Chapter Thirteen
I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY
Andi
The morgue is quieter than usual. Normally I’d welcome it. But today, it feels too still, as if everything is holding its breath. Even me.
My meetup with Jack the other night keeps circling in my head, like a song I can’t turn off. He’s always been a constant—steady and predictable—but something about him felt different this time. Tired, maybe. Or distracted. And I hate that I noticed. I hate that it stuck.
Because noticing means feeling.
And I don’t have time for that.
I snap on a pair of gloves and reach for the next file, but the words blur a little. My fingers tighten, and I focus harder.
Just get through the shift. That’s all. Like always.
I’m not fine, but no one needs to know that.
Especially not Cole.
The thought of him pulls at something I don’t want to name. He’s still out there, somewhere in this building, probably plotting his next ridiculous move. The bracket’s burned into my brain now, every stupid stage daring me to react.
Smile? Done.
Talk for five minutes? Not happening.
I won’t play his game.
Except... I already am.
“Earth to Callahan.”
I blink and glance up. Mikey’s leaning in the doorway, a smug look on his face, holding up a fresh cup of coffee like he’s Saint Starbucks or something.
“Got you something,” he says, setting it on my desk. “Thought you might need a refill before your next emotional shutdown.”
I snort. “You’re hilarious.”
“I’m a treasure,” he agrees, dropping into the chair across from me without an invitation. “So... how’s lover boy?”
I groan. “Don’t start.”
“Too late. He’s making progress, I hear.”
“You’ve got ears everywhere, don’t you?”
He grins, stretching like he owns the place. “The pie was a nice touch. Thought I was your work husband, but apparently, I’ve been replaced.”
I roll my eyes, but the mention of the pie makes something tight in my chest loosen, just a little. I haven’t let myself think about it too much. Haven’t let myself think about why it mattered.
“It was just pie,” I say, focusing on my screen.
“Sure,” Mikey says, eyes twinkling. “And I’m just a humble civil servant.”
I push back from the desk and stand up. “Don’t you have something to do?”
“Yeah,” he says, rising as well, still watching me too closely. “Like making sure you don’t drown in all that broody energy. Seriously, Andi. Lighten up a little.”
I stiffen, something sharp piercing my chest. “Not everyone gets to just... lighten up.”
He frowns, but I’m already brushing past him, coffee in hand, pretending I didn’t let too much show.
The hallway is cooler and quieter, but I can still feel it—the weight. Grief season. Jack’s visit. Cole’s attention. It’s all piling up, and I don’t know what to do with it.
I’m fine. I’m always fine.
But today? I’m not so sure.
I’m finishing my final report of the day, trying to focus when the door creaks open.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter without looking.
“Miss me?”
I glance up, and sure enough, there he is.
Cole.
Not in uniform this time—just a soft-looking T-shirt that clings in all the right places, dark jeans, that same stupid grin.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
He steps forward, hands behind his back like he’s hiding something. “I brought you something.”
“Your pie didn’t work,” I say, glancing at him.
He grins. “Didn’t it?”
“Nope.”
“Liar.”
I narrow my eyes. “Do you ever give up?”
“Not when I’m winning.”
“You’re not.”
“We’ll see.”
“Fine,” I relent. “What’d you bring me?” More pie? My stomach gives a hopeful lurch.
He shrugs, pulls out a small pink pastry box, and sets it on my desk.
I stare at the box. It’s not from the cafeteria; it looks more like something from a fancy boutique bakery. “You really don’t have anything better to do?”
I realize that’s an odd way to say thank you, but the last thing I want to do is encourage him.
“I have today off.” He shrugs.
That explains why he’s not in uniform.
“Then why aren’t you somewhere else? Anywhere else?”
“Maybe I wanted to see you.”
My pulse quickens, but I keep my face still. I don’t do this—whatever this is.
I tell myself not to read into it. He’s just messing around. It’s just a game. It’s probably just more of his charm.
But for a moment... it doesn’t feel like nothing.
I open the box slowly—inside is a cupcake, an adorable, perfect white cupcake with pink frosting topped with a slice of fresh strawberry. It’s practically Instagram-worthy.
I don’t thank him; I just lift it from the box, partially unwrap it, and take a bite. It’s perfect—creamy frosting that’s not too sweet paired with fluffy cake.
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me like I’m a puzzle he can’t wait to solve.
“You know, you’re not as cold as people say.”
I swallow slowly. “Don’t get used to it.”
He smiles like he already has.
“Are you off for the day?” he asks, eyeing my laptop bag and keys on my desk, along with the fact that I’ve removed my lab coat.
I nod and put my cupcake back in its box.
“I’ll walk you out.”
“No need.”
“Too late.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t fight him. I’ll let him play gentleman if it makes him feel good. I grab my shoulder bag and my prized dessert, and we head for the doors.
We step into the lot, the sun dipping low, that golden-hour glow making everything softer—even him. I reach for my keys, hit the unlock button, and nothing.
Great.
I try again.
Nothing.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
“Problem?” he asks, already moving closer.
“Dead battery, I think.”
“Pop the hood.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know,” he says, stepping in anyway. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”
It’s stupid, but that hits something I’m not ready for.
Five minutes later, we’re both staring at the engine like it’s personally insulted us. It wouldn’t even turn over when I tried to start it.
“You need a jump,” he says, “or a ride.”
I groan. “I’ll call someone.”
“Or,” he says, dangling his keys, “you can let me take you.”
I hesitate—just long enough.
Cole smiles. “It’s just a ride home, not a marriage proposal.”
“Fine.”
His truck’s parked a few spots down, clean and sturdy, smelling like cedar and something that might be cologne. I slide in, arms crossed, still fuming.
“Where to?” he asks, starting it up.
I rattle off my street, then stare out the window, trying not to think about how weirdly nice this is.
He pulls out of the employee parking lot, and it’s quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the soft, familiar beat of a song I haven’t heard in years.
“I Wanna Dance with Somebody” filters through the speakers like it belongs there, as if it was playing even before I stepped inside.
I glance sideways, raising an eyebrow. “Are you listening to Whitney Houston?”
Cole doesn’t flinch. He just grins, hands relaxed on the wheel. “I grew up with a single mom. Whitney’s my girl.”
I smirk, impressed. “Respect.”
He taps the volume knob, nudging it up a bit. “This is her in her peak pop diva era.”
“Absolutely,” I agree, leaning back into the seat and letting the rhythm wrap around me. “Don’t even get me started on The Bodyguard soundtrack…”
“Legendary,” he cuts in, grinning wider. “I had the CD in my mom’s car growing up. Pretty sure I knew every word by the time I was eight.”
I laugh under my breath, nodding. “Same. We used to play it on repeat in the kitchen. I’d dance around like an idiot while she cooked.” The words spill out before I can stop them, and just like that, something shifts inside me—something warm and soft… and painful.
The memory feels like a lifetime ago: me singing into a spatula microphone while Mom laughed and encouraged me, Dad snapping photos on his phone. It was another life.
Cole doesn’t say anything right away; he just lets the song play. The beat washes over me.
I clear my throat, my eyes fixed on the windshield. “She died when I was seventeen.”
Still, there’s no rush. No sympathy dripping off him like it does with most people. No fake condolences.
“Shit,” he says, glancing over at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time.
I nod, swallowing hard. “Car accident. Both my parents.” My voice doesn’t even shake. It’s been years; I don’t let it shake anymore.
“Damn, Andi.” His jaw tightens, hands gripping the wheel a little harder. “That’s... that’s fucking horrible.” He glances at me, eyes sharp, no bullshit. “How the hell did you even get through that?”
I shrug, my eyes fixed on the window. “You just do.” My voice is quieter than I intended. “There’s no magic trick. You wake up, and you get through the next hour. Then the one after that.” I pause, swallowing hard. “Some days, that’s all it is.”
“Yeah,” he replies, his voice low. “I get that.” He drums his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, as if deep in thought. “Still... for what it’s worth, I’m glad you did. Get through it, I mean.”
“Are you okay… with the music?” he asks softly.
“Yeah.” And weirdly, I am. I take a breath and let it out slowly. “It’s strange, you know? Some days I barely think about it. Others...” I trail off, shrugging. “Songs like this— they just hit.”
He nods, something flickering in his expression. “It’s funny how the smallest things can bring it all back.”
I glance at him, studying his profile in the glow of the dashboard. He’s not just humoring me; he gets it.
“You ever lose someone?”
He is quiet for a moment longer. “My dad. Heart attack when I was fifteen.”
“Oh.” It’s my turn to pause. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, but there’s weight behind it. “It’s different, though; he wasn’t really a part of my life, but... I get it. The way it sticks. We’ll never get a do-over or a chance for a relationship.”
His gaze remains steady—focused on the road—when he asks, “So what made you go into this line of work?”
I shrug. “Eh. The dead are easy. They don’t expect small talk.”
He glances over briefly. “Still, working with the deceased must be hard.”
I shift in my seat. “My life has been full of challenges, and working with dead bodies? Not even in the top ten.”
“Wow. Okay. Got it.”
A comfortable silence falls between us for a moment, surprising me with how easy this feels.
“What about you? Firefighter-paramedic. Not exactly a walk in the park.”
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Just wanted to do my civic duty. Give back to the community.”
I snort softly and give him a hard look. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
He laughs, his eyes sparkling as he takes a slow turn. “What, you don’t believe in noble causes?”
I shrug. He really is a golden retriever.
The rest of the drive is somehow easier. Not lighter, but... easier.
We pull up to my house—small, a little weathered, with white trim and blue shutters that could use a fresh coat of paint. The porch light is on, casting a warm glow on the steps. I like it that way. It feels lived in.
Cole throws the truck into park and turns to me, one hand still on the wheel. He’s smiling—not the cocky, smug smile I’ve come to expect, but a softer, more genuine one.
“What?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Don’t kill me,” he says, holding up both hands, “but I’m pretty sure we just completed level two.”
I groan and drop my head back against the seat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Yeah. We talked for more than five minutes, and you didn’t tell me to get lost.” He’s practically glowing now.
“Uh, you’re right,” I mutter, unbuckling my seatbelt. “Well, the fun ends now. I need to let my dog out, and he has a serious thing against men. Especially cocky ones.”
Cole chuckles, not moving. “I’ll take my chances.”
I hop out, making my way up the porch steps with my keys in hand. “He’s actually harmless, but he acts tough. I think something happened to him at the shelter. He doesn’t trust easily. He’ll probably bark his head off at you.”
“Sounds familiar,” Cole murmurs, following me.
Before I can respond, the door swings open—and there he is. Beef.
One hundred and forty pounds of pure fluff barrels out like a missile. I brace for the usual—growling, barking, the whole routine—but instead, Beef makes a beeline straight for Cole.
“Beef—wait!” I start, but it’s too late.
Beef’s tail is wagging, his body wiggling, and his nose is pressed into Cole’s leg as if they’ve been best friends for years.
Cole kneels, scratching behind Beef’s ears like it’s nothing. “My best boy Beef,” he says, grinning. “Why’d she have to name you like that, huh? You’re a damn marshmallow.”
I’m dumbfounded—my mouth is open, and words aren’t forming. Where is the venom? The pure hatred? Doesn’t Beef understand Cole is male? And why is Cole talking to him like he’s a human?
Cole looks up, smirking. “You were saying?”
I blink. “He’s never done that before.”
“Dogs love me.”
“Must be a fluke.”
He stands, brushing off his hands, his eyes still sparkling. “So... how about you give me your number so we can move on to level three?”
I cross my arms and shake my head. “Not going to make it that easy on you.”
“I know,” he replies, taking a step back with his hands in his pockets. “But can you blame a guy for trying?”
“Bye, Cole.”
“Bye, Andi.”
I watch him walk away, Beef still wagging like he’s found a new best friend, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t know what to make of anything.