“I will,” he said, nodding. “Got a client coming in in a couple weeks for another back piece. If it turns out like I think it will, I’d love to have some professional shots of it for my portfolio.”
“No problem.” The soft lash of her own ponytail against the back of her neck alerted her to the fact that she was nodding too eagerly. Purposely stilling her bobbing head, she looked directly into Jed’s eyes. “Just let me know when the tattoo’s ready to be photographed – I can always find room in my schedule for Hot Ink clients.” After all, the first photo shoot she’d done for Hot Ink six months ago had been what had really launched her full-time photography career.
“About that,” Jed said, frowning. “I know your schedule has really picked up lately. I feel bad about taking up so much of your time when you’re so in demand.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Karen didn’t even try to restrain her movements as she shook her head, the end of her ponytail whipping her jaw. “The tattoo shoots don’t take long, honestly. I go into the shoot knowing exactly what I want to focus on, and I’ve picked up some tips and tricks on how to showcase tattoos.”
“At least let me pay you more. I know you’re shooting for Hot Ink at a much lower rate than you charge your other clients – I looked at your website.”
Karen’s heart did a funny little flip-flop maneuver at the thought of Jed browsing her website, taking in all the little details of her work – sort of like how she browsed Hot Ink’s website, frequently stopping by Jed’s personal page to stare at his portrait.
“No way. The rate stays as it is. I owe you a lot, Jed – that photo shoot I did for Hot Ink’s display windows and ads got me a lot of attention and gave me the confidence to quit waitressing and pursue my photography full-time. I’d still be hefting around platters of ribs and beer and waiting for a big break if it wasn’t for you.”
Jed smiled, flashing a half-grin that showed a little tooth and nearly stopped Karen’s heart. “You’re too kind. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
“You’re not – I’ve actually been earning more since quitting my old job. I’m fine.” The admission sparked an internal glow. She was making more money as a full-time photographer than she’d been making as a full-time waitress and part-time photographer. That had been the case for months, but when she really thought about it, it still seemed a little surreal.
Jed shook his head. “I’ll wear you down eventually. Until then … thanks.” He waved the envelope. “I really appreciate the photos. Did Mina tell you how much our business has increased since we launched those ads and added some of your photography to our artists’ portfolios?”
Karen grinned. “She mentioned it.”
Something vibrated in the vicinity of Karen’s left butt cheek, and she jumped.
Jed’s dark brows rose an inch or two. “You okay?”
“Just my phone,” she mumbled, pulling the object in question out of her back pocket. She swiped her thumb across the screen, keeping her head bowed – maybe reading the text she’d just received would buy her enough time to lose the blush that had burned its way across the bridge of her nose.
Just took some pumpkin pie out of the oven. Want to stop by for dinner? We can order in from that noodle place you like.
Karen read the text a second time, her gaze slowing over the glorious words ‘pumpkin pie’ and ‘noodle place’. Nothing compared to her grandmother’s pumpkin pie, but the soba noodles from her favorite Japanese restaurant were a distant second – and that was saying something.
“Everything okay?” Jed asked.
Karen shut her mouth as subtly as possible, cringing inwardly as the fact that she’d just licked her lips registered. “Yeah, that was just a dinner invitation.”
“A date?”
“No.” The fact that he thought she’d been licking her lips at the mere thought of a date caused her to die a little inside. “It was from my grandmother.”
He grinned again for some reason. “I won’t keep you, then.”
“Okay. See you around, Jed.”
She turned without tripping, stumbling or licking her lips and made a relatively cool exit, passing the door and emerging into the aisle between the artists’ half-booths. She strode down it, ignoring the butterflies that burst into flight inside her stomach at the buzzing sound of a tattoo in progress. Yes, she loved photographing tattoos, but watching one be done usually made her feel faintly queasy. Needles … ugh. She clutched her phone a little too tightly and typed a reply to her grandmother, Helen.