Save Me - Chapter 18: Chapter 19

Dahlia
I hadn't seen Damien since our date three days ago—not at breakfast or dinner, not even a peep around the house. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd done something wrong.
Thankfully, today, I had an invitation from Meghan to visit her at the tattoo parlor where she worked. I was more than ready for the distraction; I hadn't seen her since the day we met, and I was excited to catch up. We'd been texting regularly since Damien gave me a phone, though. She sent me funny pictures she called "memes," and I'd respond with photos of cute dogs or squirrels I saw during my daily walks in the city park. It was safe to say I was using the phone for more than the "emergencies only" rule Damien had set. But I couldn't help it—it was my first time having a text conversation with a friend, and I found it all so thrilling.
Damien had told me to let him know whenever I needed to go anywhere so he could arrange a driver, but I always opted to walk since most places were nearby. Meghan's tattoo parlor was just a twenty-minute walk from Damien's apartment. She'd pointed it out when we first met, so I easily spotted it on the row of shops. It was right next to a bakery with an animated, winking cupcake on its sign that read "Mary's Bakery"—though the sign hung slightly askew. I couldn't help but smile at the little place; it was absolutely adorable.
Alright, Dahlia, let's not keep Meghan waiting. But just as I was about to head to the parlor, a "Help Wanted" sign in the bakery window caught my eye. I didn't know what came over me, but before I knew it, I was pushing the door open and stepping inside. g
The bakery was almost empty, save for an elderly man hunched over in a corner, absorbed in a newspaper. I loved the inside as much as I did the exterior. The floor was a checkerboard of light pink and white tiles, the walls were a sky-blue, and the few tables and chairs were a cheerful yellow, while the counter was pastel green. The furniture was worn, and the paint was peeling, but the bursts of color created a happy atmosphere.
"I thought I heard the door! I hope you haven't been waiting too long—my hearing isn't what it used to be." An elderly woman emerged from a door behind the counter, her smile warm and welcoming. I found myself moving toward her, drawn by her kind energy.
"Gary, why didn't you tell me we had a customer?" she called out to the man in the corner, who only grunted in response without looking up from his paper. "He doesn't even order anything, can you believe it? Just sits there with his newspaper." Her tone was light, and the sparkle in her warm brown eyes didn't dim even as she playfully scolded him.
"Actually, I'm not a customer," I admitted. "I saw the 'Help Wanted' sign in the window?"
"Oh, yes!" Her smile brightened. "I'm looking for an extra pair of hands. You see, since my husband passed and my daughter moved out of state, it's been just me running the place. It's been a bit challenging, to be honest." She glanced away briefly, but not before I caught a flash of sadness in her eyes.
Her family had left, and she was alone. I knew how that felt; being alone was hard.
"So, tell me, dear, can you bake? Have you worked as a waitress before?"
"I can make a few pastries, especially cookies, and I'm a quick learner. I've worked as a waitress for eleven months before I moved to the city—I could give you my old boss's number as a reference."
"Well—oh, silly me! I didn't catch your name, dear."
"Dahlia. Dahlia Saunders." I answered, once again forgetting that my last name had changed to 'Black,' despite the heavy reminder on my finger.
"I'm Mary Higgins, owner of Mary's Bakery. As I was saying, I've only known you for a minute, but you already seem perfect for the job." She smiled. "There's just something about you—you remind me of my late husband, George. He had that same twinkle in his eye, full of life."
I still didn't understand why I was here asking about a job. Mom's medical bills were being covered by Robert, and Damien's home provided free rent and food. But the feeling of helplessness was growing stronger every day, and I needed something—anything—to feel like I had some control. Plus, I did love baking.
That's why I found myself saying yes to the job Mary offered with a smile.
"Although," she added, frowning slightly, "I won't be able to pay you very much. Business isn't exactly booming."
"It's perfect," I assured her, placing my hand over hers on the counter. My heart warmed when her smile returned. "I'd be honored to work here."
"If it suits you, then you can start tomorrow, sweet child."
After working out the details—hours, responsibilities, and pay—I left the bakery feeling more elated than when I walked in.
"You're finally here!" Meghan squealed as I entered the tattoo parlor. Unlike the bakery, the parlor was mostly black and gray, only the vibrant artwork added pops of color to the walls. It was very chic.
I couldn't help myself; I pulled Meghan into a hug. When I felt affection for someone, I just had to invade their personal space.
"For such a tiny girl, you've got quite a grip!" she choked out, and I released her with a sheepish apology.
She waved me off and hugged me again. "Come on, let me introduce you to everyone." She took my hand and led me deeper into the parlor. There were five tattoo artists, including Meghan—three men (Anthony, Blade, and Josh) and two women (Meghan and Kendall). They were all so friendly and kept talking to me even while working, asking questions and sharing stories.
"Hey, Megs, who's your new friend?" a voice interrupted as I listened to Anthony describe his favorite tattoo.
The voice belonged to a man emerging from the "Staff Only" back room. I noticed Meghan stiffen beside me, her cheerful demeanor dimming.
"Darren." She said his name calmly, but I sensed an edge of annoyance.
He didn't seem fazed, his smile easy-going. His pierced lips and shoulder-length black hair, combined with tattoos trailing down his arms and neck, made him look dangerous, but the dimples in his smile said otherwise—friendly, approachable.
"The longer you take to introduce us, the more awkward it gets," Darren teased, standing in front of us with his hands in his pockets.
Meghan rolled her eyes. "Darren, this is my friend, Dahlia. Dahlia, this is my... boss. Darren."
"Dahlia, like the flower." His smile widened, his dark eyes twinkling. He was attractive, but not in the way that made my heart race like Damien could with just a glance.
"Put it back in your pants, Darren. She's off-limits," Meghan growled. "And too innocent for the likes of you."
"As far as I can see, Megs, she is a grown woman capable of making her own bad decisions." He winked at me. That's when I understood what they were arguing about and my face grew hot.
"I'm married actually." I thrust my left hand in his face as proof so he wouldn't get the wrong idea.
Meghan's eyes widened at the sight of my ring and Darren let out a low whistle.
"Damn, I know when I'm beat. See you around, Dahlia." Darren nodded his head goodbye and walked away.
"I didn't know you were married." Meghan said still transfixed by the sight of my ring.
"Uh, it never came up?" I winced at my lame excuse and lowered my hand.
Meghan guided me to a small lounge-like area where we sat on a black leather three-seater.
"Judging by where you live and the mountain on your finger your husband must be loaded and no offence, but you do not strike me as the standard 'Stepford wife' otherwise I wouldn't like you as much as I do. What's the story there?"
I wanted to come up with a straight forward lie about my current predicament, but I found myself unable to lie to Meghan. Not only did I trust her, but I was also tired of keeping everything to myself and not having anyone to talk to. I was tired of the loneliness.
So, I spilled everything to Meghan. I told her about my mom, the accident, how I then found her family and as their condition to help my mother, I had to marry a man I did not know. I told her about my arranged husband and how his hot and cold behavior confused me.
"Damn, Dahlia." Meghan breathed, looking astonished by my story.
"Too much for a second meeting?" I resisted the urge to cover my face in embarrassment. That was too much to unload onto someone you barely know, Dahlia.
"You might be the most interesting person I know." She smiled. "Luckily you met me and we can navigate the whole mess together." I appreciated that she did not look at me with pity and genuinely wanted to be there for me. I was so thankful I had met her.
"Oh, and I got a job next door at the bakery. I feel bad that I may have taken it away from someone who actually needs it, but my anxiety keeps growing with every day I have nothing productive to do—"
"Eff that, you need the job too. I'm happy you took it." She clapped her hands in delight. "In fact, we're going out to celebrate, and it will also take your mind off your hubby."
Before I could respond, she sprang from the couch and loudly announced, "Tonight, we're going out drinking to celebrate Dahlia's new job. Who's in?"
The hoots and hollers that erupted around the parlor fueled my excitement at the prospect of experiencing something new.