Page 46

His mouth curves. “You sure?”

I don’t look up. “Annoying the woman holding the tattoo machine is a poor survival strategy.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It’s professional advice.”

He laughs quietly and finally holds still.

For the next half hour, we stay mostly on safe subjects. He tells me the band has been rehearsing new material. I tell him about some of the wild designs I tattooed while I was in San Francisco.

Eventually, though, music takes over the conversation. It starts because he asks what I was listening to when he came in.

“Black Keys.”

His eyebrows lift. “Okay.”

I glance at him. “What?”

“Nothing. I just wouldn’t have guessed Black Keys.”

I wipe his shoulder clean. “Let me guess. You saw the black clothes and eyeliner and built an entire playlist for me.”

“Maybe part of one.”

“That seems reliable.”

He smiles, and I adjust his arm before starting the next section. “I listen to whatever fits what I’m doing. Indie rock, blues, older stuff. Some folk if the lyrics are good.”

“Older stuff?”

“Fleetwood Mac. Tom Petty. Zeppelin. Stones.”

His mouth curves. “So, The Chain wasn’t random.”

“No.”

“You could’ve requested something terrible. I appreciate the restraint.”

“I didn’t realize my approval mattered so much.”

“It didn’t until you spent a week threatening my amplifier.”

I laugh under my breath and keep working. “Hozier. Kaleo. Lord Huron when I’m drawing. Stuff like that.”

Zander nods like something has finally clicked into place. “Okay. That I can hear.”

I look up. “You can hear my music taste?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not really, but I’m enjoying watching you try to explain it.”

I consider it while I shade a narrow section near the upper edge of the piece. “Brandi Carlile sometimes. Nathaniel Rateliff. Anything with lyrics that say something.”

“You listen to lyrics first?”

“Usually.”