Echoes of Scotland Street (On Dublin Street #5)(29)
Author: Samantha Young

“No,” I said honestly.

“Why?”

Surprised that he seemed genuinely interested in my opinion, I turned my attention back to the photograph. It was taken from somewhere on Loch Fyne (as detailed in the title) and the artist had used recyclable material to build a cityscape over the loch. “It doesn’t say anything that hasn’t been said before. Many times. And in far more creative and meaningful ways. It’s . . .”

“Amateur,” Cole finished. “Agreed.” He shook his head in consternation. “I’ll grant you the construction of the cityscape is well-done, but art in this landscape”—he gestured around the gallery—“should always say something new or at least say something old in an original way.”

We moved on and I was quickly caught up in our shared passion. A lot of the times we agreed, but even when we didn’t Cole listened to why I thought differently and accepted it as though it was my right. Thoughts of Ollie’s bullying opinions intruded, but I forcefully pushed him out of my head.

An hour later we wandered out into the cool day and Cole smiled thoughtfully at me. “I didn’t realize you were so into art. Do you draw, paint, sculpt?”

Still not ready to share that part of me with anyone just yet, I successfully avoided the question by pointing out a café across the street. “I’ve always wanted to eat there. Fancy brunch?”

Cole apparently didn’t think anything of my change of subject and soon we were seated in the café, having coffee and scones brought to us.

“Have you always been into art?” I said.

Cole chewed and swallowed his bite of scone and brushed off his crumb-covered fingers. “Yeah. It used to be mostly comics and cartoons as a kid, but as I got older I got more and more into my art classes. I was influenced a lot by my brother-in-law, Cameron. He’s a graphic designer and he spent a lot of time encouraging me and my art.”

“What about your sister? Your parents?”

Cole smirked, but there was a sadness in the look. “Jo, definitely. She’s supported me since the moment I came screaming into the world. As for my parents, I don’t remember my dad and he’s been out of my life since I was a baby. I wasn’t close to my mum.” He looked down at his scone. “She passed away when I was nineteen.”

Feeling awful for bringing it up, I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Don’t be.”

At the cryptic and quiet, emotion-fueled response, I decided it might be better to change the subject. “Do your tattoos mean anything?”

Cole’s whole body relaxed and when he looked at me it was with a grateful smile. His fingers brushed the tattoo on his neck. “J and C. Jo and me. Jo and Cam. The three of us. Cam has the same tattoo.”

“You guys must be really close.”

“Jo’s the best sister anyone could ever ask for. I’m really proud of her. And Cam . . . I owe him a lot.”

I was pleased for him that he had that in his life. Smiling, I gestured to his wrist. “And the tattoo there? I’ve been trying to read the script for weeks now.”

He laughed and turned his hand over, pulling the sleeve up so I could see the tattoo on the underside of his wrist. He held it up and I leaned across the table to read it, just stopping myself from touching him. As I took in the words, I felt a little dizzy with the rush of familiarity and rightness that rushed over me.

“Arm your fears like soldiers and slay them.”

“TATE lyrics,” I murmured, referring to the band The Airborne Toxic Event. The lyrics were from the song “All I Ever Wanted” off their second album, All at Once. That album was the anthem of my young adulthood, and those were my favorite lyrics of all time.

And Cole Walker had them tattooed on his body.

I didn’t know if I was turned on or in love.

Or both.

“My favorite TATE lyrics,” I added.

Cole gave me a slow, hot grin that edged me more toward the whole turned-on thing. “Mine too.”

For the first time in weeks we shared one of those long, meaningful looks.

I broke it before I could no longer breathe under the intensity of my attraction. “Left arm?”

In answer, Cole took his sweater off and thankfully (or not so thankfully depending on how you looked at it) he was wearing a T-shirt underneath it. He pulled the short sleeve up his shoulder so I could see the woman and the wolf tattoo more clearly on his muscular arm. Her hair billowed against a full moon I hadn’t seen before because it was usually covered by the sleeve of his T-shirts.

“What does it mean?”

That boyish grin of his made another appearance, but this time it was edged with something akin to shyness. “It’s sort of a tribute to the women in my life, and mostly it’s a reminder that there are women like them out there.” He shook his head, the spark in his eyes dimming. “Let’s just say I had a shit mum, Shortcake.” He tapped his fingers against the sleeve tattoo. “I wanted this reminder that not all women are like her. There are women who know the importance of family, and will do anything to protect that. I wanted the symbolism of it on here, but I also like paranormal stuff and thought as art this particular idea worked better with that element involved.” He chuckled now. “Stu did it and he thought the woman howling at the moon would be more sexual, and I quote, ‘Will dilute all the sentimental shit so you don’t look like a fucking pussy.’”

I laughed. “Men and their macho-man bull crap.”

Cole joined in my laughter and nodded. “He meant well.”

“He did a good job. But then again, he’s Stu Motherwell. Did he do the eagle and the pocket watch?” I pointed to his right sleeve tattoo.

“Yeah.” Cole pulled up the fabric of his T-shirt, attempting to show me that the tattoo actually started on his right shoulder before curving around his upper biceps and down.

“And it means?”

He sighed. “This one is a little morbid. Well, it used to be.”

I eyed the pocket watch. “I get what the tattoo’s general meaning is. Time is prey. It’s short-lived, right? Live it while you can.”

He nodded.

“But does the time you’ve got on the pocket watch have meaning?”

“That was the morbid part.” He eyed me, almost challenging me to judge him. “The time is when the paramedics called time of death on my mum.”

Uneasiness moved through me as I began to realize that Cole’s mum had really done a number on him.