The Creative Writing Challenge - Task #9 - Continue for there is hope

Hi everyone! This is my entry for the last task for the creative writing challenge created by @steemfluencer. I'm really grateful for the opportunity to participate and to him for all the thought and work he put in every task. Task #9 consists in continuing the story he gave us and it goes like this:

I poured the milk over the cornflakes and I was just about to start reading my morning newspaper when my son Peter who was 10 years old at that time surprisingly asked me a question:
-- Dad, how did you meet my mom?
Since it was Saturday and the bad weather has changed our plans for the weekend, I decided to spend some time with him and tell him the whole story.
-- Of course, Peter. I'm surprised that you haven't asked me earlier. I still remember that day like it was yesterday. It happened on a warm August day two years before you were born....

---

It started like any day of the summer; waking up, having breakfast and take my time before arriving to work. I was going to be a senior at college and this would be my last summer working at the tattoo parlor in the town I grew up in. Yes, as an artist I had to start making money somewhere and tattoos were great practice.

I remember being eager for my shift to end since it was a slow and boring day. Ten minutes before clocking out a girl stepped into the store. She had wild curls framing her face as well as glasses; her brows were furrowed and her lips formed a frown. At first glance it was obvious she wasn't a girl that had a tattoo, I thought 'Great, a bratty first timer'. I didn't understand why she was there, it was clear she wasn't pleased and her eyes kept darting around looking for an escape. After a couple of seconds where it looked like she was fighting herself the girl came up to the counter. Upon closer inspection I realized she had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen and they were enhanced by her glasses.

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Even though she wasn't what was usually my type, brunette and tough, there was something that drew me to her. Maybe it was the equal amount of fear and determination in her gaze, or how she stood tall while being out of her comfort zone. I couldn't help but tease her, tell her how this wasn't the place she looked for but the library in front of us. And like something had lit up inside of her, her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. I could tell she was intimidated but that didn't stop her sharp tongue and no nonsense tone. A drawing was slapped into the counter and she demanded someone made her a tattoo. At first I was too enthralled to answer her but when her eyebrow arched I snapped out of it.

I should have had one of my coworkers make her tattoo but there was a longing to get to know her that made me offer to do it. The drawing was simple, a stave with a combination of a treble and bass clef that had splashes of colors. I wondered what was her story behind the tattoo; why did she want a tattoo and why this one?

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It only took a couple of hours to finish it but it seemed like an eternity. Her skin was so soft but her fingers had blisters, was she a musician? I was dying to make conversation but every attempt I made at it was shut down with one word answers. Yes, no, sometimes, ok, fine were kind of hard to reply to. I could tell the process was painful to the woman, her fists were clenched and tears gathered at her eyes but not one escaped; with how tight her jaw was clenched I bet her teeth were hurting.

By the time she was paying I was already fed up. She was a walking contradiction and nothing appealed more to an artist than that. I had to resort to childish behavior in order to get her to come to dinner with me; such as holding her card captive and blocking the door when she threatened to sue me. For me it wasn't the thrill of the chase but the rewards of breaking down her walls. There's something incredibly fulfilling about knowing someone inside and out; what made her smile or cry, what were her virtues and defects. The best part was understanding someone better than you understand yourself.

Later I learned that that day was a bad one for her. At her classes her professors told her she wasn't good enough, that being disciplined wouldn't make up for the talent she lacked. So in order to remain sane and remind herself that she was a musician no matter what, her tattoo was born. Every time she wanted to give up, she would look down and her spirits would lift for there was hope.