Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Shay
I can’t believe I’m actually looking forward to this funeral…
Okay, that’s a lie.
I wasn’t looking forward to the funeral, or to seeing the family I’d been avoiding since I fled this city. What I did find myself weirdly excited about was meeting up with the date I’d somehow managed to trick into coming with me.
It’s not a date, Shay.
It’s an internet-sanctioned arrangement with a senior citizen trapped in a thirty-one-year-old’s body.
This was assuming “Josh” was telling me the truth about his age. Most men on the H2H app knocked a good decade off their profiles in hopes of catfishing someone into their bed. I went in the opposite direction—adding a few years in hopes of discouraging the creeps.
While still teasing them with that cake.
Big brat energy, what can I say?
It wasn’t that I was opposed to an older man, but I’d recently concluded a year of dating so disastrous, I no longer knew what the hell I wanted. The only thing I was sure of was that I didn’t want to show up to Marguerite’s funeral alone.
Not that I’d admit that to anyone.
This stubborn avoidance was why I was currently sitting at Captain’s Cafe with a whole-ass story prepared for my not-date to hear.
Not that it mattered. With this being a one-time deal, and Josh being a complete stranger I’d ditch immediately after the memorial service, I didn’t need to worry about the truth ever coming to light.
Especially since I’ll be hopping on the first flight out of town.
“Shay?”
I tore my focus away from my phone and startled to find a behemoth of a man standing beside me.
An incredibly attractive behemoth.
He was at least 6’4” with shoulders so broad, he blocked the daylight streaming through the windows at the front of the diner.
These shoulders were straining against the stitching of an impressively tailored black suit while providing a sturdy foundation for his long mahogany locks to flow—haloed with an almost angelic glow—onto his chest.
His hands, currently clutching a pair of brown shopping bags with the words “Opal Creek” printed on the sides, were proportionally enormous, and it wasn’t hard to imagine exactly how he could put those thick fingers to good use.
Too bad I’ve sworn off dating.
Realizing my focus hadn’t traveled north of his pecs—also testing the integrity of his suit—I lifted my gaze and almost gasped. Chiseled cheekbones were waiting for me, along with brown eyes so dark they were almost black, and full lips parting to reveal a sharper than normal smile.
Is this a stress-induced fantasy?
If it was a delusion, it was a good one. I’d only just finished my tenth rewatch of the Interview with the Vampire series, and had long ago decided if I had to be a supernatural creature of any kind, it would be a murderous bloodsucker.
What?
They’re always hot, gay, and rich!
The specimen before me was definitely fulfilling the hot part, and I had to assume he was somewhere on the queer spectrum if he was answering my ad. Money didn’t really matter to me as much as the other criteria, but I also wouldn’t turn away a millionaire.
Who wouldn’t want to be a hot, gay vampire’s sugar baby?
“Maybe,” I haughtily replied to disguise the drool. “Have we met?”
His smile grew, and I had to call up my infamous resting bitch face to avoid visibly reacting to what were definitely vampire-worthy canines.
“Yeah, you’re Shay.” He nodded decisively and slid into my booth, as if I’d invited him to join me. “I recognize your lips.”
“Excuse me?” I huffed, partly creeped out but mostly flattered that he’d noticed one of my best features.
“And your s…ass,” he chuckled before extending a massive paw across the table. “I’m Josh.”
Oh.
Ohhhhh…
I’d done such a good job of convincing myself that Josh from H2H was actually an eighty-year-old, I was genuinely surprised to find he was an only-slightly-older guy.
A supernaturally hot older guy.
My unease instantly evaporated, which was weird since I didn’t know anything about this man beyond our brief online interaction.
I couldn’t even blame my stranger-danger alarm going silent on his behemoth vampire hotness.
Hot guys were plentiful in this shitty city, and the majority were grade-A assholes.
But he seems… different.
“You’re early.” I scowled—again, to hide my thirst but also because I was annoyed I didn’t have longer to mentally prepare myself for today.
“So are you,” Josh replied, aggravatingly nonchalant.
I couldn’t tell if he was actually unbothered by this entire situation, or just purposely not matching my tone. Either way, it only made me want to bother him more.
It will be easier if you hate me by the end of this.
“I’m early because I thought my errand would take longer,” he gestured at the bags beside him, randomly deciding to explain, which did help. “But then I forced myself to leave before I bought the entire store.”
I squinted at the logo again, vaguely recalling Opal Creek was an extremely high-end art supply store existing for industry professionals and snooty art school kids who came from money.
So maybe he is rich…
A sudden realization had me immediately souring. “You’re an artist?”
Please say no.
There was an extremely good reason why I was triggered by the idea, and it had everything to do with today’s funeral.
Josh cocked his head, observing me silently for a moment, as if picking up on my apprehension. “I paint dead people.”
What?
“What?!” I choked out, laughing despite myself, because that was the last thing I’d expected him to say. “Do you mean you believe you’re psychically communicating with the dead?”
That’s worse than just being an artist.
He grinned again, and the pure delight in his expression had me smiling the tiniest bit.
Ugh.
“No.” He shook his head, not seeming offended at all. “People pay me to paint their loved ones after they pass, as a way to commemorate them.”
I squinted at him as my mood turned dark once again. “I’m not going to pay you to do that.”
His joyful expression faltered, and my knee-jerk reaction was to somehow make it come back in any way possible.
Double ugh.
“I-I wasn’t expecting you to,” he stuttered, so obviously caught off guard by my assumption, I had to believe his surprise was genuine. “I’m just here to help you get through the day.”
Now goddamn tears were pricking the corners of my eyelids.
“That’s not why you’re here,” I snapped, all bunched up about everything.
“You’re just here to pretend to be my boyfriend for the next few hours—the fall guy.
I need my shitty family to think you’re the reason I’ve been too preoccupied to communicate with them in a year. ”
Again, Josh simply observed me, infuriatingly calm, and for one desperate moment, I hoped I hadn’t scared him away.
Please don’t leave.
Because I don’t have a backup plan.
“Sure.” He leaned back against the seat and motioned for the waitress to come over. “Whatever you need, Shay.”
Whatever I need…
The idea that anyone would care about what I needed hit me so hard, I barely registered that he was ordering for me.
“Two coffees and orange juices—fresh-squeezed—and I’ll have the Suped-Up Grand Slammer while my boyfriend here wants the Sugar Honey Flapjack Shortstack.”
Did he even look at the menu?
“What makes you think I wanted fucking flapjacks?” I hissed under my breath after several minutes of awkward silence. “Or anything at all?”
Never mind that I was starving, and that ordering breakfast at any time of day was always the right choice. I hadn’t decided yet if eating before this shitshow was a good idea or not.
And we’ll just ignore that I totally would have ordered the flapjacks.
“Well, your coffee needs a refill anyway.” Josh pointed at my chipped, off-white mug. “And everyone knows you shouldn’t go to a funeral on an empty stomach.”
I was about to ask who this “everyone” was when the rest of his statement caught up with me. “How the hell do you know we’re going to a funeral?”
He smiled smugly as our coffee was delivered. “It was either that or a murder, but you don’t seem like the murdering type.”
My eye twitched as he poured an entire sugar packet into his coffee. “I will murder you if I need to,” I muttered, continuing to take my bad mood out on him even though I knew I shouldn’t.
“Doubtful,” he murmured over the edge of his mug before taking a sugary sip. “If my size is good for anything it’s carrying large canvases and avoiding being murdered by sweet little twinks.”
“I’m not sweet!” I sputtered angrily, not even interested in arguing with the twink part.
Of course, that was the moment our waitress reappeared to slap a fruity stack of pancakes in front of me, dripping in syrup, with powdered sugar practically shimmering under the fluorescents.
Fuck, that looks good.
Instead of digging in like I wanted to, I stubbornly glared at my plate, unsure what to do. Josh set aside his mug and ignored his eggs and bacon in favor of propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands.
Waiting for me.
Patiently.
“Would you rather have my Slammer—”
“No!” I yelped with way more emotion than I’d meant to before realizing I needed to cut the shit. “Sorry. I’m just…” I sighed, shoulders drooping as I picked up my knife and fork and obediently began to eat.
I’m just a mess.
“Good boy,” he quietly said before adding, “death is never easy, but it gets easier.”
I normally would have bristled over such a stereotypically empty platitude, but the “good boy” weirdly settled me. Plus, I got the sense what he’d just said wasn’t a throwaway line—that this man actually knew what he was talking about.
Since he’s uniquely equipped for a date with death.
We ate in unnaturally comfortable silence for a few minutes before Josh spoke again. “Mr. Francesco will take good care of your family, although the decor in there hasn’t been updated since the 1970s.”
I eyed him suspiciously, wondering if maybe he was a creepy, sixth-sense psychic after all.
“I’m assuming the service is at Francesco’s Funeral Home since it’s right around the corner.” He pointed over his shoulder with a ketchup smeared knife, answering two unspoken questions at once.
The other being that he is the type of weirdo who puts ketchup on his scrambled eggs.
“Do you know every funeral director in town because of your unconventional childhood?” I huffed, suddenly realizing Josh’s connections might make my plans for ghosting him difficult.
He swallowed his mouthful. “No. I know Mr. Francesco because that’s where we had my parents’ viewing.”
I froze.
Josh shoveled another forkful of ketchup-smothered egg into his mouth with a satisfied hum, as if he hadn’t just dropped his villain origin story in my lap.
Weirdly sensing my inner turmoil once again, he washed down his latest bite with some juice and smiled reassuringly.
“My parents were both killed in a car crash when I was eight. After that, I was sent inland to live with my Aunt Bea, but I moved back about five years ago to start my own business. That was when I reintroduced myself to Mr. Francesco and every other funeral director in the city.”
My eyes practically bugged out of my head at how casually he spoke of what had to be peak trauma. “So all the directors know you as the guy who paints dead people?” I blurted out, since my brain was still absorbing the rest.
Josh threw his head back and laughed—a deep, booming sound that matched his size—before flashing those distractingly sharp canines again. “Well, some of them do. Others know me as Bea’s little Prince Valium, and Mr. Francesco knows me as the kid with the dead parents.”
I practically choked on my coffee. “Well, you probably shouldn’t introduce yourself as any of those things today, unless you’ve come equipped with Valium. My family’s dramatics during the memorial service are inevitable.”
The better to hide their guilt.
Josh eyed me curiously. “Will you be joining in the dramatics?
I didn’t get the sense he was judging—more like gauging where my head would be at once we walked through the door of Francesco’s Funeral Home.
“Whatever you need, Shay.”
I shook my head grimly. “I called my sister going out like this a year ago, but no one wanted to listen to me.”
As usual.
I snapped my foolish mouth shut after that embarrassingly vulnerable overshare, but Josh just nodded slowly, taking it all in.
“Okay,” he said, with that same unearthly calm I’d now realized was his natural vibe. “You focus on finding whatever closure you need today. I’ll handle your family.”
I blinked. “That… that wasn’t part of the deal…”
He shrugged, grinning like we were headed for some fun. “Let me deal with the dramatics. Grieving families are my specialty.”