giant dog not far behind. “And quit that cussin’. You get my baby talking like a sailor and I’ll be the one tanning your hide!” she shouts.
“So, how was your first day?” Kate asks, after the commotion has died down—a lame attempt at breaking up what has become a painfully awkward silence.
“It was good,” Wyatt says, beaming. “I think my new boss really likes me, and his secretary is fine as hell.”
I gasp, ignoring his hooded gaze, and correct his erroneous assumption. “Funeral Director.”
Kate smothers a laugh while he stares on in confusion.
I clarify. “I’m not a secretary. I’m the funeral director and makeup artist.” I toss my hair, vexed at his minimalization of my extremely important position.
“My apologies,” he says in an annoyingly sincere tone as he pulls out a stool behind the bar-height counter and straddles it. “So, you actually meet with the bereaved?”
“I do.”
“That’s awesome. I—I didn’t realize…” He shakes his head to himself. “Sorry, that’s got to be an extremely difficult job. I just thought because the Andersons weren’t in any way upset…”
“Preplanning.”
He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t get it.
“We have a lot of people who come in to make their own arrangements ahead of time, so that when they die, it’s something their children aren’t left to deal with.”
“Gotcha.” He drums his fingers on the granite. “And you like…put makeup on dead bodies?”
“They don’t bite,” I assure him.
He visibly shivers. “That doesn’t creep you out just a little?”
“Not a bit. It’s an honor that their loved ones trust me to prepare them for their final gathering.” A prideful smile stretches my cheeks. “Anyway, it’s like my daddy always told me, ‘It’s not the dead folks you gotta watch out for…it’s the living ones that’ll getcha in trouble.’”
“Guess I never really thought of it like that.”
Another agonizing silence descends upon us. And once again, it’s Kate who breaks it. “Why don’t you go find Beau in the man cave? He’s out there watching Sports Center.”
He tips his ball cap farewell, all but jumping at the chance to escape.
“What’s his deal?” I ask when he’s out of earshot.
“What do you mean?” Kate passes me a bowl of boiled eggs to peel and starts dicing up the potatoes.
“I don’t know…he just seems really weirded out by death…I mean, more than most people.”
My friend walks over, bringing her lips close to my ear. “Poor thing lost his whole family in a car accident when he was just four.”
My heart squeezes, and chill bumps coat my skin as she continues.
“He’s the only one who made it. Mom, Dad, and his baby sister…well, they weren’t so lucky.”
A hollow ache steals my breath as Wyatt Landry suddenly becomes more.
More than an old fling.
More than a test of my wills.
His time with Daigle Family Funeral Services just became more than a job, and he doesn’t even know it yet. Because I’ve just decided to make it my mission to heal this broken man—to gift him with a whole new outlook on life and death.
Lucky, she says. Such an ironic word so often used to describe those left behind.
“Did you know one in every five work-related fatalities occurs in construction?”
I power off the circular saw and lift my safety goggles, once the blade comes to a stop. “Well, hello there. It’s Prissy, right?” I ask, turning to greet the tyke.
She nods, letting her backpack fall to the floor.
Guess she’s planning on hanging around a while.
“That’s some awful big knowledge for someone so young.”
“I’m little,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Not stupid.”
I choke on my saliva. “Noted.”
She nods. “I’m gonna run this place someday. Paw-Paw said so. Cuz Momma…she’s too squeamish to drain and embalm the corpses…but I’m not.” She crosses her arms over her chest, standing tall and proud in her little combat boots. “I wanna do it all!”
“Oh, yeah?” I rock back on my heels from my crouched position, dropping to seat myself on the dusty plywood floor.
“It’s so cool. I bet he’d let you come watch if you wanna. We’re embalming Mr. Rick tonight after dinner…”
Jesus Christ. “I’ll pass,” I say, trying to hide the horror from my expression.
“It’s okay. Not everyone has the balls for it.”
What the—“You’re something else, you know that?”
She grins, taking my observation for a compliment. “Thanks.”
“Priscilla Louise,” Hank calls with a dopey grin on his face—one that shows just how much he adores the little heathen. “You aren’t out here bothering Mr. Wyatt while he’s tryin’ to work?”
“Who, me?” Her little hand flies to her