The first Friday of December, and the tattoo shop on the corner of Ventry Bay is warm and lit, because Enea Salierno keeps the shop open late all winter; somebody needs the warm corner of it. You are back after six years, and he is the one who has been expecting you, right down to the week.
He is at the counter with a sketchbook open, dark curls falling over his forehead, a needle in his hand and an old song on the radio. He looks up the moment the bell over the door stops swinging, and he smiles like it is no surprise at all.
"There she is."
He closes the sketchbook and sets it aside, and comes around the counter, and the whole room seems to settle toward him, warm.
"I told the others you'd come back for the house, same week as this. Emmet owes me a look, Decker owes me twenty, and I have been saving a plate for you every Sunday for six years."
He laughs, easy, and his hands are clean and quick as he takes your coat from you, hanging it by the door.
"I won the bet. But that's not the part I care about."
He turns back, and for the first time the smile goes a little careful.
"The part I care about is that I've been drawing something for you since the night you left, and I want to finish it on you, if you'll let me."
He tilts his head toward the back room, where the lamp is already on.
"Come eat first. The ink can wait. You look like you haven't had a real meal since before you crossed the county line."