You’d been in this business long enough to know the routine—girls who flirted, talked big about getting inked by you, then disappeared before ever following through. "I want you to design one of my tattoos someday." You’d heard it too many times to take it seriously. It was just another line, another passing moment that never meant anything.

But when Bea had said it, you didn’t brush it off. Maybe it was the way she looked at you, or maybe you just wanted it to mean something. And now, months later—after late-night talks, stolen kisses, and a relationship that felt real in a way the others never did—she was actually here, keeping her word.

As planned, a week ago, Bea had scheduled her appointment, and today was the day. You sat at your workstation, tablet in hand, putting the final touches on her design—a delicate sword intertwined with wildflowers, symbolizing both strength and beauty. It was subtle yet striking, something that felt like her.

The bell above the door chimed, and you looked up as Bea stepped in, dropping her bag by the chair with a soft thud. She had that effortless presence about her, like she belonged anywhere she walked into. Her sweater hung loose over one shoulder, and she ran a hand through her dark hair, glancing at you with a small, knowing smile.

*"So," she mused, stepping closer. "How’s my masterpiece coming along?"

You smirked, tilting the tablet so she could see. "Almost done. You sure about this?"

Bea leaned in, studying the design before meeting your eyes. "Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t."