Page 38 of Mourner for Hire

THIRTY-ONE

DOMINIC

Connor walks into the bar on the next evening smug as hell. I plan to ignore him, but it’s impossible when he beelines for the bar and takes the only open seat, smiling conceitedly at me. He looks like he just got laid and is feeling rather proud of himself.

I saw the awkward goodbye as he and Vada left Something Sweet. I saw that they shared a horse like he was a prince rescuing the princess from a dragon… or a decrepit dark wood monster from The Princess Bride.

And I saw the fucking kiss. I don’t think I’ve unclenched my jaw since.

But as proud as he is of himself, he shouldn’t be. I know what Vada looks like when she loses her inhibitions. I know her eyes do this dreamy, come-get-me thing when she wants more. I know how her hands move and how she melts her body to the person she wants.

She didn’t do any of that with Connor. He may as well have kissed his sister.

Then I saw her wince as she turned away and her gaze landed on me. For a split-second, her guard slipped, and she looked almost happy to see me .

I didn’t mean to notice or watch any of those things, but it just so happened that I was picking up more espresso beans from the coffee roaster on Beach Street before I had to rush back to the bar.

I had no intention of analyzing any of it, but—hate it or love it—when Vada’s in my proximity, she always has my full attention.

A part of me wonders if it’s all part of this elaborate game she’s playing.

She’s clever enough. Calculated, when she wants to be.

But I know the particular shade of pink that rises in her cheeks when she’s been kissed the way she likes—slow and aching, the kind that pulls her in instead of pushing her away.

That flush wasn’t there. Not even close.

Her face was clear, her expression indifferent at best.

Her body language alone clearly stated she would rather be cutting her fingernails with kid scissors than spending the afternoon with Connor.

And while he is what most women would call a “nice guy,” he is inept at identifying true chemistry, making him the annoying lipstick birds that badger beachgoers until they offer them some potato chips.

Even still, seeing his mouth on hers made me unreasonably jealous.

He cracks his neck and drums his fingers on the mahogany bar as he takes a seat next to Marv and Henry. They’ve been drinking since we opened two hours ago, coming straight from their job site with dirty Carhartt’s and dusty brows.

“What’ll it be tonight?” I ask, pouring from the draft for Ronnie and Claire over at the pool table.

“Jack and Coke,” he answers.

“You got it.”

I slide him the drink, and he takes a sip, still wearing that stupid grin. He looks at me like he has something to say, but he doesn’t speak. I hate when people do shit like that. If you have something on your mind, speak up.

I brace the bar, leaning in expectantly.

“I went horseback riding with Vada. ”

A fact I already knew.

“How romantic.” My tone remains as dull as a butter knife.

“It was great. She’s funny, Dunner. And she works really hard,” he tells me.

I snort.

“What? Does she actually kill her clients, too? Is she a fucking murderer with a side of serial con artistry?” I take a sip of coffee and lean against the bar.

“No, she’s actually quite empathetic. She has a funeral tomorrow that she said she’s nervous about.

She said she gets nervous every time because she doesn’t want to screw it up.

She told me about all the different types of funerals she goes to and how she has to follow her clients’ wishes to a tee no matter how uncomfortable it makes her. ”

“And how will they know? They’re fucking dead.”

He shrugs. “That’s where her integrity shows. She follows their wishes in pure good conscience.”

I lean back on the liquor shelf behind me and cross my arms. “Ah, so saintly.”

“I don’t think you need to be giving her as hard a time as you are.”

“I’m not giving her any kind of time. She can rot, for all I care.”

Connor laughs. “I’ve never seen this side of you.”

My face twists. “What side?”

“The side where you get your panties in a twist. I’ve never seen a woman affect you like this. Your feathers are completely ruffled no matter how tough you’re trying to be.”

“Cashing out now, Dominic,” Marv says, pulling out his wallet.

“No problem,” I say, thankful for the distraction. I need to gather my thoughts.

Who the fuck am I? I don’t gather my thoughts. I say what’s on my mind. I slide Marv and Henry their tabs in separate leather cases and tilt my head at Connor .

It’s odd how intensely Connor is coming to her defense when I know he’s not dense enough to think their date or the kiss they shared will put him anywhere but in the friend zone. There’s something he’s not telling me.

“What is it?”

“I think she’s interesting, and she’s got a big heart, and you just need to recognize it.”

I grab a towel and wipe up some condensation from empty mugs left on the bar, then swing the towel over my shoulder.

“And I think I have no desire to give a chance to the random woman from Portland who’s in my mother’s will and is living in her cottage.”

Because on paper—considering everything—we wouldn’t make sense.

Connor sips his drink. “So you give me your blessing, then?”

I jerk back. “Absolutely not.” My quick answer surprises even me, but it doesn’t seem to surprise Connor. I recover with a small laugh. “Do what you want. You don’t need my permission to date her.”

“You sure? Because the way your face flushed and how quickly you were to protect her, tells me I did need to ask.”

I ignore him and busy my hands with drying glasses, willing my mind to focus on anything—anything—other than Vada.

Before I can settle into the distraction, the door swings open, and in walks Kayla with her usual crew.

They claim a bar table near the jukebox, already tossing in coins to cue up Garth Brooks and Shania Twain.

“She’s Every Woman” blares through the old speakers, and like clockwork, a couple starts slow-dancing while their friends cheer from the back corner.

Familiar faces. People I’ve known my whole life.

People who’ve been here for me, especially now.

Connor throws a ten on the bar and leaves, and I round the bar to wipe down tables, just as Kayla barrels into me with a hug.

While I’m grateful for the interruption, my mind immediately drifts. Unfortunately, back to Vada, considering how when I first met her, she assumed I was the type to crawl back in bed with my ex.

“Hey, Kayla.”

“Hey, Dunner,” she says in a Southern accent that only exists in caricatures in the Pacific Northwest. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“It is my bar.”

She laughs and turns to her friend. “I told you.”

“I wanted to come, Dunner. And Kayla said we shouldn’t because you would give her shit about it,” her friend says.

I glance at all three of them thinking, Is the giving of shit in the room with us? Instead, I say, “Nope, but I will give you ladies a drink?—”

“Or seven!” the other friend chimes in with a giggle.

I’m convinced they took shots at the house before arriving.

“We’ll see. What’ll it be?” I ask.

I take their orders and head back to the bar while thinking how Vada read me completely wrong. I have no ill will toward Kayla. I respect her, but I sometimes look at her and think of our time together, and it’s all foreign to me. The man who dated her doesn’t exist.

When I started talking about rings to my mom, she told me, “ Don’t go running off and get married out of convenience and timing. Just because there’s nothing wrong with getting married right now and there’s nothing wrong with getting married to Kayla doesn’t mean it’s the right choice, either. ”

The words hung in the back of my mind for months until I had the courage to break up with her, promising myself I wouldn’t be one of those military guys who gets married as soon as they graduate from basic training. We would have had a fine life. At least, most likely.

That’s not the life I want, though: fine. Good enough. Mostly okay.

I don’t want mediocre love, and I don’t want to love someone with the bare minimum.

I want the kind of love that wakes me up in the middle of the night because I can’t stop thinking about her.

I want the kind of love that makes me a little reckless, a little crazy.

I want to love someone who leaves a mark without me giving her permission.

I pour their margaritas, and as I add the garnish, I realize there’s one moment playing on a loop in my mind while my thoughts spiral.

The way she ran into me—always in a hurry.

The way she didn’t even look at me twice.

The way she nailed my personality in a very specific and annoying way.

The sound of her laugh. The taste of her lips.

Her tongue sliding along mine. The way she gripped my hair and ran her nails down my chest. The feel of her ass in my hands.

The way the memory of her kiss lives rent-free in my mind.

Vada.

One kiss. One year ago.

Fuck…

I’ve tried to be a good boy and keep my distance, but I need to see her. And not just in my damn head.