Caleb wasn’t the type of guy to find himself in a tattoo shop. No, not at all. It was Ramine who’d convinced him to do this. He was embarrassed. They weren’t young like the other couples who did this sort of thing. He was forty-one and she was forty-two. Well seasoned. Past the point of these experimentations.
The owner’s body was practically alive with art—he was portly and just a little older than Caleb. Since it was a small town, and a small shop, this man was also the artist. He watched the two of them leaf through his tattered book of designs. While Caleb pointed at crisscrossing spiral motifs, Ramine wanted something simple.
“Pure,” she said. “Our love isn’t that complicated.”
