Part 3No Blossoms Here

Mr. Hanson led the boy away, but Julian remained standing by my booth.

"Clara," he said, his voice low. "How have you been?"

I put down my half-empty cup. "Quite well, thank you for asking."

Silence stretched between us. Finally, the shadow over me was gone. Julian had followed the owner upstairs. The cello music faded, replaced by the soft, tranquil notes of a piano, mirroring the calm in my own heart.

The studio's owner was an internationally renowned tattoo artist. His custom designs were worth a fortune, and he only took two clients a day. It was just my luck that today was the day.

My eyes drifted over the designs on the wall, then stopped, fixed on the piece displayed in the center.

It was a photograph of a red lipstick tattoo on a man's inner thigh. The man was sitting on the floor, one knee bent, a black silk robe falling open to reveal boxer briefs and, just below them, the pale pink lipstick print. The shape of the lips was exquisite, the lines clean, creating a simmering tension against the bronzed skin.

It was a woman's mark, claimed on a man's territory.

"Miss Xu," the owner's voice pulled me back. "This way, please."

I turned and saw Julian coming down the spiral staircase, the collar of his shirt now buttoned to the top.

"So quick?" I asked.

"He's being neurotic. Decided not to get the touch-up after all," the owner said. He was clearly familiar with Julian. "You can head on up."

Julian stopped at the bottom of the stairs, one hand in his trouser pocket, his face impassive. He looked down at me, his gaze heavy and dark.

We stood there, locked in a silent standoff, and all I could think of was the last time we'd made love.

After we kissed and fell into bed, I had seen it. The red lipstick tattoo on his inner thigh.