Page 17 of Mourner for Hire
THIRTEEN
DOMINIC
Eli can’t stop laughing, only adding to my fury.
I toss the corn fritter I was about to consume back on the plate, sit back, and glare at him. “It’s not funny, Eli.”
It takes him a full twenty seconds to recover.
“It’s a little funny.” He shrugs through a breath of laughter.
“Dude, you’re supposed to be on my side.” I rest my elbows on the table of the corner booth at Joelle’s family restaurant, the Hungry Hermit.
Eli and I have been best friends since my dad died, but we’ve known each other for the last twenty years.
Our friendship is made of steel and secrets—we never ratted each other out.
Not even when he had me do his chemistry homework as a freshman or when he got caught stuffing potatoes up Joel Bergeman’s exhaust pipe after he got handsy with Eli’s sister at the prom.
So when it comes to something as dire as this, I’d think he’d support me blindly.
“I am on your side. But you have to be honest with yourself. It is comical,” he says, holding his hands up, ready to summarize my situation.
“The girl that waltzed into the bar ten months ago that you said is—and I quote—the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen and you’d die a happy man if she was the mother of your children?—”
“Hey,” I warn, my voice low and sharp.
“Your words, man. This ship in the night, this harlequin of your dreams that drifted in and out of your bar, leaving you dazed and frustrated, only came through your bar and this town because your mom hired her to attend the funeral and live in the cottage.” He lets out a maniacal laugh.
“And to top it off, it’s written in the will. This is so very like your mom.”
“It is not,” I reply, seething.
“Don’t play dumb,” Eli says.
“Fine. How is this like Mom?” I challenge.
“Your mom loves to cause a stir. She toilet-papered your bar the first night it was open,” he starts, and I sit back on the red pleather, rolling my eyes. “She would be the one buying the eggs we tossed in the corn maze for us?—”
“Not to mention the plastic flamingos we put in Marylou’s yard on her birthday,” Joelle cuts in as she slides me their famous grilled tuna burger with sweet potato fries.
“That wasn’t a joke. Marylou loved it when we did that,” I argue.
Eli points a finger. “Don’t argue with my wife. She’s always right.”
“Thank you, baby,” she says, leaning down to kiss him. He gently pushes back her blond curls and tilts her to kiss him on the mouth. These two have been hot and heavy since the eighth grade, and they still act like a couple of horny teenagers. “Need anything else?”
“No, Joelle. Thank you,” I reply.
She smiles and winks, giving my shoulder an empathetic squeeze as she walks away.
Eli stares at me for a beat. “What about the scavenger hunts she sent you on each Christmas? Or how she made up crossword puzzles for your birthday cards.”
“She was creative. ”
Eli’s face spreads into the biggest shit-eating grin. “And it would seem she still is even beyond the grave.”
My jaw pulses, and I glance toward the entrance of the restaurant to find the very brunette my mother sent to give me the prank of a lifetime walk through the door.
I hate that I still think she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I hate that I know the sound of her laugh.
I hate that I love how her lips taste. And I hate, more than anything, that she’s a con artist who preys upon the grieving.
Her job is a joke. A cruel, senseless joke.
So it doesn’t matter how beautiful she is or that her deep green eyes seem to pierce through my soul.
It doesn’t matter that once upon a time, I thought she was funny and smart and gorgeous. My hate outweighs all of that.
“I know that look,” Eli says before taking a bite of his BLT.
I wince, my upper lip snarling slightly.
“That look you get when you see something you can’t have,” he continues.
I scoff. “Oh, I could have her. I don’t want her.”
“Yeah, right.” He laughs. “You want her, but your ego won’t let you even try. Not anymore, at least.”
I huff out a breath, watching her from across the restaurant. She clearly doesn’t know I’m here. She orders her food and waits patiently, pulling out her e-reader and not paying any mind to anyone around her. Just like she did at my bar.
It doesn’t take long for her burger to arrive and for Frankie O’Connor to slide in on the other side of the booth.
“What’s that fucker doing?”
Eli tosses a look over his shoulder to find exactly what I see. He lets out a rough laugh. “That’s Connor doing what he does best, and you know it.”
I scratch at my neck. The idea of him even talking to her makes me itch. “He can’t have her.”
Eli laughs harder, and I’m surprised more attention isn’t being drawn in our direction. Then I realize what I said.
I clear my throat to correct myself. “I mean, you know how desperate he is for a missus. It can’t be her. I want her out of this town as soon as I can run her out of here.”
“Dunner, you have got to relax. For being as book-smart as you are, you’re acting like an idiot. You might as well just lean into whatever charade this is and treat it like one of your mom’s old scavenger hunts. She did everything for a reason,” Eli says then takes a long sip of his iced tea.
“No,” I answer quickly.
“Fine. Remain angry. Hate her for as long as you can,” he adds, watching Connor schmooze my arch-nemesis.
She seems mostly uninterested.
Good.
Then he says something that makes her crack a smile, and her eyes twinkle under the red pendant light above the booth. I know that smile, but more than that, I know exactly how this man works a woman. Before I know it, she’ll be handed a puppy and watching him nurse kittens back to health.
Absolutely not.
“Fuck this,” I mutter and start stalking toward her.