“He’s fine.”
The woman briefly closed her eyes. Relief crossed her face. Then she looked at me again.
I swallowed because suddenly this conversation felt far more complicated than I had imagined.
“Because my husband has your face tattooed on his shoulder.”
For several seconds she simply stared at me. Then she slowly lowered herself into the nearest chair.
“Ryan did what?”
My heart skipped a beat.
She slowly shook her head.
“No.”
Neither of us spoke for several moments. Then she looked down at her coffee.
“If Ryan still hates me,” she said quietly, “I understand.”
The sentence fit none of the scenarios I had imagined. Hates her? If she had been an ex, maybe. If she had broken his heart, perhaps. But then why tattoo her face onto his shoulder?
“How do you know him?” I asked.
