who pulls her flask out of her cleavage—really wasn’t kidding about that—and offers it to Mrs. Richardson.
If I hadn’t tried to take a shortcut to paying off some of my student loans, I could be here right now as an actual medical doctor.
I could’ve stayed in Richmond an extra year, done a few more classes, taken on a research project, found a different job in a medical field to stay in the industry, and tried again for a residency the next year.
I could’ve been through that residency by now. I could’ve been starting a practice like Veda did last year.
But instead, I’m floundering, trying desperately to help eight women find the love of their lives.
Eight.
I have eight total clients, and two are pro bono cases who don’t know I’m trying to find matches for them, because everyone deserves love.
You can’t make a living off of eight clients.
At least, I can’t. I can’t even find dates for my eight clients without working outside normal matchmaker boundaries.
Of course Tyler’s embarrassed to introduce me to his family under circumstances that suggest we’re something more than friends.
I could’ve made something of my life by now, and instead, I’m the woman who didn’t have the courage to go back to my college town solo.
His grip on me tightens as the song comes to an end.
The funeral director says his closing words and thanks everyone for coming.
Which means it’s probably about time for them to lower the casket into the grave.
I glance up at Tyler.
He’s staring straight ahead, jaw visibly clenched.
It’s hard to stay mad at him for being embarrassed by me when I know being at a funeral is physically uncomfortable for him for other reasons beyond the normal funereal discomfort.
“It would be really nice if a bird swooped in and pooped on the casket right about now,” I whisper to him.
“If I never hear the word casket again for the rest of my life, it’ll be too soon,” he mutters back.
A couple people I don’t recognize are the first to break ranks as the funeral director messes with something at the head of the casket. So maybe it’s not a thing to stay and watch the casket get lowered?
I really don’t know.
I don’t do this often.
Once folks realize other people are moving away from the grave, more follow.
Some pause to offer condolences to Veda.
Others slip away.
And then there are the mourners who angle closer to Daisy.
Dr. Richardson’s wife leans over and says something to her. Dr. Richardson checks out Daisy’s cleavage in her black dress, and his wife hits him with an elbow to the gut.
She’s not even looking at him, and she still knew what he was doing.
“I am never getting married,” I murmur.
“Same.”
I would absolutely get married. One hundred percent. No question.
But not until I found a man that I knew with absolute certainty loved me for everything I am, and everything I’m not, and everything I could be, and everything I could never be.
And not until I could love him back with everything inside of me.
So, basically, I’m never getting married. There’s not a single person on this earth that I could ever trust that much.
The casket begins its descent into the ground, and the mourners still gathered all pause, like they, too, have realized maybe they made a faux pas.
Tyler shudders, so I wrap an arm around his waist and squeeze.
To his credit, he doesn’t ask if we can get out of here.
But then, he probably knows I’d tell him no. Until Veda’s done, I’m here. “If you want to go back now, I can hop a bus later.”
“I’m not leaving you here without a ride home,” he mutters.
“I could ask Daisy to fly me over.”
He winces.
And suddenly I’m mad at him all over again.
I know I shouldn’t be. He had to ask for a day off practice to be here today, and it’s not like the coach randomly hands out get out of practice free cards. Tyler gets paid a crap ton of money to play hockey, and that means he’s expected at every practice unless he’s dying, injured, or ridden with contagious cooties that could wipe the whole team out, and even then, he’s supposed to be there for his team however he can.
Plus, funeral.
He really doesn’t want to be here.
Still— “Am I that embarrassing?”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb, Tyler. You spent all of breakfast trying to make sure no one talked about me and what I do and how terrible I am at it. You spilled your orange juice