Page 46 of Mourner for Hire
“What? You don’t think I can get it done in a couple of months?” I counter, crossing my arms.
“Have you seen the place?”
“Have you seen what I can do?”
His gaze inadvertently falls to my mouth, causing me to lick the memory off my lips.
“It’s a lot of work.”
“Good thing I don’t have any friends in town. So if you would just let me work, you won’t even know I’m here.”
His jaw pulses, and he looks me up and down. “What are you proposing?”
“Nothing. A truce, if anything. Leave me alone, and I will leave you alone. I’ll be running out of this town soon, and the keys will be back in your hands before you know it.”
He stares at me, and I can tell behind his searching eyes, he doesn’t want to agree.
“Can I get a box, please?” I ask my server with gorgeous blond curly hair.
“Sure thing, hun,” she says, grabbing a box from the back of the bar. I glance at her name tag.
“Thanks, Joelle.”
“Thank you, Vada.” She winks, and my heart rate speeds up.
Again, it feels like I have my crimes, my job, and my circumstances written on my forehead.
“You don’t have to be nice to her, Jo.”
“You don’t have to be an ass,” she quips back, then looks at me. “He’s harmless, Vada.”
“Sure, he is.” I force a smile with wide, unbelieving eyes as I shovel the rest of my meal in the Styrofoam box and flip the lid closed.
Sighing, I turn to Connor. “It was nice to meet you. I have work to do.”
I leave the restaurant without looking back until I hear my name being called.
“Vada! Wait!”
I turn to see Connor jogging toward me.
“Yes,” I say, eyebrows raised.
“Look, I get he isn’t the most friendly guy when you’re on his bad side, but I swear we’re not all like that.”
The way he splays his hands in front of him and offers a boyish shrug would indicate he is trying very hard to assure me nice guys exist.
“I promise I don’t care, Connor. I mean, no disrespect, but I am only in town for a couple of months… maybe. I’m fulfilling a job for a woman that passed away and then I’m gone. I’m not writing a travel review or an exposé on this town. I appreciate you wanting me to feel safe or at home or whatever, but it really is unnecessary.”
He crosses his arms and smirks. “You’re a tough cookie.”
“I am not a tough cookie. I am a soft cookie,” I admit, albeit cheesily. “I have feelings that get hurt. I am sensitive. I am kind. I am loyal and dedicated, and that is why I am going to do this job, because I made a promise to someone. Unfortunately, that someone’s son is a complete dick.”
He chuckles a bit. “Oh, come on, his mom just died.”
I press my lips into a closed-lip smile and open my driver’s side door. “Which is why I am choosing not to pick a fight.”
He absorbs my answer and picks at his teeth with his tongue before speaking. “Let’s do something fun tomorrow night.”
