Permanent Ink (Something to Celebrate #1) (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

A few days later, Blair wasn’t moving so well. Her body hurt, and it wasn’t just from all the time she’d been spending with Ben. That was worth it.
More
than worth it.

They’d spent almost every free hour in his bed—correction—their bed. She still blushed when she thought about the fact that he called it that. Somehow they’d been able to strike a comfortable balance between intimacy and not talking about anything having to do with the parade. Okay, so it wasn’t a healthy balance, but it worked.

She’d managed to bring up Ink Fest a lot—and even convinced him to take a more active role. When Starling had left town in dramatic fashion after the bachelor auction, she’d proved to be unreachable, and there was a distinct possibility that Ben wouldn’t have a headliner for the festival at all. He might have to do it himself.

He wasn’t too happy about it, either, because whenever Blair reminded him of the fact that he was making a name for himself, he brushed it off and kissed her. And kissed her some more…until they were flopped across the bed, laughing. The laughter soon turned to panting and then to other noises that even now, after they’d been together too many times to count, brought fire to her cheeks when she thought about them.

Right now she didn’t have time to think about them. The parade was in three days.

The accounting girls were freaking out, all of them about to take personal days to help finish the floats, but Blair had reassured them that everything was going to be fine. She would do it. She didn’t need any help.

She needed to stay in this insufferably hot barn and paint floats. Alone. Because everyone else involved with the parade had jobs to be at, and well…this
was
her job. She fully intended for the floats to end up subpar, but she couldn’t very well leave them
blank
.

But at the same time, there was no way at this point that the floats would ever be good enough to win a contest. They were good enough for Celebration, but they could have been so much better.

Groaning, she stretched out her hand for a paintbrush, which sat in a can on top of a stack of other cans. It was beyond her reach, and her fingers grasped at thin air.

“Come on,” she muttered, pushing up on her toes. Her hair fell in her eyes. “Come onnn,” she repeated, gritting her teeth, stretching farther.

When she bumped into a ladder propped up against the Young-Abe-Lincoln-in-Kentucky float, there was a noise of metal sliding against metal, and suddenly the entire stack of cans came crashing down.

“Oh, shit!” she screeched, her heart hammering. She stood still, trying to catch her breath.

Then she really took a good look at the float. It was Abe’s, all right, but directly in front of the cabin stood a cherry tree. Blair glanced across the barn at the George Washington float. No cherry tree. She looked back at Abe’s float and sighed. There was no time to rebuild it, and she couldn’t scrap it. This float was one of Barb’s babies—and Barb was going to dress her husband as Abe and stick him on top of it. Maybe if Blair put some trees in front of the cabin, it wouldn’t be so bad. They had extra potted trees.

Blair groaned. What was she thinking? This was a
good
thing, and she needed to make it even better. There had to be an ax ready to go.

She looked around, wild-eyed, her gaze flicking over the props stacked in a corner. An old-timey telephone. A dressmaker’s dummy. A pirate sword. An exaggerated cardboard axe.

There it was!

With a nod, Blair picked her way through the paint-can mess and grabbed the axe. She laid it on the float and let out a rueful laugh. Barb was sweet, but awfully clueless—and Blair had met her husband. The man did what he was told, and if Barb told him that Abe Lincoln had chopped down the cherry tree, he wouldn’t even blink an eye.

The judges would, though.

So it was a happy accident.

Done. What was next?

There were still five floats left to be painted—she’d left those until the last, because they were the best ones. If they weren’t finished, they could be left out of the parade.

Damn it, though. Hadn’t she caused enough damage? She needed to paint them.

With a sigh, she grabbed a bucket of gray, dragged it toward Mount Rushmore, and climbed up on top of the float. She dipped a brush in the paint and tackled Thomas Jefferson. It felt kind of good to smack at his face—not that she had any issue with Jefferson—but she had a lot of pent-up anxiety. She slapped with the brush.

“Take that,” she muttered.

She slapped him again. “And that. You suck and you know it. This whole parade sucks.” She laughed. “Because I made it suck.”

She drew her hand back and brandished the brush. “You want to lose the contest don’t you, Thom? Yeah. Me, too.”

As she gave him another wallop, there was an intake of breath from the doorway of the barn.

Blair whirled around and gaped at Kaley, who took a step forward, her eyes full of shock.

Two seconds later a huge chunk of Jefferson’s nose fell off.

“What the
hell
, Blair?” Kaley shook her head. “Why?”

“Oh God,” Blair choked out. “It’s not what it looks like.”

But it was, mostly. And Kaley knew it was—that much was obvious, because the girl’s eyes began to fill with tears and she backed away.

“Kaley…” Blair scrambled down from the float. “Come on. Let’s talk about it.”

Kaley gave her the finger and walked out of the barn.

Blair followed her. “Please. Please don’t—”

“Don’t worry, Blair. I’m not going to say anything,” Kaley interrupted. She turned around. “But I’m not keeping my mouth shut to protect
you
. I hope you know that.”

Blair stood there, not blinking. Gray paint from the brush in her hand dripped onto her shoes. “I wouldn’t expect that. Not after—”

“Save it.” Kaley shook her head. “You have everything going for you in this town. People love you. Ben loves you. I don’t get it.”

Blair started to speak again, but Kaley held up a hand.

“Lola dropped me off here to help you. Thank God she didn’t witness this.” Kaley looked at the van and then back at Blair. “Give me your keys. I don’t want to be around you.”

Wordlessly, Blair handed her the keys.

…

The next morning as Blair stood in front of Ben’s coffeemaker watching the mug fill with steaming liquid, she squinted against the bright sunlight streaming through the raised blinds. Leaning over, she grabbed the pull to lower them and winced as the sore muscles in her thighs protested. At least her eyes could rest, even if her body couldn’t. Three hours sleep never agreed with her, but last night had been so worth it.

She smiled to herself, hugging Ben’s T-shirt shirt around her middle. He loved her. It was all that mattered.

But even as she told herself that, her smile faltered. It
should
be all that mattered.

Yesterday afternoon, after Kaley left, Blair had walked back into the barn, so shocked that her head was buzzing. She’d stood there for a few minutes, staring at the unpainted floats, and then without allowing herself to think, she’d gotten to work.

Five hours later, Ben had called when he’d been finished with work, offering to come help. She’d said exactly what she always said when he tried to help with the parade. She’d told him that she could handle it and wouldn’t it be nice if he picked her up when she was finished?

Of course he’d agreed. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Sighing, she took the mug of coffee and wandered into Ben’s living room, sitting gingerly on the sofa.

“I heard that,” Ben called from the bedroom.

“What did you hear?”

He appeared in the doorway, his hair wet, a towel wrapped around his waist. “The sound of a woman rethinking something or other.”

“I’m not,” she said, taking a sip of coffee, averting her eyes.

He walked into the room and slumped into an armchair, gazing at her. “Hmm. Let’s hear it then.” He reached across, took the mug from her hands, and drank from it. “Go on.”

With an exasperated sigh, Blair tucked her knees up onto the sofa cushion and shook her head. “I’m worried.”

Ben took another sip and handed the mug back. “About what?”

“Like…I’m afraid that we aren’t going see each other much over the next few days. Tomorrow’s the Fourth. The parade in the morning…Ink Fest opening in the afternoon. And then it runs for five days.”

That was true, at least. What she wouldn’t give to chuck everything and run away with him.

“It’ll be okay. I’m going to set up at the senior center today and I’ll stay until it’s finished so I have tomorrow morning free. I’ll be at your parade, Blair. To support you, but I’m also really looking forward to it.” He chuckled. “Ink Fest? Not so much. I have to give a speech. And then there’s that TV interview on the sixth.”

She laughed. “I know. I set it up. You’re going to be great, you know. It’s not that bad.”

“It is for me. If I could hand it off to someone else, I would. But I can’t. I’m the sponsor.”

“Yes, you are. And a really sexy one at that.” She grinned at him.

He stared at her for a second and then burst out laughing. “You’re a lot more relaxed than I thought you’d be right about now.”

“Why? Because of the parade?” She shrugged.

“Now that’s a shocker.” He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “Blair Whitaker? Not overwhelmed?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

“Okay,” she relented. “Maybe I’m a little bit stressed. My parade committee…those women are so nice, but I gave them one task all to themselves. All they had to do was find a parade marshal. And do we have one? Twenty-four hours before the parade? No.”

She didn’t want to think about the fact that she’d let it happen. She hadn’t reminded them, hadn’t nagged them…nothing. But despite everything else, the parade had to have someone. Maybe she’d ask Peter—he was the principal and he needed
something
to perk him up.

Unless…

Ben’s mouth quirked up. “Don’t even say it.”

“Oh, I’m going to say it. How about
you
be the parade marshal?”

“Me?” He groaned.

“Yeah. You’re quasi-famous now. You’d look hot sitting in a convertible, waving to the crowd. They’d love to see you, Ben.”

He didn’t respond.

“Free advertising for Ink Fest,” she coaxed.

He shook his head. “I…wouldn’t be comfortable with that.”

Blair bit her tongue before she could ask why, because she knew the answer she would be getting—he wanted his life simple. No fame, no glory.

She nodded. “Fine. Mind if I ask Starling then? I’m kind of grasping at straws here.”

“That would be a good straw to grasp.” He paused. “But I still can’t find her.”

“Oh, Ben.” Blair set the mug down on a lamp table. “You seemed so relaxed, I assumed that…I don’t know. I assume too much, I guess. I’m sorry.”

He ran a hand through his wet hair. “You’re not the one who should be apologizing. Starling is.” He let out a sarcastic laugh. “I knew something was going on with her. But never in a million years did I think she was involved with Peter the fucking rabbit Collins.”

Choking on a laugh, Blair scooted forward and knelt beside him. “I knew. But it never occurred to me to say anything. I guess I thought you knew, too.” She put her hands on his knees. “Whenever I’m around you, neither Starling nor Peter are the first things on my mind.”

He glanced down at her hands and then let his legs open slightly. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She ran her hands up his thighs and under the towel. “You want me to help find her?”

“Who?” Ben’s voice was breathy.

“Starling.” She removed her hands and reached for the front of the towel.

“Yes, please,” he muttered, sliding his hips toward her face. “Blair…”

“What?”

“I have to go to work in twenty minutes.”

“Oh. Okay then.” She smiled and started to stand up.

With a growl, he pulled her back down. “Twenty minutes is a long time, love.”

Laughing she pulled the towel away, her eyebrows raised at what lay—or rather—stood in front of her. But she hesitated. “Promise me something.”

“Right this moment I’d promise you anything.”

She took a quick breath. “Promise me—tomorrow, on the Fourth of July, when the parade contest is over and Ink Fest is sailing along smoothly—you’ll watch the fireworks with me. No matter what happens.”

“What do you think is going to happen?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Ben reached down and hauled her into his lap, his warm hand sliding under the T-shirt covering her body. “I promise to meet you for the fireworks. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Now kiss me.”

She did.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

An hour later, Blair stood out on the sidewalk in front of Debbie’s, trying not to glare at Sheila. She gave up and just did it, pretending that the sun was in her eyes. The other accounting girls dropped their heads.

“Sorry we couldn’t find a parade marshal, Blair.” Sheila grimaced. “What are we going to do?”

“I…”

It was on the tip of Blair’s tongue to say I don’t know, but she never said that. She didn’t now. “I’m sure something can be worked out before tomorrow. Is there anyone who grew up here—anyone who’s famous now?”

Paula laughed. So did Barb.

“Um…” Sheila said, tapping her chin. “Not that I can think of.”

Barb gasped then, and gave Sheila an elbow. “What about Missy?”

Sheila’s head snapped up. “Right.” A cautious look crossed her face. “But…I’m not sure. What do you think, Paula?”

Paula didn’t answer.

Blair counted to ten and nodded. “Who is Missy?”

“Missy Parkett. She’s Mildred’s sister. Lives over in Syracuse,” Sheila offered reluctantly.

“And she’s famous?” Blair asked.

“She’s been in some movies,” Paula said.

“Great!” Blair let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll look her up.”

Sheila grimaced. “I’m not so sure…”

“Well, we don’t have any other options, do we?” Blair asked. There was a snap to her voice, but she couldn’t help it.

The girls were quiet for a moment, and then Barb spoke up, her tone a little quivery. “We can still win the contest, Blair. I have faith. We all do. This is going to be the best parade Celebration has ever seen.”

At the sound of her sweet, optimistic voice, guilt twisted in Blair’s stomach. “I…I have faith, too.”

She cleared her throat. “I know I haven’t said this enough, but thank you so
much
for everything, ladies.”

Stepping forward she gave each of them a hug. “Now…I need to get back to the barn and paint.”

“Let us help,” Paula said. “We’re all off at noon today since tomorrow’s a holiday.”

“I…” Blair looked at the hopeful expression on her long face. “Okay. I’ll meet you out there.”

She turned to walk away, but spotted Mildred Parkett trundling across the town commons, the little dog on a leash.

“Oh, there’s Mildred. I can get her sister’s number from her.”

“No!” the accounting girls chorused.

Blair looked at them. “Why not?”

Shelia gave her a nervous smile. “They’re not on the best of terms.”

“Oh.”

“In fact,” Sheila said, giving Blair a little push, “maybe you should go. We
do
have a lot of work today, don’t we?”

At that moment, the older woman waved, and looking both ways several times, she crossed the empty street. “Blair. So you know, I’m going to be selling used books off my parade float.”

“While it’s in motion?” Barb asked doubtfully.

“Done it before, and I’ll do it again,” Mildred answered. Nodding sharply, she bent down with a grunt and scooped up the little dog. “Come on, Julie. It’s time for a bacon doughnut.”

The accounting girls scattered.

Waddling forward, Mildred opened the door to Debbie’s, but just when Blair thought it was safe to leave, the old woman turned around.

“Where’s Ben today?”

Blair willed herself to be patient. “He’s setting up for his tattoo festival. It’s opening tomorrow. You should come out to the senior center and see for yourself.”

“Oh,” Mildred said with a sigh. “I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Tell him I said hello.”

“I will.” Blair hid a smile. Half the town would be out at the tattoo festival, including a lot of seemingly straitlaced seniors just like Mildred.

“And tell him that he ought to think about changing that skull in the window of his shop.”

“Okay.”

“And you. Don’t wear yourself out.” Mildred wagged a finger at her.

“I won’t. I’m going to…” Blair motioned toward the alley between the buildings and took a couple of steps backward. “Gotta run back to the trailer.”

“Be careful.” Mildred wagged a beefy arm at Blair. “Don’t stumble in that alley.”

“I’m fine, Ms. Mildred.”

It was too late to choose another path. Weeks ago she’d thrown herself at Ben in this very alley and kissed him until her eyes crossed. Ever since then, she felt as if she was walking blindfolded, completely unsure of where she was heading—control slowly slipping out of her grasp until it unwound to the point where she was now. Holding onto it by a thread. Completely in love with Ben. The idea that she might lose him completely terrified her, because now? If anything went wrong tomorrow, it
could
happen. It really could. If Celebration won the parade contest, she wouldn’t turn down the internship and cause the town to forfeit the prize money.

Sucking in a breath, she walked faster down the rutted alley, not daring to look behind her.

…

At eleven in the morning on the Fourth of July, Blair sat in a booth at the Lovin’ Cup, so tired that her left eye was twitching. But she was clean—which said a lot, since six hours before she had been covered in glitter with glue caked under her fingernails. Smoothing a strand of hair back, she pretended to stare down at the list in front of her. It was so long that she’d had to resort to using a legal pad instead of her battered little notebook, which had been relegated to the glove box in the van.

There were fifty-four items on this list.
Fifty-four
. All of which would have been checked off a week ago if she’d stuck to the plan and tried to win the contest. Now, there was no turning back, since there was only one hour until the parade began. A nervous bubble of laughter caught in her throat, and she covered her mouth with a hand.

“Bye-bye American Family parade prize money,” she muttered.

The only other patrons in the diner, a couple of farmers, looked up briefly from their plates of club sandwiches. She gave them a forced smile. “Coming to the parade?”

They nodded, one of them glancing at her blue-and-red-striped T-shirt and white shorts. She also had on a sparkly white headband, borrowed from Kaley, and bright red sneakers, hoping that they would lift her mood. Hadn’t worked so far.

“I’m coming to the parade,” Crystal announced from behind the counter. “Nobody will be in here, that’s for sure, so I’m closing up for a couple of hours.”

“Sorry about that,” Blair offered.

“No, it’s fine. I could use a break a lot more than I could use the piddly-ass amount I’d make from a light lunch crowd.” She smiled. “You want a newspaper, Blair?”

Blair glanced back down at the monster list from hell. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

When Crystal walked over, she swung into the seat opposite Blair and handed her a folded copy of the
Celebration Crier
. “Here ya go.” A mischievous grin played around her full lips.

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me I made the front page again.” Blair grimaced and unfolded the paper.

“Yep! You and your prince.” Crystal thumped her fingers on the paper. “Enjoy.” With a wink, she got up and headed for the kitchen.

Blair looked at the headline—“Two Talented Celebration Residents Join Forces for the Fourth.” There was a photo of Ben, and another one of her. The tagline under both read “Dedicated young citizens making a difference in our community.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she tore her gaze away from her own photo—her own smiling, trustworthy face.

She hadn’t even remembered having the photo taken, although it had to have been a couple of days ago when Earl Parkett had visited the barn. Her hair was wild, and even in the grainy, black-and-white picture, she could see the paint smears all over her hands. In the background, Kaley was walking, heaving two cans of paint toward a truly awful-looking float that was supposed to have been a recreation of the White House Rose Garden. It had ended up looking a lot more like a pile of red paper flowers that had been decimated by wild dogs.

And that was Blair’s fault.

But, for Kaley, the float had been fun to work on. She was so excited to dress up like a first daughter bride. Bill was going to play a president, and Lola—a first lady. A traditional American family.

Something Blair had never had. And now, she realized—something she’d never needed. Lola had been her mother, her father, her aunt, and her friend. Lola had sacrificed her youth for Blair. She’d sacrificed it out of love. True, pure love.

And wasn’t that what Blair was doing? Sacrificing her future in the city for love?

Blair sighed and looked down at Ben’s photo.

Oh, she loved him so much. And no matter what, nothing was more important than him.

Scrambling up, Blair stuffed the newspaper in her bag and threw a few dollars on the table. “Crystal? Thanks for everything.”

Crystal pushed open the swinging doors to the kitchen. “You’re welcome. Want some coffee to go?”

Blair laughed, the sound almost effortless. “No thanks. I’m already wired.”

“Okay. Knock ’em dead today.”

“Don’t tell me that. I have some kind of curse for knocking stuff over.” Blair grinned as she jerked open the door.

“Blair, wait.” Crystal walked around the counter, a bus tub in her arms. “You forgot your list.”

Glancing back at the table, Blair hesitated for a moment. “No, I didn’t. Use it for scrap paper.”

“Really.” Crystal didn’t look convinced.

For that matter, Blair didn’t
feel
completely convinced, but what was she going to do? What difference would it make to tote around a reminder of the fact that she was in deep shit?

“Yeah. I mean—the parade’s going to happen, regardless. At least I have a parade marshal now.”

“Oh, good. Who?” Crystal dropped the bus tub on a stool in front of the counter.

“Missy Parkett? Mildred’s sister. I called her up yesterday and she was thrilled to do it.”

Crystal’s mouth dropped open.

Blair laughed. “Oh, good…at least you’ve heard of her. Apparently she’s been in a few movies, but I’ve never seen any of…” Blair stopped laughing and stared at Crystal. “What?”

“Blair.” Crystal walked forward and whispered. “She’s a porn star.”

“
What
?”

Crystal flapped a hand in the air. “Yeah. In the seventies, I think. It was a huge scandal around here.”

“Oh…shit.” She snorted and then covered her mouth, trying for a concerned look, but laughter bubbled up again. This was great news. Maybe Mildred would flip out on Missy right in front of the judges. Hair pulling, screaming, the works. That would be…awful for Missy. Blair winced. What was she turning into, some kind of tabloid talk-show producer? Jesus.

“You look like a deer in the headlights. On acid.” Crystal started to snicker. “You better go see what you can do.”

And Blair pretended to. She sprinted out of the diner, hopped inside the van, and drove along Main Street, slowing down a few blocks later to wave back at the people who were already setting up lawn chairs on the commons.

“Hi, Blair!” a woman called. “We can’t wait!”

“Yay,” Blair said under her breath.

A second later she saw Mildred Parkett, who trundled down the sidewalk, shoving little American flags in the grassy areas near the curb. Blair hunched in the driver’s seat as she went past.

When she reached the crossroads on the edge of town, she stared in shock at the hill in front of her. The highway was jam-packed with floats, completely out of order. The parade marshal’s float, which should have been at the bottom of the hill in front was way in back, up the hill, almost to the senior center. It was a mess. A glorious mess.

There was no way she could drive through it, so she pulled off the road and into a clearing, barely bothering to grab her phone before she hopped out and jogged up the road.

She
had
to make it to the parade marshal’s float. She had to figure out how to…what? Tell an old lady she couldn’t lead her hometown parade because she’d been in some pornos forty years ago?

Blair giggled, but before she could decide what to do, she was stopped by a young family all wearing ratty white wigs, who perched on top of a lopsided gray lump, which perched on top of a rusty flatbed. “Blair!” called the dad. “We fixed Mount Rushmore. You like it?”

“I sure do!” she called back.

“Blair!” A teenage guy called from the other side of the road. He was dressed like a fork. “I switched floats with the Tower of Spaghetti because my costume fit him better. Is that okay?”

“Of course!” She beamed. “You’re a very patriotic…piece of silverware.”

Who was the Tower of Spaghetti? What did that even mean—and for that matter where the hell had the float even come from?

At least this particular eyesore wasn’t because of her negligence, and it made her feel better. A little bit. Then she found herself hoping that there would be
more
random floats that she hadn’t approved. She went right back to feeling shitty about herself.

And as she quit jogging—which was kind of hard to maintain with people stopping her every few feet—she took a moment to really look at the floats.

They were consistently awful—the very definition of amateur, like the truckload of high school football players wearing red, white, and blue bandanas, their faces painted like warriors. Some of the floats were just plain odd—like the one that featured Alberta Gaines, who had somehow managed to get a bunch of live cats to sit around her feet as she posed like Betsy Ross sewing a flag. Her miniature, ancient mother, Mabel, sat in a rocking chair bolted to the float, asleep.

Each and every one of the people around her was having a blast. They didn’t know they were weird, and if they did, they didn’t care. They assumed that the judges would love their parade as much as they did.

Oh, God. The judges!

She needed to get back to the commons and greet them at the gazebo. And then stand with them while they watched all of these floats go by…and then pretend to be kind of sad, kind of wistful when it became known that Celebration wasn’t going to win.

Blair felt panic rising in her throat. There were happy families all around her—all kinds of families—and she honestly cared about them. She didn’t want to see them disappointed. But it had to be this way.