Updated Nov 27, 2025 • ~9 min read
The week after Olive’s injury passed in a blur of text messages, coffee shop work sessions, and Logan stopping by to check on the dog.
They hadn’t had their official date yet—Logan had postponed it to give Olive time to recover, insisting he wanted Jo’s full attention without worrying about the dog.
Which was sweet.
Also frustrating, because Jo was ready to move forward and her anxiety was turning that readiness into overthinking.
“You should visit his shop,” Erika suggested during their daily phone call. “See him in his element. Plus you’ve been dying to see Inkwell properly.”
“Won’t that seem too forward?”
“You designed his entire website. You’re allowed to visit his place of business.”
Fair point.
Which was how Jo found herself standing outside Inkwell Tattoo Studio on a Wednesday afternoon, gathering courage to walk inside.
The shop was exactly as Logan had described—sleek black exterior, large windows showing a clean, modern interior. Nothing like the stereotypical tattoo parlor. This was art gallery meets professional studio.
Jo pushed open the door.
A bell chimed. The space was gorgeous—exposed brick walls covered in framed tattoo designs, comfortable waiting area with leather furniture, soft indie music playing from hidden speakers.
A woman looked up from the reception desk. Late twenties, sleeve tattoos, bright pink hair, friendly smile.
“Welcome to Inkwell! Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I’m—I’m looking for Logan?”
The woman’s smile widened. “You must be Jo.”
“How did you know?”
“Logan described you perfectly. Plus you have that ‘sunshine personified’ thing he mentioned.”
Jo’s face heated. “He talks about me?”
“Constantly. It’s adorable and kind of annoying.” The woman stood, extending a hand. “I’m Carlie. I work the front desk and manage the social media you set up. Beautiful work, by the way.”
“Thanks. Is Logan available?”
“He’s with a client but should be wrapping up soon. Want to wait? There’s coffee.”
“Coffee would be great.”
Carlie poured her a cup—somehow knowing exactly how Jo took it, which meant Logan had definitely been talking about her—and gestured to the waiting area.
“He’ll be out in ten. Feel free to look around. All the framed pieces are his designs.”
Jo wandered the space, examining the artwork. Each piece was stunning—intricate, detailed, showing a range of styles from geometric to realistic to abstract. Logan’s talent was undeniable.
“Like what you see?”
Jo turned to find Logan emerging from a back room, wiping his hands on a towel. He wore black jeans and a tight black t-shirt, tattoos on full display, and Jo’s mouth went dry.
“It’s incredible,” she managed. “All of it. You’re so talented.”
“Thanks.” Logan crossed to her, that almost-smile appearing. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining.”
“Wanted to see your shop. Hope that’s okay.”
“More than okay.” Logan glanced at Carlie, who was watching them with barely concealed glee. “You want the tour?”
“Please.”
Logan showed her around—his private studio in the back, meticulously organized and spotlessly clean. The equipment, the reference materials, the sketchbooks full of designs.
“This is where the magic happens,” he said, gesturing to his chair and setup.
“It’s amazing. So professional.”
“I take my work seriously.”
“I can see that.”
They stood in his studio, surrounded by his art, and Jo felt something shift. This was Logan’s domain. His passion. The place where he created beauty from nothing.
“Can I ask you something crazy?” Jo said before she could overthink it.
“Always.”
“Would you tattoo me?”
Logan’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“I want a tattoo. A small one. And I want you to do it.”
“Jo, you don’t have to—”
“I want to. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And after everything with Olive, it feels right. Something to commemorate her. A little paw print, maybe?”
Logan studied her face. “You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
“Where would you want it?”
“Inner wrist. Small. Simple.”
“You know it’ll hurt, right?”
“I have a decent pain tolerance.”
Logan considered, then nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Let me draw something up. You can look at it, make sure you like it before we do anything permanent.”
Twenty minutes later, Logan presented her with a sketch—a small paw print, delicate and perfect, with tiny hearts in each toe pad.
Jo’s eyes stung. “It’s perfect.”
“The hearts are for you. Seemed fitting.”
“I love it. Let’s do this.”
Logan set up his station, pulling on gloves, preparing the stencil. Jo sat in the chair, presenting her wrist.
“You’re sure?” Logan asked one more time. “This is permanent.”
“I’m sure. I trust you.”
Something heated in Logan’s expression at those words.
He placed the stencil carefully, checking positioning. “Look okay?”
Jo examined it in the mirror. Perfect placement, right where she’d imagined.
“Perfect.”
“Okay. This is going to sting. If you need a break at any point, just tell me.”
The tattoo gun buzzed to life. Logan’s hand was steady as he brought the needle to her skin.
The first touch burned. Jo inhaled sharply.
“You okay?” Logan asked immediately, pausing.
“Yeah. Keep going.”
He worked slowly, carefully, checking in constantly. The pain was manageable—sharp and burning but not unbearable.
Jo watched Logan’s face as he worked. The intense concentration, the furrow between his brows, the way he bit his lower lip slightly when executing particularly delicate lines.
This was Logan in his element. Creating art on living canvas.
“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.
“You’re beautiful when you work.”
Logan’s hand stuttered slightly. He glanced up at her. “Don’t distract me or I’ll mess up.”
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“No I’m not.”
That almost-smile appeared.
They fell into comfortable silence. Logan worked with steady precision. Jo let herself feel the pain, the permanence of what they were doing.
This would be part of her forever. Logan’s art, literally under her skin.
“Almost done,” Logan murmured. “You’re doing great.”
A few more minutes and he sat back, examining his work.
“All finished. Want to see?”
He held up a mirror. Jo’s breath caught.
The paw print was delicate and beautiful, exactly as she’d imagined. The little hearts in each toe pad made it uniquely hers.
“Logan, it’s perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“Better than perfect. I love it.”
Logan’s smile was full sunshine this time. “Good. I’m glad.”
He cleaned the tattoo carefully, applied ointment, wrapped it in protective film.
“Keep it wrapped for the first few hours. Clean it gently when you shower. Apply ointment three times a day. Don’t pick at it when it scabs. It should be fully healed in a couple weeks.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“I’m serious. You have to take care of it properly.”
“I will. I promise.”
Logan held her wrist gently, thumb brushing the bandage. “This is my art on you now. That feels…”
“What?”
“Significant. Like you’re carrying a piece of me.”
Jo’s heart squeezed. “I am. Willingly.”
Logan pulled her up from the chair. They were close now, his hands still holding her wrist, her heart racing.
“I want to kiss you,” Logan said quietly.
“Then kiss me.”
“I said first kiss would be on our date.”
“So move up the date.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“So? Who says a first date has to be on a weekend?”
Logan considered. “Are you free tonight?”
“Completely free.”
“Dinner. Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”
“It’s a date.”
“Finally.”
They stood like that, close enough to kiss, the air charged with possibility.
Carlie knocked on the door frame. “Logan, your four o’clock is here.”
The moment broke.
“Right. Work.” Logan stepped back reluctantly. “I’ll see you at seven?”
“I’ll be ready.”
“And Abbott?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For trusting me with this.”
Jo looked at her wrapped wrist. “Thank you for making it beautiful.”
Back home, Jo immediately texted Erika.
Jo: I got a tattoo.
Erika: WHAT
Jo: Logan tattooed a little paw print on my wrist. With hearts.
Erika: SHOW ME
Jo sent a photo of the wrapped tattoo.
Erika: That’s so cute I could cry
Erika: Also you’re dating him now right? Please tell me you’re dating him.
Jo: We have a date tonight.
Erika: TONIGHT???
Erika: I thought you were waiting until Friday???
Jo: Plans changed. I may have pressured him to move it up.
Erika: That’s my girl
Erika: What are you wearing?
Jo: I have four hours to figure that out.
Erika: Send options. I’ll help.
Jo spent the next three hours trying on every combination of clothes she owned, texting photos to Erika for approval, and generally spiraling about whether this was really happening.
She had Logan’s art on her skin now.
They were having their first date tonight.
The first kiss was imminent.
Everything was moving fast and terrifying and absolutely perfect.
At 6:45, Jo stood in front of her mirror wearing dark jeans, a soft green sweater that Erika had declared “perfect for your skin tone,” and minimal makeup because Logan had said he liked her natural.
Her wrist was wrapped. Her hair was down. She looked nervous and excited and ready.
Olive sat nearby, cone-free now that the stitches were healing, watching with what Jo swore was approval.
“Wish me luck, girl.”
Olive’s tail wagged.
At exactly seven, Logan knocked.
Jo took a deep breath, sent up a quick prayer to Gran, and opened the door.
Logan stood there in dark jeans and a charcoal button-down, leather jacket over one arm, hair styled in that effortlessly perfect way.
He looked at Jo like she was the only person in the world.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
“You look beautiful.”
“You clean up nice yourself.”
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Jo grabbed her purse, gave Olive one last pat, and stepped into the hallway.
Their first official date was happening.
No more delays.
No more excuses.
Just Jo and Logan, finally giving this thing between them a real chance.
And Jo had never been more terrified or more excited in her entire life.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they headed down the stairs.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“You’ll like this one.”
“How do you know?”
Logan took her hand—carefully avoiding her wrapped wrist—and smiled.
“Because I pay attention, Abbott. And I know you.”
Those five words made Jo’s heart skip.
He knew her.
And he was still here.
Still showing up.
Still choosing her.
Maybe this really was the beginning of something extraordinary.
Maybe all the chaos and disasters and doormat incidents had been leading exactly here.
To this moment.
To this man.
To this chance at something real.
Jo squeezed Logan’s hand and let him lead her into the unknown.
Whatever came next, they’d face it together.
And that was enough.
More than enough.
It was everything.
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