Kissing the Shy Guy - Stephanie Street Page 0,17

to Lydia's and just chill.

If this funeral would ever end!

"Damn it!" I screamed into the evening sky, standing in front of the dumpster at the back of the still full church parking lot. This was my fifth trip to the stinking receptacle. After dripping coffee grinds all over myself the last time, I couldn't take it anymore.

I'd spent the last two hours filling pitchers of water, adding dinner rolls to baskets, changing out empty dishes for full, and bussing tables. Of the five bags I'd hauled to the dumpster, I'd filled four of them myself clearing tables. About a hundred or more people had stayed to eat after the graveside ceremony.

I didn't usually mind the funerals. I'd never attended one for anyone I knew but had been to plenty of others. I'd helped at so many of these dinners, witness to so many emotions. Sadness. Grief. Peace. I'd seen broken hearts pieced back together with memories shared of secret kindnesses, hope offered through murmurs of faith and promises of life after death.

It was impossible to not be affected at all—except for today. Today, I'd been angry and irritated, silently swearing at my mother for forcing me into doing something I didn't want to do. Why couldn't she understand I had plans of my own? Plans that meant everything to me. Things I couldn't do while emptying trash cans and waiting tables for people I didn't know or really care about.

And to top it off, she was here. Laura. Like I needed a reminder of what I'd lost. And I didn't mean Josh.

I flipped the lid on the dumpster, hurrying to throw in another bag before it came crashing back down, but I was too slow, and it caught my fingers.

I screamed again.

"Hey, is everything all right?" A deep voice called from the shadows between the cars parked near the dumpster.

I spun, squinting to find its source. The shadow moved. I knew that voice. "Adam?"

"Jenna?" He stepped into the light from the streetlamp above the dumpster. It was him. "Are you okay? I heard you scream." He stepped close; his handsome face etched with concern, and maybe a hint of amusement.

I closed my eyes. He'd heard me scream…again. "I'm fine. My fingers got caught in the dumpster lid," I replied, wiggling the injured fingers between us as proof. "What are you doing here?"

Frowning, he ignored my question and reached for my hand. "Your fingers? Let me see."

"Ohmigosh, I'm fine." I tried to stop him, but he'd already grabbed my hand. His dark head bent over my fingers, examining them.

He probed gently, his fingers warm and callused as he turned my hand over in his, prompting little sparks of heat to shoot up my arm.

I stared at his chest. My breath caught, remembering those moments pressed up against it.

Adam lifted his head, his eyes finding mine. They were blue. And kind.

"I don't think you're in danger of losing them," he reassured me, grinning a little.

I acknowledged his attempt at humor with a small smile of my own. I expected him to let go of my hand, but he didn't. I should have pulled away, but I couldn't.

"What are you doing here?" I asked again, entirely thrown by seeing him again.

His expression went blank, but then his eyes crinkled around the edges. He glanced down at his black suit. "Um…"

I pulled my hand from his and smacked my forehead with it. The funeral! "Right! Sorry. What a dumb question."

He let me off the hook with an easy smile. "What about you? Did you know Tom?" Adam slid his hands into his pockets.

"Um—who?" I couldn't think straight. I'd been spending more time thinking about him than I should since the other day. Seeing him again threw me off balance.

Adam dipped his head toward the church, probably trying to hide his amusement. "The deceased. Tom. Did you know him? Is that why you're here?"

"Oh! No!" We were at a funeral. Someone had died. Someone Adam probably knew since he was here. I shook my head. "No. I didn't know him. I'm just helping with the dinner."

He eyed me with consternation. "Helping? Do you work for the caterer or something?"

"Caterer?" I repeated and shook my head again. "No. My mom. She and the ladies from the church brought in food. I'm the help."

Adam's brows winged up. "The help? You?"

I heard the skepticism in his voice and didn't blame him for it. I wasn't necessarily known for my benevolence at school. Or anywhere else for that matter.

I