proceed to tell him about my love for baking, meeting Emily in college, and taking the plunge to get a degree in Atlanta.

"Wow," he replies. "I admire your hard work ethic."

"Thanks," I blush at his sincere compliment.

He asks more questions, "Do you have any siblings? Are your parents here in town?"

"I'm an only child and my mom lives here in town. My dad passed away when I was a kid."

Jackson gives me the look everyone does when they find out about my dad's death; saddened and embarrassed that they asked such an insensitive question.

"It's fine," I feel the need to console him. "I never felt like I missed out on stuff because Paige's parents always treated me like their own daughter. I miss my dad dearly, but it's OK that you asked."

"So, if all you do is run the bakery," he begins and I'm grateful for the change of subject, "then what do you do for fun?"

I feel lame but I honestly can't come up with a single thing. "I like to watch movies and read," I finally confess. "I really wouldn't have a life if it weren't for Paige."

As soon as I say those words a pang of guilt pinches my chest.

"Sorry, I guess I haven't really accepted the fact that Paige is gone. It's hard to wrap my head around."

Jackson pats my back and pulls me into his side for a quick embrace. "I get it. I think it's OK to act like Paige is still around. I mean, she kind of is with all of these letters." He grins that lopsided grin of his that's so unbelievably sexy and I melt in my seat.

"Speaking of," I cut in. "It's not quite two but I don't know if I can dance any longer. My feet feel like they're about to fall off."

Jackson pulls his phone from one of his front pockets to check the time. "It's 1:42. I say we've fulfilled our duty. Let's see what the next letter says."