Until Next Time

by Dell, Justine

  Quinn’s hand caught hers, and he drew it up to his mouth. His voice was low, sure. “Well, Ms. Downing, I believe I’d like to know more about this rule of yours in the future. But for now, I agree.” His lips touched her skin, lingering longer than necessary.

  The warmth of it lit a little fire in the pit of her stomach. Pricks of pleasure radiated from her hand all the way up her arm. She knew she wouldn’t be able to shake it off, so she didn’t even try.

  That was her first mistake.

  Chapter Seven

  Piper’s second mistake was trying to ignore mistake number one. Quinn had touched her. Physically, yes, and while that had been nice…the touch she meant was in a way she couldn’t explain. And in a way she didn’t quite like. It lit a fire deep in her stomach, igniting her long forgotten feelings.

  No, not forgotten…suppressed.

  And for good reason. She passed her mother and father’s wedding picture hanging on the top landing as she descended the stairs for another day of work. She touched a finger to the frame as she walked by.

  Yes, not forgotten.

  But Quinn. Holy mother of apple pie. What was she going to do about him? It had been a week now. A long one. He’d called—once—and she hadn’t had the nerve to return the call. She didn’t know what to say. Sure, she’d been ready to have a nice fling with him. After all, the man was gorgeous, kind, and had eyes that lit up an entire room. Not to mention his face. But something deep in her gut told her that Quinn wasn’t simply a pretty face. There was so much more to him, and it was the more that would get her trouble.

  She ambled all the way down the steps, saying good morning to Jessica and grabbing a cup of coffee from the arrangement room, the area where she met with clients. She scanned everything, checked both of the funeral rooms, double-checked the thermostat, rearranged the flowers along the walls, and made sure everything was perfect. In her office, she checked her messages, her email, made general correspondence, and filed away invoices. Then she finally made her way down to the basement. It was the same routine every day. Even the weekends. She was scheduled from eight to five, and then, when time permitted and there weren’t dead bodies dropping all night on her doorstep, she made rounds at the market, the flower shop, the post office, and the like. Not necessarily for herself, but for business. Her father had taught her that keeping her face in the crowd kept her business in the black.

  Most nights, though, were filled with calls and intakes and body bags. Not that she minded. It was a routine, a strict one, and she had no problem following it. She didn’t have a social life, and that was fine by her.

  But Quinn.

  Piper shook her head fiercely and snapped on the lights before heading down the final flight of stairs to the underground of her home. Focusing, she slipped the clipboard from the wall—an intake from the night before—and did what she did best: prepare the dead for their afterlife.

  <<<<>>>>>

  After a full day of work, Piper stretched her arms and glanced down at the newest arrival. Mrs. Robbins lay on the cold hard steel, her once glimmering brown eyes distant and dark. She hated when they popped open during transport, which happened frequently. She said a silent prayer, closed the eyes, and went about preparing her second grade teacher’s body for her eternal rest.

  Once complete, she touched a hand over the woman’s chest. “Rest in peace,” she whispered. “Thank you for being the foundation of my education.”

  A hand fell on Piper’s shoulder. She lurched back, bumping into a warm body. Spinning around, heart thundering, Piper’s wide eyes met Margo’s.

  “For the love of chocolate, Margo,” Piper huffed. “You scared me to death.”

  Margo shrugged, her eyes flitting to Mrs. Robbins and back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you hadn’t heard me come in. I even knocked when I saw you bent over the table.”

  “Oh.” Piper’s hand flew to her cheek. “I must have been deep in thought, I guess.”

  “I guess I’ll go with that.” Margo ushered Piper away from Mrs. Robbins, giving her a good look before sliding the woman’s body into the cooler. “You did a good job on her.”

  Piper dumped her apron and gloves into the bin. “Thanks.”

  “Is it hard to work on someone you knew?”

  “How did you know I knew her?”

  Margo’s shoulder lifted. “I didn’t. I heard Jessica’s intake call. Apparently she was Lenny’s teacher. How did you know her?”

  “She was my teacher, too.”

  Margo meandered around the space, picking up the restoration products Piper had scattered about. That was normal.

  “You and Jessica grew up here,” Margo said. “I imagine you’ve worked on several people you knew. I’ve never had to do that. The very thought terrifies me.”

  Piper helped pick up several products from the counters and stuffed them unceremoniously in the open cabinet. When she realized she was making a mess of the newly organized space, she stacked the items neatly, giving Margo a soft smile. “That’s normal, Margo. I’d never worked on anyone I knew until after Dad died. He did all intakes and embalming himself. I wished I would have had to courage to ask him what you asked me. It would have been nice to know how to deal with it. I wasn’t prepared that first time.”

  “Who was it? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Mr. St. James, our old florist.”

  “You had a florist before Maggie and Dave?”

  “Sure.” Piper closed the now full cabinet. “That’s how we got started with them. When Mr. St. James passed, we had to find a new florist. Dad was fiercely loyal, even though Mr. St. James’s prices were higher than the rest. ‘You want to best, you pay for the best,’ Dad always said.” Piper allowed herself a small chuckle. “Maggie and Dave had just sprung up shop on the edge of town. And since Mr. St. James’s family wanted no business in flowers anymore, Maggie and Dave to the rescue.”

  Margo nudged Piper’s arm. “And Dave rescued you as well, I hear.”

  Piper’s eyes bugged out. “Who told you that?”

  Margo blushed. “Jessica.”

  “Little gossiper.”

  Margo’s laugh was robust. “No, I mentioned to her once that I’d never seen you date, and I wondered what it would take for anyone to catch your eye.”

  “And when did you have this conversation?”

  “Last week, after I met Mr. Oliver when he came to see you.” Margo shuffled across the floor, sweeping her hair into a low ponytail. “He seemed to catch your eye, and since that was the first time I’d seen such a thing, I couldn’t help but ask Jessica about other times.”

  Piper cocked her hip. “My love life is that much a conversation starter, huh?”

  “Town’s small. Besides, Jessica said there wasn’t much to talk about.”

  Piper set the last of the products in the cabinet. “She’s right.”

  “Which brings me back to you and Dave…and Mr. Oliver.”

  The cabinet door creaked shut, and Piper gave it a hard push into place. She should really order a new one. She hadn’t been able to force herself to replace any of her father’s old equipment yet, though.

  “So?” Margo insisted.

  Piper drew her brows together. “First—” she twirled around and shuffled across the room. “—there never was a me and Dave. It was a few dates, that’s all. He wanted serious, and I don’t do serious. Plus, we did business together, and I decided that wasn’t a good idea.” She flipped through a clipboard full of paperwork, checking off boxes about the body she’d just completed, filling in notes when needed.

  “And Mr. Oliver?”

  “There’s also not a me and Mr. Oliver. By the way, his name is Quinn.”

  “Quinn? So you’re on a first-name basis, then?”

  Groaning inwardly, Piper hung the clipboard back on the wall and leveled her eyes with the increasingly interested Margo. “We went on a date, yes.”

  “I know.”

  “Jessica, right?”
>
  “Of course. We were both wondering if you used any of your famous Piper-isms on him.”

  Piper gave her a pointed look. “Piper-isms?”

  “Yeah, those silly words you use in place of real ones. Like mother of chocolate instead of—”

  Piper’s hand shot up. “Please don’t use that language. I don’t like it.”

  Margo chuckled. “I know. But that’s what I mean. Piper-ism.”

  She only shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to curse. It’s a matter of preference, really. Those words seem so cold and mean.”

  “And you’re not either?”

  Piper almost laughed. Sure, she wasn’t mean, but she wasn’t so sure about the cold part. She could admit that she was detached. But her detachment had a purpose. And she just didn’t like the sound of those nasty words. Her mother and father had taught her better than that.

  “Now about that date…”

  When Margo only stared at Piper expectantly, Piper grumbled under her breath. “What about it? It was only a date.”

  “No second date, then?”

  “No. Not yet. Not officially, anyway.”

  Margo snickered and busied herself with a tray of new tools. “Not yet,” she mumbled under her breath.

  Piper’s eyes narrowed. Was that sarcasm she heard? She really was better at dealing with dead people. They didn’t form opinions and didn’t judge, not that Margo was judging her. Piper didn’t understand other people’s interest in her dating life, even though everyone and their brother seemed to mention something about it when she ran errands. It was like she was under some sort of an invisible microscope, everyone waiting for her to take that plunge. Sorry to disappoint, she’d always have to say; Piper didn’t do the plunge.

  “Well?” Margo’s voice snapped Piper back to attention. “Are there any pointers you can get me about working on someone you knew?”

  Piper shook her head, curious as to the quick changing subject matter. Not that she minded. “Besides it being hard?”

  “How did you deal with it?”

  “The first time, while hard, was actually easier for me because Mr. St. James’s family didn’t want anything to do with the funeral.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Dad loved him, but apparently his family did not.”

  “But…” The look of concern spreading across Margo’s face was expected. “Why would that be easier? Sounds like it would be harder. I mean, a man creates and raises a family, only to be disrespected in death? That’s freaking crazy.” Margo slapped a hand on the steel table by the wall.

  “One thing you learn as a funeral director is never to judge a family, Margo. They’re each woven differently in time; the next never the same as the last. Not everyone can be as close as yours was.”

  A frown crinkled Margo’s forehead. Her full cheeks deflated. “But even if families aren’t close, they shouldn’t stonewall you if you keel over. I mean, damn. That’s cold.”

  Piper gave a small shake of her head. “Sometimes it’s not all about the living.”

  “Then what the heck it is about?”

  “I’ve seen death every day since I was a child. I’ve seen how it affects the old and the young. It makes you hard, a job like this does. I’ve learned that even though you’re catering to the needs of the living, it’s the dead that matter.”

  “Well, of course, they matter. I mean, they are the ones you have to prepare, make look good for the family—”

  “True. But it’s not even that.” Piper’s eyes floated to the white ceiling. Cracks were beginning to show through the old plaster. “It’s so much more. The deceased make a statement by what they leave behind. Mr. St. James left behind a family who didn’t mourn his death; he didn’t leave behind anything for them to be sad for. I respected that, while physically it was hard to work on someone I had spoken to in real life. Mr. St. James wanted to leave this earth on his own terms, without the burden of leaving others behind, so from what I gathered, he disconnected. Every dead person has a story. I like ones like his best.”

  Margo’s mouth hung open. After several silent beats, she spoke. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’ve got, what, six months left on your internship before you can take the test and become all official and open up your own place?”

  Margo’s eyes lit up. “Five months and thirteen days.”

  Piper strode across the room, giving the doorframe a quick rap before turning once more to Margo. “Piece of advice? Learn how to disconnect yourself now, Margo, or you’ll never make it.”

  She hustled out and up the stairs as fast her feet would take her. When the parlor door swung open, Jessica stepped into view.

  “Oh, good,” Jessica huffed. “I caught you. I wanted to give you these messages before I left.” She thrust a stack of pink papers into Piper’s hand.

  Piper flipped through them one by one.

  “Mr. Morgan, the new product guy, will be here Tuesday at noon. The Mastersons called and gushed about the flower arrangements for Gloria’s funeral. They requested a duplicate—fake—casket arrangement for their home mantle.”

  “Mmm. I’ll call Dave.”

  “The city inspector scheduled your yearly walk-through—”

  Piper groaned, still flipped through the endless messages.

  “I scheduled it for this upcoming Monday at noon. I put all this on your calendar, so you shouldn’t have a problem keeping track.”

  “Thank you, Jessica.”

  “Oh, and Mr. Oliver called. Quinn, that is.”

  Piper stopped short and clutched the wad of paper. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. He said he had both business and personal things to discuss. I took the business message. It’s in your stack there.” Jessica hustled around the desk, shutting down her computer and switching the phone over to Piper’s work cell. Rounding the corner, she jerked her purse from the closet. “And as for the personal? Since he said he’d left one message already and since you went on a date with him, I went ahead and gave him your cell number. I was shocked he didn’t already have it.”

  Piper’s throat felt suddenly constricted.

  “I…uh, hope that’s okay.”

  Jessica’s young baby blues were staring right at Piper. She waved the comment off. “Oh, sure, no problem. The date wasn’t that big of a deal anyway.”

  “Oh, good. Okay. Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Have a good night, Jessica.”

  Piper flipped through the messages until she found Quinn’s. He wanted to discuss the VA foundation thing he was doing for Mr. Ryan. Hmm…hadn’t they already covered that? The paperwork was done, and the funeral for Mr. Ryan’s wife was the next day.

  Not worrying about it, she bid her goodnights to Margo and bustled out the door.

  The thick evening air gave her slight pause as she stepped of the porch and made her way to her car. She would be thankful when fall arrived. Even though Wisconsin was far north, it still had smoldering summers.

  With calculated efficiency, Piper stopped at the flower shop to order a duplicate casket arrangement for the Mastersons. She could have done it over the phone, but she was going to be out anyway. While there, she double-checked her impending orders for funerals over the next few days. She stopped at the post office to pick up the new office stationery and condolence cards. Next was the hardware store. Piper had to order some new sculpting tools, which oddly were no more than random mechanic tools. Sure, there were expensive official sculpting tools for preparing a body, reconstructing a face, applying makeup, etc., but her father had taught her the importance of not going overboard. It was the very reason she had a nice nest egg tucked away.

  Once at Butcher’s Market, she rolled her cart through the aisles quickly, tossing in pasta and finger foods, things that were easy to fix and eat later. After snagging her essential peanut butter and chocolate bars, she made a beeline for the checkout. Her cart slammed into another as she dashed out
of aisle ten.

  “Whoa!” Quinn’s voice rolled through the air. “Look like someone’s in a hurry.”

  Piper shook off the alarm and straightened her jacket. “Oh, squished peas, I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  His grin was fast and devastating. “You squished your peas? That’s a shame.”

  She felt her face grow red. “No. Of course not.”

  Those impossibly light eyes searched Piper’s face. “Should we ask Mr. Butcher to post speed limits signs?” he said, humor lighting his features. “I mean, I’m pretty sure you crushed my eggs on impact.” To prove his point, Quinn hoisted a crate of eggs up and popped open the lid. Sure enough, two eggs on the corner were cracked along the sides and spilling out clear liquid. He shot Piper a wide grin.

  She wanted to hide behind the huge stack of toilet paper to her right. “Holy smoly. Sorry. I didn’t mean to plow you over. I’m sorry.”

  “You already said ‘sorry’ once.” His eyes twinkled. Three times, actually.”

  “I know. I was in a hurry.”

  “Seems that way.” He dislodged his cart from hers and swung around beside her. “Are you always in a hurry, Ms. Downing?”

  Her bottom lip curled. “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Oh! Piper!” Mr. Butcher ran through the front checkouts, straight toward them. His belly bounced with each thunderous step. “I’m so glad I found you here.”

  Piper scrunched her face before putting on a smile. “Well, you got me. What can I do for you, Mr. Butcher?”

  He was out of breath by the time he came up next to her, and his face was covered with a thin sheen of perspiration. He took a few moments to catch his breath.

  “Mr. Butcher? Are you okay?” she asked, very aware that while he was a little overweight and on the older side, a run from the front office to the checkouts should not have been that laboring.

  “No. No, I’ve been trying to call you for the last five minutes.”

  Piper’s hand flew to her cell phone. Jerking it out, she realized she had no missed calls, but she also had no signal. “Oh, dear.” Her face went hot. “It’s the store. All the steel beams and stuff screw up my service. I’m so sorry.” She cast a glance at Quinn. “See? I was in a hurry for a reason.”