Page 17 of Sing For Me

“Will?” I blurt out suddenly. “How did you know to go get Marissa?”

I have no earthly idea what possessed me to say it. I would prefer he forget all about what a nut job I had just been, yet here I am reminding him.

“I noticed you got a little tense out in the front earlier,” he says. “She seemed to calm you down.”

“Oh.” I had no idea what else to say to that. It had only felt like a little blip to me, the tension when I’d first seen him, when I’d taken in how big he was. Had he really been watching me that closely?

The machine’s buzzing stops and he spins on his stool to dip the needle into fresh ink.

“My aunt has panic attacks,” he says easily, back still turned to me, no more emotion in his voice than if he’d been commenting on the weather. “Not so much lately. But there are certain things that help her calm down.” He finally turns back to me, gaze immediately locking with mine. “I figured your friend would know what you needed.”

I nod, not sure what else to say. I could explain that it’s not panic attacks for me, not really. That I go to a much darker place than mere fear when I’m having an episode. But I don’t ever talk about that, certainly not with strangers.

Will goes right back to work, the needle buzzing again as the stinging pain resumes. “It’s pretty embarrassing,” I finally say, trying to laugh.

He doesn’t stop working, but the fingers of his other hand move from where they were holding the skin of my ankle to wrap gently around my lower shin. Even through his gloves, I can feel the warmth of him on my skin. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he murmurs. “Nothing at all.”

And just like that, the mortification falls away. He really doesn’t seem to care in the slightest that I freaked out. He never gave me one of those pitying, uncomfortable looks I’m so used to when I confessed about the pain in my hip. He’d just figured out what I needed and made sure I had it.

Who is this man? And how on earth did I get lucky enough to cross his path?

Suddenly, I want to know everything about him.

“Have any of your siblings let you give them tattoos?” I ask, thinking about that gorgeous sun tattoo he’d done for his dad.

Will smiles, eyes on his work. “My older brother, Wyatt, he’s got a few. He actually let me do one of my very first ones, when I was still learning.” His smile turns rueful. “Guy is stuck with a wonky little star on his wrist for the rest of his life.”

I laugh—which is absolutely crazy. It usually takes me way longer than this to even out after an episode. “Sounds like a good big brother.”

“He’s the best,” Will says, and I can see the way his eyes soften. “I keep telling him he should let me cover it up with something better, but he’s insistent on keeping it the way it is. Says it’s meaningful just like that.”

“That’s kind of adorable.”

Will lets out a bark of laughter. “I’ll tell him that next time we talk. He’ll be thrilled by that description.”

“Does he live around here?”

“Nah. He’s a concert pianist, plays in a symphony up in Seattle, when he’s not traveling.” His voice radiates pride.

“And your other siblings? Do they have wonky stars too?”

“God no,” he laughs. “Silas is only sixteen. Mom would kick my ass if I put ink on him. And CeCe is the baby of the family. She needs to wait about twenty years before she gets a tattoo.”

“How old is she?”

“Thirteen.”

I laugh. “So she has to wait until she’s in her mid-thirties?”

“That’s right,” he says, grinning. “That’s when she’s allowed to date, too. If she’s lucky.”

“Poor girl. All those big brothers.”

He snorts. “Don’t you feel sorry for her. She’s spoiled rotten by everyone.”

“Including you?”

He glances up from my ankle for a spit second to give me a sheepish smile. “Especially me.”