23 Birdie
BIRDIE
I wake up to find a cat butt in my face.
With a groan, I shove Pickles off my chest. My phone alarm beeps on the bedside table.
The buzzing sends it inching closer to the edge.
Reaching over, I turn it off. God, I haven’t slept that hard in ages.
I don’t even know what day it is. Did I sleep for five hours or fifty?
Stifling a yawn with the back of my hand, I sit up.
Wait—where the heck am I?
I’m so groggy, it takes me a moment to reorient.
This is Phoebe’s old room, right? The morning sun filters through a set of sheer curtains, bathing the room with bright golden light.
The decor is an odd mix of antique colonial furniture and bold, Afro-bohemian pieces.
A faded Victorian wallpaper in a pattern of flowers and birds adds to the general chaos.
I look to Pickles. He sits primly on the end of the bed, staring past me at the wall, his yellow eyes unblinking. “What’s your problem?”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
Tensing, I glance over my shoulder. There’s nothing behind me but a carved headboard. I look back at the cat. His eyes narrow slightly and his thin black tail twitches like he’s irritated.
I slip from the bed. “You know, you were kind of mean last night. What was all that hissing nonsense about?” Grabbing the sweatpants I left discarded on the floor, I quickly tug them on.
Ignoring me, Pickles slinks off the end of the bed and hurries over to the door, pawing at it to be let out.
I creak the door open to find Jasper coming out of his room at the same time, already dressed for the day.
He’s wearing another ratty printed tee he looks so damn good in.
His jeans are a dark wash, scuffed and faded.
Pickles races between us, darting away down the stairs.
There’s no sneaking back into my room and pretending Jasper didn’t see me, so I swing the door open wider. “Good morning.”
“Hey.”
“How’d you sleep?”
“Like the dead.” He’s got faint dark circles under his eyes. And there’s a weariness to the set of his shoulders, like he’s carrying the weight of the world this morning. He takes me in too. “Did you sleep?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve slept that hard in ages.”
“Breakfast is ready downstairs.” He turns to leave and it’s reflex that has me reaching out, grabbing his hand as he tries to pass.
“Hey—”
“Don’t.” He slips my hand from his grip and turns to face me with an even stare. “I won’t be discussing what happened last night. In the alley . . . or afterward.”
Why is he pushing me away? Feeling defensive, I cross my arms. “You mean when you drank from my lips like a man dying of thirst?”
That muscle in his jaw twitches. “It was a moment of weakness, Birdie. It won’t be repeated. For the sake of our working relationship, I suggest you put it behind you.”
“Right. Fine by me.” I want to be angry.
He’s being the child here, not me. I wasn’t going to say a word about us almost fucking.
He’s right, it happened. Last night was crazy.
But I’m not angling to let it happen again.
I just want to know if he’s okay. You know, no symptoms of head injury or lingering pain. Excuse me for caring, I guess.
“I’m not opening the store today,” he says, distracting my swirling thoughts.
“What? Why?”
“Hortie and I have to take care of something, so you’ll have the afternoon free.”
“Okay . . .”
With a curt nod, he leaves, his boots stomping away down the stairs.
I’m left standing alone in the hallway. I swear, Jasper’s going to give me emotional whiplash before the summer is over.
I turn to go back in my room when a chill creeps down my spine.
It feels like someone just breathed down my neck.
I spin around, taking in the empty hallway.
Raising a hand, I rub the back of my neck, soothing the chill.
Then Pickles reappears at the top of the steps, hisses at me, and races away again.
Awesome. It’s gonna be a really great day.
“Good morning, dear.” Hortense welcomes me into the kitchen from her place standing at the sink peeling potatoes. “Would you like some milk with your coffee? Sugar? Cream?”
Bag slung over my shoulder, I glance around the rest of the kitchen, eyes wide. “Whoa.” It looks like a florist set up shop in here overnight. There are easily a dozen bouquets in a range of sizes perched on the counters, the table, the island. “What’s with all the flowers?”
“Oh, don’t mind those,” she calls. “They’re just condolences from wishers well.”
“Condolences?”
She glances over her shoulder with a solemn look. “Death in the family, dear. Jasper’s great-aunt Lydia.”
His aunt died? That would definitely explain why he’s in such a bad mood this morning. Now I feel like the jerk. “Can I do anything to help?”
“Not a thing. Just help yourself to some breakfast.”
I peek around all the flowers to see that the other end of the table is loaded with food—piles of toast, a bowl of fruit salad, eggs cooked three ways, a plate of bacon, and a basket of muffins. Pickles sits on my chair from last night, covetously eyeing a plate of lox.
“I wasn’t sure what you might like,” Hortie calls. “Jasper said peanut butter on toast but that just sounded so dry! Hope you don’t mind that I made a bit of everything. Can’t have you going to your first day of work feeling peckish!”
Before I can reply, there’s a ding.
“That’s the coffee, dear. You sit down now, and I’ll bring you a fresh cup.”
“I can get it.” Slipping my bag from my shoulder, I hurry over to the coffee station.
She’s got it set up with two types of milk, three kinds of sugar, a little carafe of cream, caramel syrup, and peppermint creamer.
I fix myself a cup in a “Witches be Crazy” mug featuring a flutter of little bats.
For the hell of it, I add a dash of the peppermint creamer.
Who doesn’t love a little Christmas in June?
The smell of the fresh flowers is almost overwhelming as I take a seat and reach for a plate, helping myself to a bit of the peanut butter toast and a spoonful of fruit.
I normally skip breakfast. But I can’t be rude to the only person in this house who doesn’t seem annoyed by my mere presence.
As if on cue, Pickles hisses at me again and goes scampering off.
Furry little jerk. I guess our honeymoon phase is officially over.
I’m taking my first sip of coffee when Jasper comes rattling in through the back door. He’s carrying two more vases of flowers, one under each arm. “Who the fuck is sending all these?”
Hortie sets aside her peeler with a sigh. “Give them here, dear. We’ll find a place for them.”
“I want all these cleared out by the end of the day. And no pity food.”
She laughs. “Well, there’s no stopping that. If I know Ruby Dent, she’ll be here within the hour ready to unload a catered funeral’s worth of delights.”
“No funeral. This isn’t a spectacle.”
She snatches up her peeler again, waving it in the air. “Of course it is. You’d want the same if it was you,” she adds pointedly.
He stiffens again at this, casting her a glare that she ignores.
This all seems a little odd to me. Jasper’s aunt died and he doesn’t want to host a funeral?
I got the impression he was close with his family.
Was there bad blood or something? Either way, it seems harsh.
Everyone deserves to at least be acknowledged when they die.
Someone has to remember that they lived. Otherwise, what’s the point?
Hortie opens a cabinet and plucks out a travel mug. “Birdie, dear, why don’t you pop your coffee into this? Can’t have you late for your first day.”
I take the travel mug with a murmured word of thanks. Then I hurry over to the corner and pour some fresh coffee into the mug. “I’m ready when you are,” I say at Jasper.
“Hortie’s taking you into town.”
I glance between them. “Oh. Okay.”
Hortie smiles. “I needed to run a few errands anyway. And Jasper’s needed here to manage the funeral affairs.”
“You’re having it here?”
“Mhmm. Just a small wake. Island locals only.” She unties her apron and sets it aside, letting me get the full effect of her lime green ladies track suit and banana yellow top.
She’s layered the top with a few chunky beaded necklaces.
And she’s changed out her oversize tortoiseshell glasses for an even larger pair with cherry red frames. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
“Right then. Let’s go.” She shuffles over to the table and picks up a fanny pack, buckling it around her waist. “You know, if I see that Howe boy this morning, I’m gonna tell him that the Friends of Burr Island are all very curious to know when he’ll be hosting another public forum.
I’d like an update on the progress of his little dig project.
Maybe you could help slip the idea in his ear,” she adds at me.
Over by the sink, Jasper stiffens.
Perfect. Thanks, Hortie.
Turning, he glances between us. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Ezra,” Hortie replies. “You know the Howe boy, Jasper. He’s that charming archaeologist.”
“You mean the treasure hunter?” he counters. “The grave robber? That fucking Howe?”
Treasure-hunting grave robber? Okay, so Hortie clearly left out a few details last night.
I thought she was implying that Ezra is more interested in the search for lost items than he is in accurately interpreting what he finds.
But is he a literal treasure hunter? Is this entire dig project some kind of scam?
I can feel Jasper’s eyes on me. Slowly, I turn too. His shoulders are tense, his glare extra stormy. “Ezra Howe? That’s who you’re working for this summer?”
I shrug, sipping my too-hot coffee. “I thought that was obvious. Who else would I work for at the historical society?”
He clenches his jaw tight enough to crack his teeth. “And what exactly is the good director asking you to do?”
“I suppose I’ll find that out this morning.” Even Hortie looks a little worried now, so I quickly add, “But I hope it goes without saying that I’m not some treasure-hunting grave robber. I care about my work and my reputation. If Howe asks me to do something illegal or unethical, I won’t do it.”
Hortie’s smile is indulgent. “Of course you won’t, dear. We know that. Don’t we, Jasper?” She looks to him, waiting for his confirmation.
He’s quiet for a long moment, all the gears of his mind cranking. Then he shrugs it off with a muttered “Just be careful.”
“I’m always careful,” I reply.
“Yeah, well you don’t know this island like we do. You don’t know the people and you definitely don’t know the politics.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Jasper. I’ve been on my own for a long time now. I can take care of myself.”
He looks like he wants to say something else, but then Hortie swoops in. “Well, time waits for no woman.” Unzipping her fanny pack, she pulls out a pair of bedazzled sunglasses, switching them out with the red frames on her face. “Birdie, let’s hit the road.”
I grip tighter to the bag strap on my shoulder, taking one last look around the kitchen. “Thanks for having me last night. I really appreciate it.”
“Oh, it was our pleasure,” says Hortie. “You’re welcome back any time. In fact, I think we should make dinner here a standing reservation. Don’t you?”
“That’s really not necessary.” I let her shoo me towards the back door. “I wouldn’t want to become a nuisance.”
“Oh, what tosh! You could never be a nuisance. Should we say six o’clock?”
“Umm . . .”
“Send Jasper a list of your favorite foods so I can start planning menus.”
I sigh in defeat, letting her steer me right out the door.
As much as I’m already in love with Hortense Hastings, I don’t know how many dinners I can manage if I’m forced to share a table with Jasper and his moody asshole cat. No amount of delicious food is worth suffering through all those mixed signals.
But I can’t think about awkward family dinners right now. I need to get my head on straight. I need to focus. And Jasper’s right, I need to be careful. Something is definitely going on with my research adviser and this flashy new dig project.
And I intend to find out exactly what it is.