Page 25

I shake my head and return my attention to his arm, relieved when he lets the question go.

By the time I finish the section we planned for today, his arm is flushed and slightly swollen, but the first stage looks good. The route and waveform are in place, with enough shading to give the design some depth without crowding it.

I clean away the last traces of ink and hand him the mirror. “Take a look.”

Zander turns his arm slowly, studying the way the design moves with him.

Then he lets out a quiet, “Damn.”

I smile. “Good damn or bad damn?”

His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “I love it.”

My chest warms in a way I’d rather blame on professional satisfaction, so I do.

Once I’ve cleaned and covered the tattoo, I go through the aftercare instructions while he pulls his shirt back on carefully.

“I’ve done this before,” he reminds me.

“I know, but I’m still telling you. Keep it clean, follow the instructions I give you, and don’t decide you know better because you already have tattoos.”

He laughs. “I’ll follow the rules.”

“That would be a nice change.”

“Neighbor rules and tattoo rules are completely different things.”

I should’ve known better than to leave him an opening.

At the front desk, I pull up my schedule and find the same time, two weeks out. Zander confirms it without hesitation, and I add the appointment before handing him the card.

“Try not to destroy my peace between now and then.”

He gives me the familiar easy smile as he heads for the door.

That evening, I’m at home sketching when the first chord comes through the wall. I stop.

Another chord follows, then another. I wait to see if he keeps the volume reasonable.

He doesn’t.

I set down my pencil and knock hard against the shared wall. The music stops, and for a moment, there’s silence.

Then Zander’s voice carries through the wall. “What do you want to hear?”

I stare at it. “Silence is an underrated genre.”

Nothing. Not a sound.

I smile despite myself and reach for my pencil again. Five seconds later, he starts playing something else.

It’s softer this time. Slower.

I sit there listening for longer than I intend to before shaking my head and going back to my sketch. The annoying part isn’t that Zander Hale refuses to stop playing music.

It’s that I’m starting to understand why he loves it.

Chapter five