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“Just now.”

Her appointment starts in less than five minutes. That’s basically a no-show.

“When did she reschedule for?” I ask, opening up the tracker app. She’s at home. “Is she sick?”

Frankie shrugs. “Just said she couldn’t make it; when I asked about alternate dates she said she would call back later. She didn’t sound sick, but who knows. Anyway, leg sleeve or onesie-twosies?”

I blink a few times, my thoughts already piling up. “Uh. I’ll take a few small ones, but I want to go home early today.”

“I’ll have you out of here by five,” she says, then cocks her head to the side. “You good, pal?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, doing my best impression of being unaffected. “Thanks, Frankie.”

I rip off my gloves with a snap and chuck them in the trash after she heads back to the front desk to book my appointments. What the fuck?

Everyone knows calling back later to reschedule is bullshit for I’m canceling the appointment.

Anna and I were good yesterday—we were so fucking good. What the hell happened between then and now? Why wouldn’t she show today?

I text her.

Hey, everything okay?

Immediately, a few dots appear at the bottom and then quickly stop. She’s seriously going to leave me on read? I wait for them to start up again, but after my screen times out, I shove my phone in my pocket.

Kelly and Logan are stealing glances at each other while tattooing clients. I roll my eyes. Where’s Thor?

His workstation is empty, so I march to the back room in search of him.

I find the jolly mean giant unboxing today’s shipment of supplies and step inside the room, kicking the door shut. He raises a brow at me and I blink at him.

“Can I help you?” he asks, standing in front of a countertop strewn with paper towels, gloves, bandage wraps, and a bunch of other shit. He remains fixed on the inventory slip as he checks the list against the contents in front of him. Thor looks me up and down, then snorts. “You look normal,” he says, his voice dripping in sarcasm, before turning back to his list and checking a few things off.

There’s a chair off to the side, but I can’t sit. I massage the back of my neck while actively fighting the urge to pace. This room has never seemed too small before, but at the moment the smell of cardboard and antiseptic is too strong in the tiny space.

“If someone books your time and then no-call-no-shows, do you blacklist them or what?”

He glances up. “Depends. Who pissed you off?”

“Nobody pissed me off, I’m just asking.” I lean against a shelf as if I walked in to simply shoot the breeze and not because I’m vibrating under my skin.

“Maybe she just forgot,” he suggests.

She. “I never said it was a woman.”

“Drop the act, man,” Thor mutters, crossing off another line item.

I groan. “Hypothetically, let’s say we hung out, outside of work⁠—”

“Just to clarify,” he interrupts. “Was she aware of you hanging out, or was this another you hanging out on the other side of a wall while in proximity to her?”

“We were together, hanging out. Which we’ve done a few times lately, as a matter of fact.”

“And how many times was she aware you were hanging out?”

“That’s not important to the story, but more than three. A couple were dates and⁠—”

He slowly sets down the paper and turns around, interest fully locked in now. “Dates? You don’t date.”