“One-shot or two-shot latte?”

“Small is one, medium is two, and large is three. Let’s do a medium. We don’t do that tall, grande, venti shit here, for the record.”

I slid the shot glasses under the spouts and pressed the button for two shots before bending down to open the fridge beneath and asking, “What kind of milk?”

“We do skim, two percent, soy, and coconut. Do skim, and I’ll talk you through steaming coconut and soy later.”

Nodding, I grabbed the container and poured what I hoped was enough into the metal pitcher and checked the thermometer on the side. From my own personal experience, I remembered that I needed to hit at least 155 degrees. I frothed the milk while the espresso finished dripping before grabbing a paper cup.

“Any flavoring?”

In my peripheral vision, I caught her head tilting to the side. “Amaretto.”

Keeping one eye on the milk, I grabbed the amaretto flavoring and poured one shot into the bottom of the cup before adding the espresso. When the milk came up to temperature, I added it in as well, stirring as I went.

“I can’t make any fancy designs on the top, though. I hope that’s not a job requirement.”

I set the milk pitcher and the long metal-handled spoon aside and offered the latte to Fabienne.

“We’ll have you drawing dicks in no time,” she said with a smile as she accepted the cup.

There’s no way I can fit a dick as big as Bishop’s on top of a latte. Seriously, how big was that monster?

The thought disappeared as Fabienne brought the cup to her lips. Moment of truth.

She sipped and I held my breath. Her expression gave nothing away until she lowered the latte back to the counter and nodded.

“You’ll do just fine.”

Releasing my breath, my cheeks tugged with the smile that stretched across my face. “Really?”

“Damn right, you will.”

The validation I felt from her approval soared far and beyond what I’d felt in years. I thought about holding it in, but cast that aside to pump my fist into the air.

Fabienne’s laugh seemed to fill the room, all the way to the tin-stamped ceiling. “Yeah, you’ll do just fine here. Now, let’s talk donut holes and packaging them up.” She swung her gaze to mine. “You’ve gotta handle them real carefully. Just pretend they’re a guy’s balls and you don’t want to crush them.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, you did not just say that.” Once again, a mental picture of Bishop’s equipment flashed through my brain.

“Sure did, and I bet it helps.”

And just like that, I was officially employed in New Orleans.

THE LINES OF A GIRL’S face stared back at me as I worked on the portrait of a man’s daughter on the outside of his bicep. It took all my concentration to make each one perfect because this wasn’t the kind of tattoo I could fuck up and live with myself.

“She’s going to be seven this year, and I decided this would be the way I’d always remember her. Even when she’s got a license and driving and boys are chasing after her, I always want to remember my little girl when I was the only important man in her life.”

My client’s words penetrated, and I wondered what it would be like to feel that way. With the course I’d set for my life, it wasn’t in the cards.

“You mind if we take a break? I could use a smoke.”

I was holding the tattoo machine in midair as I let my mind wander, but snapped out of it. “Of course. Take your time.” I looked down at my watch. “I’m going to run next door and get some coffee. You want anything?”

The client shook his head. “Nah, just some nicotine.”

I put everything on the counter behind me and snapped my gloves off my hands before standing and stretching. Staying in one position for too long told me exactly how much of an old man I was becoming. Thirty-three years felt older than it should most days.

But when I walked into Your Favorite Hole, the feeling fell away as laughter reached me.

Eden was standing sideways, reaching into the donut bins and pulling out selections for a man that had to be eighty if he was a day.

“I mean, come on, it is called Your Favorite Hole for a reason. You have to pick your favorite.” Her tone was light and teasing, and the man’s smile grew.

“Oh, darlin’, if I wasn’t fifty years past my prime, I’d have a whole lot more to say to that.”

The rush of possessiveness that had been dogging me since I’d met Eden didn’t come this time. The old man was harmless.

He turned and saw me. “But this young man, he looks to be about the right one for you. I bet if you teased him, he’d just pick you up and carry you home.”

Eden glanced toward me. Her cheeks bloomed with color but her smile stayed intact. “He does seem like the type, doesn’t he? I think that’s a safe bet.”

The old man glanced between us, looking intrigued. “I sense some history here. You have intentions toward this girl? As her unofficial new grandfatherly figure, I feel the need to look out for her.”

I didn’t know what it was about Eden that made people automatically want to protect and defend her, but I couldn’t fault the old man for feeling like that when it was my natural instinct.

Eden leaned an arm on the counter and rested her chin in her hand. “What say you, Bishop? Do you have intentions toward this girl?” Her tone carried laughter, but there was something else underlying it. Challenge.

I studied her and considered my response. Might as well lay it all out there. “I’ve got intentions. Plenty of them.”

Eden’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline at my answer.

The old man caught on quickly. “I bet you do, boy. I bet you do.” He laid money on the counter and reached for the box of donuts. “You better watch this one, Eden. If he’s anything like me with my Sally, he might take his time with the decision, but once he’s decided, there’s nothing that’ll stand in his way.”

His words echoed in my head. Was that what I was doing? Taking my time with the decision to make Eden mine? I hadn’t even considered the possibility of something permanent because my life hadn’t left room for it. And then here was Con asking me if I’d want to buy Voodoo, and an old man insinuating that I could have permanent intentions toward Eden.