"I'm Lawson. This is my shop."

Hammer felt his brows furrow and his head tilt further in confusion. He was frustrated at himself; he wasn’t usually so closed mined to think that a woman wouldn’t be called Lawson or that is wasn’t a first name. Clearly, he had gotten to lost in his own mess for the past two years. He had been alone for so long. Hammer sighed and ran his hand through his hair, looking at the woman in front of him.

Dark hair, mostly a deep brown with some red and black highlights. She had piled it in the center of her head, creating a mohawk of curls, it would have looked elegant if she hadn’t shoved quite a few pens and pencils into it. She was stunning with almond shaped eyes, a slim dainty nose and full sensual lips and a beautiful olive skin tone.

She had a piercing in her nose and eyebrow, plus silver hoops lined the entire shell of both ears. He thought her eyes might have been grey, but he wasn’t sure, she wouldn’t look at his face long enough to tell.

She had to be around 5’10 with long legs and a slim, fit frame. She was wearing a pair of low riding faded and ripped jeans, a loose black tank top, the graphic so faded he couldn’t really tell what it used to be. He could see black converse peeking out from the hem of her jeans. She looked much more laid back and grunge compared to Hammer’s clean cut, put together appearance.

She had a full sleeve tattoo on her left arm, it looked to be a galaxy scene that started just below her wrist and traveled up under her tank top and he began to wonder what other tattoos were hiding under her clothes. His head tilted to the side as his mind began to wander down that path when she cleared her throat and Hammer realized he’d been starting at her, looking like a misogynist asshole.

“You still want to do this? Otherwise I have other work to do?” Her original tone of false pleasantness was replaced by a more genuine one that was low and seductive despite the irritated frown she wore.

Hammer smiled intrigued by the change in demeanor, he liked this much more than the false bubbliness, “My apologies Ma’am. I meant no offense. Please lead the way.”

Cecilia narrowed her eyes slightly at him before nodding once. She turned and made eye contact with Franny, both their eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment before Cecilia turned and walked to a closed door. Hammer followed her into the room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes darting around the room with interest.

“If you want to take a seat Mr. Steinson.” She gestured to a tattoo chair in the middle of the room. “Is this what you wanted?”

She held up a stencil of an intricate design, flowing lines overlapped and twisted in a Celtic knot circle surrounded by two runes placed side by side. It wasn’t too large, maybe 3 inches all around but it was packed with lines. He knew he had been overbearing in their emails about this piece, but he needed it to turn out exactly right.

"Looks good."

"Alright, hold out the arm you want it one." Her fake enthusiasm hadn't come back, instead she was brisk and professional, moving with purpose and intent. Hammer presented his forearm. She placed the stencil and Hammer tried to ignore the way his skin tingled where she touched him.

“So is Lawson a middle or last name?” Hammer wasn’t sure what was happening to him. He felt an attraction to her that he had never felt before. He had rarely felt attraction to anyone before, the few dates he had been on were long ago and he had been forced into them when his best friend said he was getting to obsessed with is work. Hammer’s eyes tracked her as she worked.

“Last. It’s what I was going by when I started out, so when I came here, I continued to use it, let my past reputation speak for itself.” She shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. He was enraptured by her; every move was like a part of an elegant dance.

He wasn't sure what it was about this woman, but he could feel a strong pull to her. It didn’t help she smelled like vanilla and fresh sugar cookies.

As she finished up the last of her prep, he stared trying to figure out what it was that about her that had him close to obsessed. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up at him, “You’re staring Mr. Steinson.”

Hammer felt his fair skin heat up in a blush at being called out, “My apologizes Ma’am”

He tore his eyes away from her and looked at the art hanging on the walls, impressed by her work, “You’re very talented. Your art is amazing.”

Picking up the tattoo gun, she sat close to him, adjusting his arm to where she wanted it. She smiled faintly at his compliment, “Thank you Mr. Steinson. Any requests for music?”

“Not really. What ever you want I guess.”

“You’re the client here Mr. Steinson. It’s important you are comfortable.”

"I'd be more comfortable if you stopped calling me Mr. Steinson." He responded, getting tired of the formality in her tone.

"Well I'm not calling you Hammer," she huffed, picking up a remote and turning on music, a heavy rock beat started to play.

Hammer smiled, he could tell she didn't like his nickname the first time he had said it, but before he could say more, she turned on the machine and got to work.

He watched her work, her intensity and focus fascinating him. She wasn't what he had expected, she was so much more. She worked quickly and faster than he thought she would, it only took around 2 hours to complete. At first, he tried to engage her in conversation, but she barely replied so he stopped trying and just watched her work.

She explained after care as she cleaned and wrapped the new tattoo. He stood and followed her as she walked over to the door.

"Alright Mr. Steinson you can pay Franny. Let us know if any problems come up." She opened the door and smiled past his ear, her fake customer service persona back.

Hammer frowned, he wanted her to let her guard down with him and relax.

He walked to the door and stopped in front of her. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "You can call me Sampson, A chuisle"

When he pulled back, he finally caught her gaze. Stormy grey meet moss green and Hammer drew in a sharp breath. If felt like lightening was being shot through his veins and he barely heard C.R let out a hiss and mutter, "Aw FUCK, no."

A chuisle (uh KHUSH-leh)- an irish term of endearment meaning “Pulse”