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She keeps drawing for another few seconds before asking, “What did you miss?”

The question catches me off guard enough that I answer before I can turn it into something funny. “Home. My family, the coast, food that didn’t come in a takeout container, a shower where I knew how the faucet worked.”

Ruby smiles faintly and keeps sketching. “That last one sounds traumatic.”

“You have no idea.”

“What didn’t you miss?”

“That’s easier. Conlin.”

Ruby glances up from her sketch. “One of your brothers?”

“My younger brother. He’s a firefighter, and he’s been a pain in my ass for most of his twenty-seven years.” I smile. “Then there’s Lachlin. He’s older than me and works for the Coast Guard.”

“I’ve heard of him.”

I point at her. “Small-town life is getting to you already.”

“I work with the public. People talk.” She goes back to sketching. “And around here, they seem to know everyone’s family history.”

“That sounds about right.”

For the next half hour, Ruby keeps asking questions I didn’t expect to answer when I walked in. She wants to know what Europe felt like instead of what it looked like, what I want the tattoo to remind me of when I’m fifty, and whether I’m trying to mark the places we went, what we accomplished, or who I was while it was happening.

Every time I try to sidestep one of those questions with a joke, she gives me a look and waits until I answer properly. It’s irritating, but it’s also the first time anyone has made me think about a tattoo as anything more than a permanent souvenir.

Eventually, she turns the tablet toward me. The sketch is still rough, more concept than design, with lines sweeping together in a way I can’t quite decipher yet.

“No Eiffel Tower?” I ask. “No Colosseum? Tiny passport stamp?”

“If you want tourist flash, I can recommend three shops.”

I laugh and lean closer as she points to the center of the design.

“I’m thinking less about individual cities and more about movement,” she says. “The tour route can be worked into it without making it look like a map. Maybe something subtle from a sound wave, but not so obvious that it screams musician tattoo.”

“I am a musician.”

“I know. The guitar in every photograph gave it away.”

“So, you were looking at photographs?”

Her eyes meet mine. “Nell was.”

“And you just happened to be standing there?”

“I can still make you wait four months.”

I hold up both hands. “Continue.”

She gives me another look, but there’s less bite in it now. “I want to play with the design before I show you anything finished. The Amsterdam moment matters more than putting Amsterdam on your arm, and so does the fact that something changed for you while you were gone.”

I look back at the sketch. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but she’s right. Amsterdam isn’t really the point. It’s what happened there and the fact that I came home different because of it.

Ruby taps the screen off. “I’ll work up a couple of concepts and message you when they’re ready. Then we can make adjustments before the first session.”

“How many sessions are we talking about?”