Page 123 of Mourner for Hire
A small laugh escapes her as I move around to my side of the surrey and take my seat. “Buckle up, Dominic.”
Vada in no way wanted to cruise along the boardwalk slowly. She’s peddling so fast, it’s to the point my own feet are just along for the ride on my peddles. The salty breeze whips through her hair, and a smile illuminates her face.
“Easy there, tiger. You don’t want to run anyone over,” I tease.
She smirks at me and rings the bell. The joggers and walkers turn their heads to see us flying down like a runaway train. I’m not sure I’ve ever used jubilant in a sentence but that is the only way to describe her laughter. And her smile is straight up jolly. She radiates the joy of Santa Claus after he swooped out of the last chimney on Christmas morning.
The surrey rattles, and laughter bubbles out of me—yes, bubbles. I don’t think I’ve experienced this kind of elation, and I don’t think there is any other way to describe it. Bubbly. Giddy. Fluttery. She makes my chest hurt so good.
“Move, peasants!” she yells, laughter encasing her battle cries.
We’re flying down the boardwalk. We’re laughing until we’re red-faced. It’s a slap-stick silly feeling that I haven’t felt since I was young and the world made sense because everyone I loved was still alive.
And then, the surrey hiccups, and the pedals tighten. I glance behind us, certain we hit a rock or stick or a…
“Oh, shit,” I say, staring at the yellow fabric of her dress in the middle of the boardwalk.
I turn back to Vada. Her cheeks are flushed, and her bright green eyes are wide with surprise—no hints of embarrassment, just complete shock.
“Everything is fine!”
Without thinking, I tear off my shirt, buttons scattering along the ground and tumbling down the sandy boardwalk. I throw the shirt at her, and it lands on her face as I jump off the surrey. Only my foot is stuck on the pedal, making me trip and somersault to the ripped skirt. It isn’t until the soft fabric is in my hands that I realize Vada is laughing.
I step to her, huffing and puffing, holding out the skirt as an offering.
“What are you doing?” she practically cries or laughs. Sometimes, there’s a very fine line between the two actions.
I take in the reality of the situation. The bottom half of her dress is torn off, and the remaining skirt is split up toher hip bone—not entirely inappropriate, but also, maybe more leg than she’d like to show. My pants are sandy, and my shoulder is scraped from somersaulting down the boardwalk. My knuckle is also bleeding. I fist the fabric tighter and hold it up before her on bended knee.
“I’m defending your honor!” I say in my best regency impression, and she tosses her head back and laughs again.
She doesn’t take the fabric so I stand and whip it out in front of me like it’s a fitted sheet I’m about to attempt to fold. She wipes the tears from under her eyes.
“That was quite the tuck-and-roll.”
“Are you impressed?”
“Yes. I think you gave me whiplash with that reaction.”
“Well…” I begin, but I’m unsure of how far to take this. “I thought you might be embarrassed, naked on the boardwalk, and wouldn’t want to make a scene?—”
“Oh, heaven forbid.”
Her mischievous smile makes me step closer and drape the remains of her skirt on her.
“I panicked,” I say, bracing the back of her seat and the front of the surrey.
“You panicked,” she agrees, looking up at me with her pretty eyes practically glowing in the evening sun.
Then it returns. That shy, unsure demeanor I’ve only ever seen in glimpses. It’s subtle. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear and runs her teeth along her bottom lip. It’s strange how it happens. Vada is a bull and a dove, a thunderstorm and a summer day. She is all things at once, and I can’t help but be drawn to her.
I lower my face down to hers, our lips barely grazing and the scent of her perfume pulling me deeper under her spell. My hand cradles her face, and my fingers dip into her brown hair. “I’m going to kiss you.”
“Damn right, you are,” she responds, pulling my face to hers. And once again, Vada Daughtry has turned me into a pile of mush. When she pulls away from the kiss, she says, “We’re in public.”
I clear my throat. “And you’re a lady.”
“And you are a gentleman.” She smiles up at me and tosses me my shirt. “Put your shirt back on. No shirt, no service.”
