by Kim Linwood
Stiff
Kim Linwood
Kim Linwood
Copyright © 2018 by Kim Linwood
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.ß
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Stiff
August 1st, 2018
Cover by Cormar Covers
Contents
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Stiff
1
Sadie
With a click and a grind, my quarter disappears into the parking meter on Main Street. The bright July sun reflects off the glass, making me squint to see how long I have before I can expect to find a ticket under my wiper. I’m pretty sure the only reason we even have the meters is to give Ron—Wittville, Pennsylvania’s only full-time Deputy—something to do.
Sure enough, I glance across the street and see him nursing a cup of coffee at Joe’s as he reads the paper and watches the street for any signs of trouble.
Half an hour should be plenty. If it’s not, I’ve got bigger issues, because I have a customer appointment in twenty-five minutes, another one in an hour, and then a funeral to take care of in the afternoon. I guess bad things come in threes. Well, not bad for me, but being busy in the funeral business isn’t exactly something to celebrate.
I can handle the extra work because this is the new me. The responsible me. The me that’s been kicking butt at managing the funeral parlor on my own for the last three weeks while my parents are on an extended vacation to celebrate their thirtieth anniversary. And surprisingly, I’m kind of enjoying it. After all my years of grumbling suddenly I’m in charge.
And you know what? I’ve got this.
Or at least, I’ve got it as soon as I get all the flowers we’re going to need for this afternoon. Which is why I had to drive instead of walk to Forget Me Not, the best florist in town. To be fair, it’s the only florist in town.
With a full day ahead of me, I take a moment to close my eyes and enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face. It’s still early enough to be comforting instead of the scorching hell that the afternoon is sure to be in spite of the breeze coming down off the mountains. I could use the sun. I’m an interim funeral director, not a vampire.
I open my eyes, already moving, and catch myself only inches away from colliding with a man who’s slipped past me to enter the shop. All I see is his broad back, but the view is so nice that I don’t even mind. A charcoal gray suit hugs his powerful shoulders, the soft wool clinging to him like a possessive lover. Lower down, tailored pants showcase what look like very toned legs—and from what I can see under his jacket—a nice, tight rear end.
I sigh, vaguely jealous of whoever a guy like that is buying flowers for.
It’s definitely someone more attention grabbing than me, because the door swings shut right in my face. I stop it with my hand, and then manage to snag my sleeve on the handle as I push my way in, ripping a tiny hole in my shirt. I wince. Figures. The whole competent professional facade was only going to last so long.
Just inside, I surreptitiously eye the stranger as he approaches the counter. It’s silly, but everything about him screams business and I wish a little of that could rub off on me. A guy like him would never bend over to get something from the bottom shelf and end up with a huge, embarrassing split in his pants. Not that I’ve done that.
More than once.
The mental image of polka-dotted underpants peeking out of a long gash down the back of his tailored pants has me laughing quietly to myself. I feel a little bad, considering that for all I know, he spends the week helping orphans and his weekends saving kittens, but I’m easily amused.
“Morning, Sadie! I’ll be right there.” Maria Garcia, the octogenarian owner of the shop holds up her arm and waves to me past Mr. Sexy Pants.
Her long, white-gray hair balances in a haphazard bun on the top of her head, pinned in place by a neon green florist’s pick. She’s been running this place since before I was born, and long ago adopted me as her honorary granddaughter. I can’t remember a time when her green-stained overalls and busy, floral blouses weren’t a part of my life.
I smile and wave back. Hopefully, whatever the guy ahead of me wants won’t take too long, because I have a bunch of things to get and the meter’s ticking. He’s probably just picking up roses for his equally perfect girlfriend.
So what do I need today? Searching my back pocket, I find my crumpled list and unfold it. While she’s dealing with him, I might as well find out how well what she’s got in stock compares to what I need.
A girlish giggle from the counter steals my attention. Maria’s grinning like a lovestruck teenager. Her cheeks have gone bright pink and she’s absentmindedly twirling a strand of silver hair that’s fallen out of her bun around her finger.
Seriously? He’s like half her age, if that!
The view from the front must be as good as the one from the back. I nearly burst out laughing when she sticks the bottom of a carnation into her mouth and chews. She makes a face and spits it out. It’s too bad her granddaughter Josefina, or Josie as most of us call her, isn’t around. We’d never let Maria live this down.
Maria’s no spring chicken, but she’s still an incorrigible flirt. The wiggle she puts in her generous hips as she walks around the counter and takes the man by the arm would do a burlesque dancer proud.
Well, she’s welcome to him. I have no time to spare on strangers today, no matter how handsome. The garage door’s sticking, the oven’s on the fritz, and dealing with death already has my whole day booked. As per usual, all of the deceased’s out of town relatives waited until the last minute to ask about floral arrangements.
Normally it’s not a big deal. For the cost of the flowers plus a little extra for the service, I’m happy to run the errand for them and send Maria some extra business. The problem is that her new stock comes in every Thursday. Today being Wednesday, it’s going to make for slim pickings.
With a practiced eye, I go back to scanning the flowers, marking down what’s available. It’ll be tight, but there are just enough lilies to go around without having to rely too much on filler, and there are actually plenty of orchids left. I should be able to make this work.
“I have exactly what you need.” Maria’s warm arm goes around my waist, giving me an exuberant squeeze. I grin and turn, but she’s not talking to me. She’s looking back at the guy in the suit while she gestures towards the lilies.
My lilies.
I poke her shoulder to get her attention. “Um, I’m going to need those.”
“What’s that, dear?” she asks, distracted.
“The lilies. I have six orders to fill for this afternoon and I’m going to…” My voice trails off. My first real glimpse of Mr. Sexy Pants and I forget about everything. Lilies, funerals, my ripped shirt, the garage door. Everything.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, I’d been holding out hope that the man—whoever he is—would be somehow flawed. Not in a mean sort of way, but really, no one is that perfect, right? A receding hairline maybe, or an unfortunate nose. Maybe leprosy or an eye patch.
Nope.
Not even a mis
placed mole. In fact, he’s the sort of gorgeous that sells movie tickets. Handsome would be an understatement. Even if I somehow managed to ignore the amazing body, it would only be because I was lost in his deep brown eyes. The eyes that are currently focused on me, one expressive eyebrow quirked in curiosity while I gawk at him like an idiot. The corner of his mouth turns up, softening a strong jawline that’s barely dressed in a well-kept five o’clock shadow.
He knows I’m watching him, and his half-smile quickly turns into a full-fledged grin. My traitorous heart flutters at the sight, not caring that he’s just being friendly. So long as he’s being friendly with me.
He’s too perfect. Maybe he’ll sound like a chipmunk.
“Carter,” he says, closing the distance between us with his hand outstretched in introduction.
Great, more like Chippendale.
Maria slowly backs away from us, vanishing into the back of her shop like a floral-clad ninja and leaving me on my own.
With him.
Vaguely encouraged by Mom’s faint voice in the back of my head telling me to be polite, my instincts kick in and I take his hand. Warmth, as invigorating as the morning sun on my skin earlier, wraps around my fingers. So many men shake hands with women as if we’re made of glass and liable to shatter at the slightest touch. But no, Carter grips my fingers firmly, maintaining eye contact but not dragging it out into some sort of creepy foreplay.
No, that would be me, hanging onto him while I stare into his dark chocolate gaze and struggle to remember what else there could possibly be to think about but that hint of a dimple in his cheek.
“And you are?” he prompts, managing to not laugh at my utter lack of chill.
I scrape together the shredded remnants of my pride and shake myself out of it. Mostly. “Sadie. Uh… nice to meet you.”
Smooth. Real smooth.
“The pleasure’s all mine.” His voice is sex for the ears. It would be all too easy to imagine it whispering roughly into my ear in the dark.
In my bedroom.
I pull my hand back, mentally spanking myself for my moment of weakness. He’s probably here buying a truckload of flowers for his supermodel girlfriend. I bet she’s got a gigantic purse, a tiny dog that lives in it, and expensive built-to-order boobs that could’ve saved Jack when the Titanic sank.
I don’t even know for sure she exists and I hate her already.
Not that I’m some sort of troll that crawled out from under a bridge. I take care of myself, and I clean up pretty well when the occasion calls for it, but I’m no supermodel, and let’s face it, the occasion doesn’t call very often. The most action I’ve had in the last month was making the pizza guy laugh when I accidentally said, “You too,” after he told me to enjoy my meal.
Carter turns to look at the sparse state of Maria’s inventory. “We seem to be at an impasse. I have quite a sizable order, but Maria tells me she needs to speak to you first.”
They’re on a first name basis already? Wait, he’s trying to take my flowers?
A moment ago I struggled to get out a single word, but now panic has my mouth firing like a machine gun. “Listen, I really need these flowers today. It’s for work and if I can’t get them here, I have to drive to Stinson since there are no other florists in town. That would put me way, way behind.”
I run out of breath, and there’s a long, awkward moment of silence. Instead of answering, he trails his gaze over my body in clear but subtle approval. Given how obviously I checked him out earlier, I can’t really complain, and if my posture happens to improve a bit under his perusal, I can assure you it’s completely coincidental.
“How about this?” When he finally speaks, Carter strokes his chin like he’s planning the invasion of a troublesome country instead of negotiating for flowers. “I’m in town for a couple of days and my order can wait as long as you’ll spare me enough for a small bouquet for my grandmother.”
“Oh, absolutely! That will be no problem at all,” Maria chimes in, emerging from the back of the shop with suspiciously perfect timing. “It’s so nice that you’re willing to help out like that, and so considerate! Taking flowers to your grandmother. Isn’t that nice, Sadie?”
I scowl at my matchmaking friend before turning back to Carter with real gratitude. “Thank you so much.” Driving all over Pennsylvania for flowers would’ve killed my schedule, but what other choice would I have? Internet reviews accusing us of using cheap gas station flower arrangements would last forever.
“It’s fine,” he says, his smile turning distinctly predatory. “But you’ll have to make it up to me.”
“That’s great. I’ll just—wait. What?”
“Dinner. Tonight.” He takes my hand, caressing it with the soft pad of his thumb and making both me and Maria sigh. “Please don’t turn me down. It’d break my heart.”
My brain sparks like a dried-up lighter.
Uselessly.
Is he serious? What would a guy like him want with me? “I… um… I’m not sure. I—”
“She’d love to,” Maria blurts out with a huge grin on her face, probably thinking I need rescuing from my own awkwardness. “And I have the perfect flowers for your date. No lilies required.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me in encouragement.
This isn’t rescue. This is entrapment. She’s been trying to marry off both me and Josie for years. I’m only twenty-three, but in her mind that puts me dangerously close to old maid territory. Normally it’s endearing. Annoying, but endearing.
Unfortunately, today they have me outnumbered.
“Make me a happy man, Sadie,” Carter says, laying it on nearly as thick as his dark, wavy hair.
A date is the last thing I was planning on working into my schedule, but when he looks at me with those gorgeous eyes, it doesn’t matter. I can’t turn him down. Whatever league this guy normally plays in, it sure as heck isn’t mine. There’s no way he’s from around here. He looks close to my age and, trust me, Wittville isn’t big enough to hide someone like him. The chances of this guy being anything more than a couple nights of fun and then a few sad pints of ice cream when he leaves town and goes back to somewhere like New York or L.A. are basically zero.
Still, those would be seriously fun nights, and I’ve always liked ice cream.
I draw a deep breath and nod. “All right.” His smile widens, but I hold up a finger on my free hand. “Except not tonight. I’ve got too much work. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s great. Give me an address and I’ll pick you up at seven.”
As if. “Give me your phone.” I hold out my hand.
He fishes an expensive looking sliver of glass and metal out of his pocket, unlocking it with a glance at the screen before passing it over with a smirk. “You’re asking for a lot of trust very quickly here.”
I roll my eyes and send myself a text. “Don’t worry. Your browsing history is safe. You’ve got my number now. Pick a place and I’ll meet you.”
Maria claps her hands excitedly. “Oooh! This is so romantic. When you get married, you make sure to tell everyone you met in my shop, and I’ll give you a great discount on the flowers.”
“Maria!” My cheeks are burning, but Carter just laughs.
She crouches down in front of the lilies, ignoring me. “Now let’s get your flowers sorted.”
Ten minutes later, he’s helping me load the back of my car, while I’m still trying to get over the fact that my dating dry spell is suddenly over. I’m going out tomorrow night. With a guy who looks like a movie star.
It’s just a little too perfect.
2
Sadie
“I can’t believe you agreed to go out with him without asking me first.” Zoe gives me the eye.
Literally.
There’s an eye sitting in the palm of my hand, looking up at me like a creepy misshapen marble. My face is probably the same shade of green as my gloves right now. Growing up in the funeral business, I’ve seen plenty of dead bodies, but what can I say?
I have strong organizational skills, but a weak stomach.
According to the information they gave us, Mr. Keller passed away from a heart attack at eighty-four. He lost his eye in the Korean War, and it was replaced with the glass lump I’m currently holding very gingerly between my fingertips. I breathe shallowly through my nose and avoid making eye contact with my hand.
Zoe’s trying not to laugh, and not doing a very good job of it. “It’s not even real, you know.”
For all she loves to tease me, I’m so glad Zoe works here. She’s the only female friend I have who understands what I do for a living. Plus, she’s excellent at what she does, which means I don’t have to do it. In a lot of smaller funeral homes I’d be expected to do prep in addition to everything else.
“Mmhmmm.” I nod, looking anywhere but down. “I’m pretty sure who I date or not isn’t up to you.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” She gives me a pointed look before returning to a particularly gruesome use of double sided tape. “As your big sister—”
“We aren’t related,” I point out.
“As your big sister,” Zoe repeats loudly. “It’s my responsibility to watch out for you and make sure you don’t make the same mistakes I did.”
“You’re only four years older than me, and explain to me why I should be taking romantic advice from someone with not just one, but two restraining orders against them?”
She glares at me over Mr. Keller and I glare right back. In her defense, it’s not so much that she did anything particularly bad to her exes. It’s just that nobody does creepy revenge like someone who fixes dead people for a living.
