The Brightest Light of Sunshine

I forgot my big girl pants at home.

Well, no, that’s a lie—this time, I actually make it to one of the stations. It’s what happens afterwards that makes me want to run away and never come back.

“This is the tattoo needle.” Callaghan holds up the devil-made weapon between his thick fingers and shows it to me up-close. “You’ll feel a prickling sensation every time it pierces your skin, but it shouldn’t be too bad. Because you want it in your ribs, though, it might sting a little more.”

“How much more?” I ask, pale-faced.

Callaghan chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll handle it like a boss. You wanted a short sentence, right? Shouldn’t take me more than thirty minutes, max.”

“Yeah, that’s what I had in mind.” I chew on my lower lip to prevent myself from asking any stupid questions. It’s kind of embarrassing when I think about it, that I had to come here and monopolize his free time because I can’t grow up and take a few stings.

“Want me to sketch it for you now?” he asks as he puts the needle back in his workstation.

“Y-You don’t have to do all this.” I’m mortified by the thought that I might be nothing but a nuance, but that he doesn’t tell me because of Aaron. “Especially when I still don’t know if I’ll go through with it.”

“Oh, you will.” He throws me a knowing smile that heats me up from the inside. “Come on. It’ll only take me five minutes and I’ll have to sketch it eventually anyway. What did you have in mind?”

Things will only get more embarrassing from this point on because my dumb ass hasn’t told anyone, not a single soul, what I want tattooed. It’s too personal, and telling people feels like peeling away a layer of myself and letting them judge my vulnerable interior. After all, this tattoo won’t be in any visible place and, if I don’t want people to know about it, they won’t unless they see me naked and peek under my boob.

Which poses a whole different set of alarming issues. If I want my skin inked, I’ll have to tell Callaghan exactly what design I want. And I’ll have to let him touch the skin right next to my boob.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Grace?”

Shit. He asked me a question, didn’t he?

“Sorry, what did you say?” I blink, hoping my face doesn’t look as flustered as it feels.

Callaghan gives me an easy smile. “I asked what you had in mind for the tattoo. I’ll work on a quick sketch so you can think on it at home.”

“Um, sure.” I pull out my phone, open an app and show him a font I like. “Something similar to this style, if you can.”

“I can do that,” he assures me in a soft, gentle tone. “Can I see the quote?”

“It’s a bit silly, actually.” I glue my eyes to the screen, although I don’t need to. My dads’ words have become a mantra for the past four years and I know them by heart.

“I doubt that.” He adjusts his stool, and in this new position one of his knees brushes mine. I don’t pull away from the contact. It grounds me and, for some reason, that faint touch gives me the courage I normally lack to peel that first layer off.

“Something happened to me a few years ago. It was pretty bad, and, um…” I don’t elaborate because I don’t think I’m strong enough to do so right now. “Since then, my dads kept telling me this same thing and I guess it grew on me. They used to say, ‘Wherever life plants you, bloom with grace.’” I give him a sad, pathetic smile. “Get it? Because I’m Grace.”

I expect him to laugh at the cheesiness of it all. To make fun of the whole thing, maybe. Instead, he says, “It’s beautiful. Great advice, too.”

“It’s an old French proverb, I think.” I suddenly get the urge to explain it to him. “Or maybe they simply saw it online and went with it.”

Callaghan chuckles and turns towards his sketching pad. “Your dads sound pretty awesome.”

I beam at that. “They’re the best. When I told them about the tattoo, they offered to pay for it and everything. They’re convinced I need to do something out of my comfort zone. Something I wouldn’t normally do.”

“Do they have any tattoos?” he asks without lifting his gaze from his design.

“Oh, no way.” I stifle a laugh as I try to imagine either of my dads with a bunch of tattoos. “They’re both these big, bad corporate lawyers. I’m not even sure they’re allowed to get a tattoo even if they wanted to.”

“I have a bunch of clients who are lawyers,” he explains. “They should be fine as long as the ink isn’t visible. Most of them go for their legs or their backs.”

I eye him carefully as he works. Every inch of his arms is covered in ink, and so are his hands up to his knuckles. My gaze lifts to the rose on his neck, and I ask, “Is your whole body tattooed? Or just the arms and the neck?”

“Pretty much only what you see.” He erases something and draws it again. “I’ve got a big one in my left calf and a few on my back, but that’s about it.”

“Oh.”

He smirks. “You sound disappointed.”

“I guess I imagined you all covered in ink, for some reason.” Not like I’m imagining his naked chest right now. Or his muscled back. Of course not.

“I’ve always wanted both my arms done. Anything else, I will do if I feel like it. I have no idea what I want tattooed on the rest of my body, so it’s bare for now.”

Then, he finally shows me the sketch he’s been working on for the past few minutes. And I let out a loud, totally embarrassing gasp.

He’s not done only one design, but two.

The first one reads ‘bloom with grace’ in lowercase and a cursive font even more stunning than the one I showed him for reference, followed by a comma. The second one is pretty much identical, except that the two ‘o’s in ‘bloom’ are in fact little suns, done in a delicate, minimalist stroke.

Before I can even begin to form a single coherent thought, he starts, “I know half of the quote is missing, but since you’re scared of the pain and the tattoo can’t be too big anyway, I added the comma instead to symbolize that no matter what happens, you’ll still bloom with grace.”

I’m too stunned to speak, and that’s probably why my voice sounds so rusty when I ask, “And the little suns?”

He gives me a small, sheepish smile I can’t look away from. “All beautiful things in life need the sun to bloom and thrive. We might not know each other very well yet, but I have no doubt you’re the brightest light of sunshine, Grace.”

I remember, then. The nickname he gave me the first time I came here, and all the other times he’s called me that. A fuzzy, warm feeling invades my chest.

“So, um,” I’m surprised to see him so taken aback all of a sudden, “take these home. Think it over, see which one you prefer, or if you’d like a new design that’s fine too. No rush, just hit me up when you’ve made up your mind.”

I take the piece of paper between my fingers and fold it carefully. “Thank you. It… It means a lot that you’ve taken the time to do this for me.”

“It’s nothing. But if you want, you can consider it my way of thanking you for staying behind with Maddie the other day.” He gives me one last smile before standing up from his stool. I do the same. “I’ll walk you out.”

My heart beats so fast as we walk to the front of the parlor that I don’t notice the summer storm lashing out outside until my hand is on the door handle. Above our heads, the already darkening sky is covered in heavy clouds.

My face falls. “Crap.”

I feel the warmth of Callaghan’s huge body right behind me, but his proximity doesn’t startle me. “I hope you’re not in a rush to get anywhere. Looks like it’ll rage for a bit.”

Glancing at the time on my phone, I notice that I’ve been in here for almost a whole hour. “I needed to finish a paper for tomorrow, and I wasn’t looking forward to pulling an all-nighter, but…”

“Come,” he suddenly says as he grabs a set of keys from the other side of the counter. “I’ll drive you home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I quickly assure him.

“I’m done for the day and Trey can close up the shop when he’s done,” he says, brushing my concerns off. “My car’s at the back. You coming?”

“I could call an Uber.”

“You could,” he agrees. “Or you could just accept my free ride.”

I mean… When he puts it like that.

Without saying another word, I follow him towards the back of the shop. He opens a metallic door leading to a small carport where a black car is parked under the narrow roof. I get inside as quickly as I can, because the wind’s picked up and I’m not wearing a jacket, and smile when I peep at what I assume is Maddie’s black and pink booster seat at the back.

“Where to?” he asks me as he starts the car.

“Preston Hall.”

“The dorm?”

“Yup.”

“Got it.”

Cocooned within a deep gray atmosphere, we ride in comfortable silence with only the sound of the rain hitting the windshield between us. Weirdly, I find myself at ease in his company as he drives through the flooded city. I’ve never liked heavy storms in the first place, so the fact that I’m not freaking out right now, while in a car with an older and stronger man, says a lot about where I’m at mentally.

My therapist would love to hear about this.

Despite the crazy rain pouring down on us, Callaghan sits behind the wheel as he would in front of the TV—relaxed, focused, also mildly bored. It’s unfair, I think as I ogle him shamelessly, how attractive he looks while driving.

He’s sporting one of those Inkjection t-shirts he uses as a work uniform, and his dark hair is pulled backwards except for that one rebellious strand that always falls on his forehead. His biceps flex as he grips the wheel to turn, and I force myself to peel my eyes away.

I must be coming down with a fever or something because there’s simply no way I’m checking him out right now.

“That’s your building, right?”

His deep voice drags me out of the very dangerous waters I was about to be drawn into.

“Yes, that’s the one,” I say, hoping my voice sounds steady even though I’m crumbling inside. “You can stop here.”

He slows down the car, hesitating. The entrance to Preston Hall is still far away. Cars aren’t allowed past the fence separating the dorms from the street, and I’ll probably be soaked wet by the time I—

“Here. Take my jacket.”

Callaghan reaches one long arm into the backseat and gives me a black denim jacket so large it would reach my knees if I put it on.

“It’s not much, but if you throw it over your head at least you won’t arrive in a complete puddle,” he offers, and unlocks the door.

“Thank you,” I mutter, still unsure about the jacket. He’s done way too much for me today, and I almost feel bad for hijacking his clothes now as well. But I also don’t want to get my hair wet.

“No problem. Just text me when you get to your room safe.” He nods towards the building and, sure enough, the rain falls so heavily I can’t even see the huge front doors.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” I give him one last smile as I put his jacket over my head. “Thank you for the ride, again. And for the jacket, and for the sketches. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“It was nothing, Grace. Take care, yeah?”

And because I can’t stand the intensity of his gaze for one more second, I simply nod and walk-run towards my dorm as fast as my feet can carry me without slipping in the torrential rain.

When I get to my room, Em isn’t there, which is good because that means she can’t see how closely I resemble a wet dog right now, or how flushed my cheeks are as I take out my phone and search Callaghan’s number. Before I text him, though, I place the miraculously dry sketch paper he gave me and store it safely inside one of my writing journals.

Me: Home safe and looking like a wet rat *thumbs up*

Not even a minute later, my phone buzzes with his reply.

Callaghan: I take it my jacket was useless after all?

Me: Not at all. I might resemble a wet rat right now, but at least my hair is dry

And then, because I might not have any self-control left when it comes to this guy after all, I double text:

Me: I’ll drop your jacket off at the parlor tomorrow

Callaghan: Ah, all worth it then. Can’t have the complete rat look. And don’t worry about the jacket, drop it off whenever.

Me: Do you like coffee? Because I totally owe you a coffee now

I bite my thumb as I wait for his response. I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of us grabbing a coffee together at some point, but if he refuses…

Callaghan: You don’t owe me anything, sunshine. I accept your offer, though. I’m physically incapable of saying no to an espresso.

I snort, imagining the tiny cup between his impossibly large fingers.

Me: Deal. I’m going to take a shower now unless I want to catch a cold. I’ll see you around 🙂

Callaghan: Good call. See you around, Grace.