hedges. “This was a lot.” She waves a hand over the table, darting a glare at her mother. “Maybe we should just quit while we’re ahead…call it a night.”
“Pretty sure I just earned myself another date.” I rub a hand over my chest, puffing it out with pride.
“You what?” She leaps to her feet. “No way. That wasn’t specified beforehand.”
I steeple my hands beneath my chin. “Come on. Don’t make me be the third wheel. Beau and Kate are disgustingly in love. It’s torture.”
She shuts her eyes, slowly shaking her head. “Nothing’s changed, Wyatt. This is…so much. We’re not even together.”
Not yet. I don’t say it, but I damn sure think it. The more I’m around her the surer I am that I’m gonna make her mine, whatever and however long it takes. “You’re makin’ a mountain outta a mole hill.”
“A what?” she says drawing back with a grin.
“Somethin’ my Mimi used to say. Means you’re reading too much into this…looking for trouble where you’ll find none.”
“Am I?”
“We’re friends, right?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Then come with me to Beau and Kate’s…as my friend.”
I’m sorting through end of the month financials for November when Momma peeks her head into my office. “Eleanor Breaux is here to go over William’s arrangements.”
A thick lump of emotion becomes wedged in my throat as I set down my pen, and nod. “You can send her in.”
I haven’t seen Elly since high school, and we weren’t really the best of friends back then, but still, it’s painful to even imagine what she’s going through, losing her husband so young. And to a brain tumor, of all things. Word around town is they just found out she’s pregnant a month ago, making their circumstances even more tragic. Death is always wretched, but young people add an extra layer of despair. The tragedy of a life cut short—those are always the hardest to come to grips with.
“Hey, Whitney.” The red-faced, puffy-cheeked widow pokes her head into the room, and I wave her inside.
“How are you?” I walk around the desk to greet her with a hug. “I’m so sorry about William,” I say, smoothing a hand over her back.
“Thank you.” She sniffles into a wad of crumbling tissue in her palm, and my heart aches. She looks like hell, in a pair of ratty sweats that swallow her thin frame. Her hair is matted with tears, and her eyes sunken in. It’s the face of grief, and one I’m all too familiar with.
“Have a seat.” I motion to the armchair in front of my desk.
Once she’s settled, I pass her a box of Kleenex, and hold the waste bin out for her to dispose of the soiled wad still clutched in her hand.
“Thanks.”
I nod. “So, Daddy tells me William wanted to be cremated, with no viewing?” I get right down to business, trying to avoid a breakdown if at all possible. I’ll be a shoulder if needed, but she’s got family to fall apart with. It’s my job to be sympathetic, while also keeping a level head. To think of all the minor details, she’s likely too upset to consider.
“That’s right,” she says, her hand moving to cup her still flat stomach.
A pulsing ache invades my chest. “You’re pregnant?”
“Just made ten weeks.”
“Do you have plans to have something made for the baby with some of William’s cremains?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” I open my drawer, retrieving a few sample products and line them up on the edge of my desk. “I think this one would be perfect,” I say, placing the glass orb in her palm. The glass can be swirled with the color of your choosing, but the dragonfly at the top…”
“It’s made of ash,” she says, eyes wide as she brushes a thumb over the art. “This is beautiful. It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“No problem.” I offer her a sympathetic smile. “Do you want to go take a look at the show room and pick out an urn?”
“Actually,” she says, reaching into her satchel. “I had something custom made.”
Her cheeks redden.
“Oh,” I say, rolling my chair back under the desk. “Don’t be embarrassed. You don’t have to buy something from here. People bring their own keepsakes all the time.”
She huffs a nervous laugh. “This one’s a bit…unusual.”
“Girl, I have seen it all,” I assure her. “Lay it on me.”
That’s when she whips out an eight-inch circumcised dildo. It’s so lifelike—flesh toned, complete with veins.
“Oh,” I say, trying my hardest to keep a straight