Free Hand (Irons and Works Book 1) Page 9

  He took a breath then entered the shop, and over the counter, a tall woman with long black hair stared at him curiously. Her mouth was moving, but her wide smile made it hard for him to begin to understand what she was saying, so he quickly set the bouquet down on the table and pulled out his phone for the customary, pre-written greeting he kept saved.

  Hi, I’m Deaf, I hope typing is okay. After a second, he added, I’m look for Derek.

  She took the phone, read the message, then carefully set it down before signing with beginner’s speed, ‘My name is Katherine, is it okay to use ASL?’

  Basil was startled for a second, then remembered about Derek’s boss and his daughter, so he shouldn’t have been too surprised. ‘ASL is fine, thank you,’ he answered.

  ‘My daughter is hard of hearing,’ she signed to him. So, she must be the wife, the mother of the child. ‘I’m taking ASL 3 now and I’m still slow, sorry.’

  ‘You’re perfect,’ he corrected her with a smile. ‘Your daughter will have great parents.’

  She flushed, glancing away for a second like she couldn’t take the compliment. When she looked back, her green eyes were a little watery, but he did her the courtesy of pretending not to notice. ‘Are you here for an appointment?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I met Derek and wanted to bring him…’ he glanced back at the flowers and waved his hand at them. ‘Is he here today?’

  ‘He’s in the back giving a consultation,’ she said, spelling the last word. ‘I’ll tell him you’re here. Can you wait?’

  Basil hesitated. This wasn’t exactly the plan, but he was also barging in on Derek’s work day, so assuming he’d be free at the drop of a hat was unfair. And running again was doubly so. ‘I can wait.’

  Katherine grinned at him, but instead of heading to the back, she walked through the low swinging door and moved to the tall bookshelf which held dozens of black photo albums. She studied them all carefully before selecting one near the top, then turned and held it out for him. When he took it, she signed, ‘That’s Derek’s work if you want to have a look. He’s really good.’

  Basil fought the urge to remind her that he wasn’t there for a tattoo. He didn’t want to commit some sort of tattoo faux pas and shoot this thing dead before it began. ‘Thank you,’ he finally signed, then sank onto the soft leather couch and opened it to the first page.

  His breath immediately caught in his throat. Basil didn’t live in a cave, he wasn’t a complete recluse, and Derek’s tattoo work wasn’t the first he’d ever seen. But it was the first time he’d ever been instantly drawn in and captivated. The work in the book was a mixture of sketches on paper and photographs of people’s bodies, but every single one of them seemed to come alive on the page. They were almost nothing like his work in his gallery, and yet he could see familiarity in all the lines and shapes and shades that it was like looking at a piece of Derek himself.

  When someone touched his arm, Basil jumped, staring up almost guiltily as he saw Derek hovering a foot away. He shut the book with what he hoped was a quiet gesture, then rose to his feet feeling a little bit foolish now. Derek’s gaze was welcoming, but a little confused, and Basil couldn’t blame him.

  Before Basil could explain, Derek held out a little post-it with a note across the top. Was something wrong with Kevin?

  Basil couldn’t help but smile at the name for such an elegant creature, and he shook his head. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed his reply. I’m want to tell thank you, bring bouquet you.

  He watched Derek smile at the message and give a startled glance to the vase on the table, and Basil became distinctly aware that Derek hadn’t once attempted to question or correct his terrible English in writing. Basil could do it—he was a college graduate and had gotten by just fine in all his writing exams, but switching in his head from ASL to English was just more effort than he ever wanted to make, and sticking somewhere closer in the middle was just easier.

  Hearing people always wanted him to do better, but Derek had simply accepted it for what it was. He hadn’t tried to dumb down his own writing either, like so many people did who assumed that because Basil didn’t write it the same way, he couldn’t understand it. It meant something, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

  When he finally looked back at Derek, the other man was smiling, then tipped his hand from his chin. ‘Thank you. Beautiful.’

  Basil felt his cheeks flush, and he reached over to pat the tattoo book and repeated the sign, exaggerating it in hopes Derek would understand exactly what that meant. ‘Very beautiful.’

  Derek’s blush matched his own, and he ducked his head a little shyly, shrugging off the compliment. He held up his hand for a second, then rushed over to where Katherine was sitting, and leaned fully over the counter. Basil couldn’t help himself from taking in a full view of the man’s ass—gloriously round and looked like it would comfortably rest in both of his palms—before Derek eased back down to the floor and returned with a small notepad and a pen.

  Is this okay?

  Basil grinned and shrugged, spreading his fingers and tapping his thumb on his chest while mouthing, ‘Fine.’

  Derek scribbled again. Do you want a tour? I don’t have any clients until three. I can show you my stall and my works in progress.

  Basil hated that he couldn’t just sign, but it was what it was. He took the pen from him to answer. Your art here? You keep here? Paintings?

  Derek shook his head. I have my art studio in my apartment, this is just my tattoo work. It’s fine if you’re not interested.

  Basil quickly grabbed his arm and shook his then signed, ‘Show me,’ hoping he made the right form with his lips.

  Derek seemed to understand, because he blushed shyly again, but reached for the swinging door and held it open, gesturing for Basil to step inside. He did, feeling a little like a fish in a bowl with the way Katherine was watching him, and he was suddenly and profoundly grateful no one else was there working.

  He turned to see Derek securing the door, then he looked up and smiled so sweetly, it made Basil’s chest ache. He took a moment to gather himself, then followed Derek to the first little cubby which was sectioned off by three waist-high partition walls to give a small amount of privacy on the sides. Within the partition walls was something that looked like a folded massage table, a desk with a bright drawing board, then a massive tool box covered in various, brightly decorated stickers. Along the far wall was a pin board and it was covered from end to end with all of Derek’s work.

  ‘Wow,’ Basil signed as he leaned toward the drawings. He turned to Derek and pointed at him, then at the wall and dipped his brows. ‘Yours?’

  Derek nodded, looking shy all over again. What’s the sign for flower?

  Basil showed him and smiled when Derek copied it almost flawlessly. Holding a finger up, Derek turned to a small cabinet in the corner of his stall and came away with another book. It was a large, leather-bound sketch book, and he motioned for Basil to take a seat while he plopped down onto a backless rolling stool.

  For a second, it felt a little like a dentist’s office, and then he looked up into Derek’s soft, smiling face and suddenly it felt like the most intimate thing Basil had done in years. Derek shifted closer, until he was right alongside Basil, and he spread the book over their thighs which had pressed together.

  Basil couldn’t help the way his breath caught in his chest, stuttering in his lungs. The first page was a cascade to rival even the hanging gardens of Babylon. The outlines of the sketches were pencil, and watercolor decorated each and every bursting blossom, covering so much of the page that the bits of white left over were almost startling.

  He couldn’t help himself, he traced around the edges of the bright reds, and blues, and oranges with the tip of his finger as though he might be able to somehow feel the petals. He looked up at Derek, and he saw something in his eyes akin to fear or insecurity that Basil couldn’t allow.

  He scrambled for the paper which
Derek had set on his desk and scribbled furiously. I don’t know arts, but this…Derek. So beautiful, it make chest hurt, want tears fall. He pressed the center of his palm to where his heart was thudding rapidly against his ribs and made sure he was meeting Derek’s gaze fully. ‘Beautiful,’ he signed.

  Swallowing thickly, Derek acknowledged this with a nod of his head, then turned the page to show more of his work. The first few were more flowers, a few birds, a stretch of mountains. The rest were in something like art nouveau, something you’d see in a gallery, and Basil couldn’t imagine how he could transfer that onto someone’s skin.

  He turned to the last page and stopped. There was a single sketch there, nothing spectacular or remarkable. It was a white flower with a stringy center, the thin petals in rows and rows. It was nothing they carried in the shop, but something struck him about it—an old memory trying to claw its way to the surface.

  He tapped the page, then looked up at Derek and signed, ‘What?’

  Reaching for the notepad, Derek wrote for a long moment. It’s my favorite. Night-Blooming Cereus. It’s a flower on cactus and it only blooms at night, so it’s really rare to see them, but their smell is amazing. I saw one once at this botanical garden when Sage and I were younger. When my dad… Anyway, I went home and drew it, but it didn’t look right, so I kept going until I was happy. I threw it in my book, but no one ever wants that tattoo.

  Basil closed his eyes for a moment against his will, shutting out everything but the moment from his childhood. He’d been five, maybe six, and his mother had pulled him out of bed well into the early, dark hours of the morning.

  ‘I want you to see this, okay?’ she told him, her hands flying in the light of the full moon. They crept across the flagstones to her succulent garden and she tugged him to his knees. The cactus itself was unremarkable. Faded green in long cylindrical barrels that reached up from the main stalk. It didn’t look covered in thorns like so many of the others, there was a sheen to it like it might be soft to touch. He didn’t though. He’d learned his lesson years ago at the hands of her garden that many of the most beautiful were also the most dangerous.

  He started to fidget, impatient, and then the half-formed white flowers along the side began to open. It felt like an eternity, but when they did, his mother urged him forward, and he was overwhelmed with the scent. To this day, nothing had compared, nothing had come close, and he hadn’t been able to describe it.

  ‘This is you,’ his mother had told him. ‘Waiting for your chance to bloom, and maybe not everyone will see it, but the ones who do will appreciate the magic you can bring.’

  He forced his eyes to open, to shake that off because he was about to become overwhelmed. He felt a fierce, hollow ache in his chest from missing her so damn much right in that moment, because she would have loved this.

  He reached out, tracing his finger around the flower, then looked back up at Derek. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You OK?’ Derek signed.

  Basil almost laughed, only because there were no real words for what he was feeling. Instead he splayed out his fingers and tapped his thumb on his chest, mouthing along with the sign, ‘Fine.’

  It was obvious Derek didn’t believe him, but he didn’t push either and for that, Basil was eternally grateful. He carefully handed the book back and started to rise, but before he could take a step away, Derek touched him on the arm and handed over the notebook.

  I could give you one, if you ever want. Anything you want.

  Basil blinked at the note, then looked back up at Derek and smiled. I’m not sure I could afford your fee. Your work is too good to be cheap.

  Derek shook his head, his hand shaking a little as he scribbled back. No, free. I wouldn’t charge if it was something you wanted.

  For a split second, for just a single beat of his heart, he let himself think about Derek inking that flower on him, giving him a tangible, permanent thing between them, and a visible reminder of the person his mother wanted him to be. Then he felt a wave of irritation because he was not the kind of person who wanted any kind of charity.

  Thank you, but no.

  Maybe it was the look on his face, or the harshness to the letters, but Derek swallowed and nodded, taking the book back. His mouth opened, then closed, like he was going to say something, but instead he turned on his heel and walked out.

  There was a moment, so awkward it was painful, where Basil let himself stand in Derek’s stall for another moment. Then he pushed past the little partitions and headed for the door. He was a few feet from the front of the shop when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and his eyes widened as he turned to see Katherine there.

  ‘Wait,’ she signed. ‘Please?’

  He paused, nodding to her a little sharply.

  ‘He upset you.’

  Basil licked his lips, letting out a breath, then shrugged and signed slow for her, ‘I don’t want pity. He offered me a free tattoo, but I don’t need it.’

  Her face moved through a complicated expression, then she shook her head. ‘Not pity, not charity,’ she replied. ‘Men like Derek, men like my husband, this is their passion. This isn’t just a job. If an artist like Derek offers you his work like that for free, it’s because he knows you’re important, that you deserve it. Tattoos aren’t for pity.’

  Her signs were uneven and her grammar a little hard to follow, but it was enough for him to understand. He could see it in the way her fingers trembled and in the way her jaw was set tight—she meant it. He’d turned and walked away from Derek because he’d misunderstood.

  And maybe that was another sign from the universe that it wasn’t meant to be. The language barrier was hard enough, and he might have just ruined something good. ‘Sorry,’ he finally told her.

  Her smile softened. ‘He’s not angry. The guys are all learning sign for my daughter. Come by more. They’ll sign for you, they’ll keep practicing. You’d be a good fit here.’

  He snorted a laugh. ‘I’m not an artist.’

  ‘Yes,’ she told him pointedly, ‘you are. Not the same as us, but you are. And you’re welcome. You fit,’ she repeated.

  It was…it was a lot, but it was so tempting he nearly burned with it. He hadn’t willingly let himself be part of an all-hearing group ever in his life, not even groups of students back in college. Because they never understood, and ultimately, they left it up to him to fit in with them. Yet, for whatever reason, he wasn’t sure it would be the same here. He wanted to rebel against that thought, but maybe it was worth a chance. Maybe there was room in his life for both worlds.

  Amaranth had never hated it, and maybe he didn’t have to either.

  7.

  “Shit. Fuck. Shit,” Derek cursed, staring at himself in the mirror. He ignored the laugh behind him as he ran his comb through his hair one last time, all-but destroying any positive effect the pomade might have had. A few locks of hair flopped down over his forehead and he groaned, turning to a smirking Sam who was lounging on his bed with one leg hooked up under his arm and hugged to his chest. “This is going to be a disaster.”

  Sam released his leg, using his hands to shift himself to the edge of the bed, and he beckoned Derek over. “Maybe,” he conceded as Derek knelt in front of him. He spread a little more product on his fingers and began to fuss with Derek’s hair again. “But it probably won’t be. The worst that can happen is that you don’t like each other. Sage trusts this guy, right? And you know as well as I do, he wouldn’t set you up with some asshole.” Sam gave both his shoulders a firm pat and sat back a little, but Derek didn’t stand back up just yet.

  “I just,” he started, then shook his head and flopped back onto his ass.

  “You just can’t stop thinking of your hot florist?” Sam offered.

  Derek flushed but couldn’t deny it. “I just don’t know how I fucked up so bad.”

  “It was a miscommunication,” Sam told him gently. “But you said the guy wasn’t interested in you anyway, which is why you’re doing th
is whole blind date thing.”

  Derek shrugged, letting himself fall all the way onto his back, and he stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t look over when he heard a gentle thud as Sam hit the ground, and he shuffled up next to him so they could lay shoulder to shoulder. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult about this, but I feel like some idiot teenager discovering his first crush.”

  Sam shifted onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow and looked at Derek carefully. “You didn’t really get to have that, did you? The simple, easy middle school crush?”

  Derek dragged a hand down his face, then turned his head to look at his friend. “I mean, yes and no. I had my first crush—his name was Brent, and he was in eighth grade and the captain of the soccer team. One day in PE some fuck-face threw a dodge ball and hit me on the temple and damn-near knocked my ass out. I came to with Brent holding an ice pack to the back of my neck and gently calling my name. It was like…some shit out of Titanic or something. Music played, Celine Dion was there.”

  Sam chuckled quietly, nudging him in the ribs with his free hand. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

  Derek shrugged, unrepentant. “For that ten minutes, I felt like a normal kid. Til I got home and my old man started in on me for being a pussy because of course the nurse called him. I never spoke to Brent again after that. I was petrified my dad would find out and…” He shuddered and didn’t let his head go there. “So, I guess yeah. I mean, I did get those moments, but I never really got to hold on to them.”

  “Maybe you’re just making up for it now,” Sam suggested.

  Derek closed his eyes and sighed out a lungful of air. “I’m a grown-ass adult, Sammy. I don’t want some teenage crush on the boy I can never have. I want something normal—something that makes me feel good. All of my relationships up to this point have been for fucking and free tattoos and I’m exhausted. And Sage had it once—all the good shit—the Katherine and Tony shit. Then he fucking died, and I keep thinking, what if we’re just cursed, me and him? I’ll never find someone who wants me for me and not for what I can give them, and he’ll never get to keep the people he loves.”