Ed adds his insights as the manager and an artist. Although I know as little about tattoos as I do about wine, my former marine patiently answers my questions, valuing my observations as an outsider to this world. I suggest some small changes to make the space more female-friendly. Both Hawke and Ed listen to me, buoying my confidence and my belief that I can stand by my man’s side and be his equal. Someday, he might propose again. Or I’ll propose to him. I smile. “We’re done.” Ed pats a moist disposable towel over Hawke’s hand and removes the strap from his wrist. The tattoo artist’s wiry right arm is inked with a flowing Fallen But Not Forgotten banner and too many names. Everyone working in the shop is a veteran, Hawke employing more of his displaced brothers in arms. Ed takes a step away from us. “What do you think?” Hawke bends over the small table. “That’s fine work.” “It’s one of my best.” The artist beams. “Let me see.” I wiggle in Hawke’s lap.
