The second cocktail hit me a little harder, and I was laughing as Bishop told me stories about tattoo cover-ups he had done. From the run-of-the-mill ex’s names, wedding dates, and wedding rings, to penises, vaginas, and things that couldn’t actually be identified.

“Don’t you get tired of covering up people’s mistakes?” I asked.

He shook his head, his expression thoughtful before he answered. “I don’t consider it a mistake. It’s a new beginning. A second chance. Why should we be stuck with something we don’t want when it can be fixed?”

The words hit home. A new beginning. A second chance. Wasn’t that what I really wanted? Not just an experience or an adventure? Something permanent. Like ink.

It suddenly occurred to me that Bishop might have an ex’s name hiding under one of his many tattoos. Did he have a second chance or a new beginning on his skin?

“Have you ever had a tattoo covered up?”

Bishop nodded, and I held my breath waiting for his answer. “Absolutely. Who do you think had the tattoo that couldn’t be identified?”

I blinked as a rush of relief blasted away the momentary gut twisting. “What do you mean, it couldn’t be identified? How do you get tattooed and not know what it is?”

Bishop shrugged. “I was young and stupid and it was a friend. He sucked, and I should never have let him near me with a tattoo machine. I had my uncle cover it up.”

“Your uncle?”

Bishop’s posture stiffened, and his easy mood seemed to evaporate. “Yeah, he’s the one who taught me the trade. He raised me, most of the time in the tattoo shop. He’s the reason I do this.”

“Is that how Delilah learned too?” Part of me wanted to drop the subject because something about it clearly made Bishop uncomfortable, but I wasn’t sure if I’d get another opportunity to ask.

He shook his head. “No. Our parents were killed in a car wreck and they didn’t have a will. My mom’s sister didn’t want to take us both, so she took Delilah, and my dad’s brother stepped up to take me. He already had a kid of his own and a struggling business, so he couldn’t handle adding two more mouths to feed either. Just one extra was a struggle. I think Delilah became an artist just to piss off our straight-laced aunt, if you want to know the truth.”

My heart clenched as I imagined how horrible it would have been to lose your entire family in one fell swoop the way he had. “I bet that was hard, especially being separated from your sister.”

Bishop shrugged. “It was better than ending up in foster care. We were lucky, really.”

“Do you still get to see your uncle? Does he still have his shop?”

Bishop’s gaze dropped to the table as his shoulders tensed again. “He passed away. My cousin too.”

Kicking myself for probing what was obviously a painful subject, I apologized. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.”

He held up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s been a long time, but you know some things just take a hell of a lot longer to fade.”

I thought of the flashes of memories I had of my mother that weren’t even fully formed. I was four when she died. I still missed her, even though I’d never had a chance to actually know her.

“I understand.”

Our conversation trailed off as the food began to arrive. Crawfish four different ways, and I loved every single one of them. I steered the conversation back into lighter territory, and the easy, fun Bishop I’d had all night surged back to the surface.

“Did you save room for dessert?” the server asked as he cleared away our plates. “We’ve got a phenomenal crème brûlée and a fabulous apple dumpling.”

Bishop shot a look at me before answering. “I’ll let the lady decide if she wants anything, but I know what I’m having for dessert, and it’s not on the menu here.”

A shiver ripped through me at the heat in his gaze, and I knew exactly what he was talking about.

“I’m good. No dessert for me.”

“We’ll take the check,” Bishop said, his tone husky.

THE WALK BACK TO VOODOO Ink and my apartment seemed to take forever as we dodged the people clogging the streets. No one was ready to call it quits on Mardi Gras, and I knew the party would last until the sun came up, just like it did every year.

After three hurricanes, Eden’s steps were more measured and deliberate as the buzz hit her harder.

“Come on, cupcake.” I swept her up into my arms as she shrieked.

“You can’t carry me all the way back! I’m too heavy.”

“Watch me.”

She wrapped an arm around the back of my neck and with her other hand, stroked my beard. “I like the beard. A lot.”

Immediately, an image of how she’d ridden it popped into my head. I fucking liked my beard too. “Is that right?”

“Yep. You should probably think about taking up lumberjacking as a second career if tattooing ever falls through. Is that a thing?”

“Lumberjacking or tattooing falling through?”

“Either.”

I shook my head. “No way am I gonna go somewhere cold and dress up in flannel in order to chop down trees. If you’ve got a lumberjack fantasy, you’ll have to lock it away for a while.”

She looked up at me, her eyes shining as I turned the down the alley that led to the back of Voodoo, and the crowd thinned out. “Nah, I’d rather have you than a lumberjack.”

“What a coincidence. That can be easily arranged.” I set her on her feet, and she held on to my arm.

“You make me feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you. Like everything was in a holding pattern until I got here, and now I’m finally getting a chance to live.”

Her words hit me somewhere deep and resonated. I’d been existing, never letting anything go beyond superficial. Eden had plowed through my walls without trying, and from the moment I’d met her, everything had become more vivid. She was the turning point. She was a wild card.

What I didn’t know was if this could ever be more than an adventure for her. More than one of the experiences she wanted to have. She still hadn’t figured out how long she was staying, and as much as I wanted to tell her she wasn’t leaving, it wasn’t my choice.