2. Lark
LARK
The worst part of my job was all the dead bodies.
A chilly breeze still clung to the air as spring made its creeping transition to summer.
I sucked in the moist air, loving the fact that you could smell the water no matter where you were in town.
I scanned the sea of faces standing around the grave site.
My black mirrored sunglasses concealed my eyes as I looked from face to face, curious about those who’d come to pay their respects and imagining their lives like a movie playing out right in front of me.
Surprisingly, a few more people had shown up today than were at the wake yesterday. In my experience, the opposite was typically true. It was still a depressingly small number of people, and it was no wonder Tootie and Bug had needed my services.
I was alone, but that wasn’t unusual nor uncomfortable for me. I simply held my head high, dabbed my nose at the appropriate times, and played the part. From my vantage point in the front, but nestled discreetly to the side, I could see two distinct groups of mourners forming.
The first consisted mostly of tall, imposing men wearing various styles of well-tailored suits.
Even the one covered in tattoos, the ink peeking above his collar and out of his shirtsleeves, wore a suit that looked to be made for him.
Most resembled each other with broad shoulders, long straight noses, and an unmistakably dangerous glint in their eyes.
More than one looked like he was ready for a fight.
The woman who’d introduced herself to me as Bug stood in the center of them.
The Kings.
Among the imposing circle of suit-wearing beasts were two young women.
Only one of the Kings was not shooting daggers toward the Sullivans.
Rather, one of the women was sneaking glances in their direction.
Specifically, toward the oldest Sullivan.
Duke, if I recalled his name correctly, appeared completely oblivious.
Very interesting.
I schooled my face and looked down at the open hole in the earth.
When one of my roommates in Chicago had told me about how her cousin had made a killing as an improv actor at funerals in New York, my wheels had started turning.
One by one my roommates had moved on to New York or LA, some even giving up altogether and packing up to head for home. I couldn’t give up the dream, not yet.
My big break was only a job or two away. I just knew it. The office temp work I’d been doing between acting jobs in Chicago was fine, but not enough to sustain my lofty city apartment rental. Or my thirst for adventure.
So one semiprofessional-looking website later, I was officially a mourner for hire in the Chicagoland and coastal Michigan area.
After fifteen funerals, all the faces were starting to blend together, but observing and drawing conclusions about the strangers who moved in and out of my life was one of the best parts of this job.
Improv acting kept life interesting, and the romance novels on my nightstand didn’t hold a candle to the salacious stories I could come up with in my own mind.
Tootie and her group of mismatched, haphazard family members stood on the complete opposite side of the Kings. Her soft, round face smiled at those who walked up, and she offered enthusiastic hugs to everyone, whether they seemed to want one or not. The Sullivan men were also stupidly handsome.
They were dressed in jackets and ties, with some in freshly pressed denim, a bit more blue collar than the Kings appeared to be.
They exuded confidence and charm. One look at the older man who stood beside Tootie and you could see where the men got their classic good looks.
Though he looked a bit lost, the rugged lines of hard work outdoors made his face only handsomer.
I took in the distinctions between the two groups and how both shot angry, spiteful glares toward the other. As I continued to look on, my lips pressed together in a demure smile anytime someone’s curious eyes lingered a moment too long.
Everyone except for him .
On the outskirts of the Sullivan clan was the man from yesterday. The one I couldn’t seem to shake. He was tall and broad. His chin tipped up slightly, giving him an air of cockiness that would have been enticing if it weren’t for the permanent scowl he wore with it.
When I had walked past him at the funeral home, I was so inundated with his rough and masculine smell and pointed stare, I nearly stumbled in my new heels.
His haunting whiskey brown eyes had tracked my walk out of the room, and though I’d tried to ignore it, I could feel them all the way until I rounded the corner out of view.
The little girl was with him again today.
She was too young to be his little sister, and the way she clung to his leg after coming back with a plate of cookies yesterday, and again today, revealed he was likely her dad.
When he wrapped a strong hand around her shoulder and pulled her closer, my heart stuttered, just for a moment.
His masculine, protective vibe was sexy—there was no denying that—but I’d been given a job, and I doubted banging the brooding grump just to see if he’d crack a smile was part of the performance.
But seriously, who doesn’t love a grumpy DILF?
Tootie and Bug had specifically requested actual tears after they found my website and hired me.
I was also instructed to sprinkle in a few well-timed gasps and sudden shotgun sobs.
Nothing too over the top, but enough to get people talking.
My eyes flicked to the old women, who’d taken to completely ignoring each other in public.
I laughed to myself.
Those two are something else.
Then I felt it again, the intensity of his eyes, searing my skin from fifteen feet away. Family members like him could be dangerous and bad for business. They often singled you out over lukewarm tuna casserole and asked too many questions.
I took the opportunity to shake my head and release a ragged breath just in time for the preacher to begin his service.
* * *
Once the crowd had dissipated, I stepped from the hiding place in my car and glanced around to be sure I was alone.
Cursing myself for having to wear high heels at the funeral service when I knew flats were a better choice, I walked across the grass on my tiptoes, trying to prevent the heels from sinking into the soft earth.
An impulse purchase of sexy new shoes with a delicate leather bow on the back meant the blister I was sporting was fresh and the flats I’d planned were totally out of the question.
Rookie move.
Steadying myself, I continued to trudge toward the area where they’d laid Mr. Bowlegs to rest while the preacher gave a truly moving service.
Bowlegs—well, that was a first.
Outtatowner had more quirks than I thought possible, but my favorite was the fact that many of the townies had special nicknames. Tootie informed me some were random, most were inappropriate, and once you’d been given one, it was damn near impossible to shake it.
I passed a groundskeeper who was working to stack and remove chairs. He scooped the hat from his head and nodded before slipping away to give me a bit of privacy.
I stood, peering down at the simple casket nestled in the earth. As it often did, a swell of emotion gathered in my chest as I cleared my throat.
I whispered down to him. “Thank you, Mr. Bowlegs, for the honor of attending your services. I hope that I provided your family with peace and comfort.”
Reaching into the pocket of my skirt, I pulled out my phone. The music was queued up, and I glanced at it again.
God, I hope Bug wasn’t playing a joke on me.
Shaking my head, I pushed play and closed my eyes. The thumping chords of “Another One Bites the Dust” began flowing from the tiny speaker. An odd choice, but I pressed my lips together to keep the bubble of giggles that threatened to rise from bursting.
My finger pressed the volume louder as my left hand tapped my thigh to the beat. You couldn’t deny that the song was a banger, and I smiled, hoping Bowlegs also had a sense of humor.
As I began to hum and mumble the words I knew, I sent my thoughts of love to Bowlegs.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”
The sharp, deep rumble from behind startled me, and I flailed my arms as my heart leaped into my throat.
In an instant, my heel was slipping, and the ground was no longer beneath me.
With a crack, my feet hit something solid, one high heel snapping underneath me.
My nails raked down freshly shoveled earth as realization dawned on me.
“Oh god. Oh no! Oh my god!”
“What the fuck?” The voice was above me now, sharp and angry.
Panic skittered under my skin as I took in my darkened surroundings.
In the hole. I am in the fucking hole.
“Help! Please help me!” Glancing around, I realized I was standing in the tight space beside the casket. My phone was in the dirt, Queen still wailing from the speaker, so I scooped it up and frantically pressed at the screen until Freddie Mercury shut the hell up.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and gently placed my hand on top of the casket. “I am so sorry. Shit! I’m sorry!”
I looked up again to see nothing but crisp blue sky painted with streaks of pink from the afternoon sun. “Help! Anyone? Hello? Help me!”
There was no getting out, and it didn’t seem like there was anyone up top willing to help me, so I placed my hand on top of Bowlegs’s casket and apologized again before stepping on top.
My knees stung from tiny scrapes, and my skirt was filthy from the fall.
Using the leverage from standing on the casket, I wrestled myself to the surface.
As I was flat on my belly and wiggling myself out of the burial site, my eyes focused on a pair of shiny black leather shoes. I craned my neck up to see the scowl deepen and the gorgeous man from yesterday huff a breath as he crossed his arms.
“A little help here?” I grunted as I continued to pull myself out of the hole.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He offered zero assistance.
What a prick.
Finally, out of breath and streaked with mud, I sat back on my heels and smoothed my skirt over my knees. “Not getting any help from you, clearly.”
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
My face twisted at his demanding tone, despite the fact its rough timbre had the tiny hairs on my neck standing on end.
“Paying my respects. Though”—I glanced backward and down at the hole, where two muddy shoe prints were now stamped on the top—“typically it goes a little more smoothly than this.”
I laughed at the pure ridiculousness of the situation I had gotten myself in. No doubt Aubergine and Eagle would laugh their asses off when they heard about it.
My laughter subsided, and I smiled up at him. I swear his top lip curled as he said, “Do you have any idea how blatantly disrespectful, inappropriate, downright—”
I lifted my hand in the air as I maneuvered to stand. “I’m gonna stop you right there.”
I’d had just about enough of his brash, arrogant tone. I swooped my hands in front of me. “Nothing about this was disrespectful. Well, except for the falling-in part, but that wasn’t my fault. It was yours.”
His rich, caramel eyes flared with anger. “My fault?”
I nodded once. “You startled me. I was having a moment with Terrance when—”
“Terrance? A moment?” The gorgeous man pinched his nose between his fingers, and I smothered a smile. “‘Another One Bites the Dust’? That’s your idea of respect?”
His hostile tone only fanned the flames of my fight-or-flight response. Oh, game on, buddy.
I smoothed my skirt once more and calmed my face, completely ignoring the fact that I was streaked with mud, one heel was broken, and my hair was rapidly coming out of its delicate chignon.
“That song was his favorite. I felt compelled to play it one last time, in a moment of privacy between him and me.” I pointed a finger at him.
“You interrupted. You made me fall in, and you couldn’t be bothered to help me out! ”
“Who are you?”
He didn’t even bother to pretend to be affected but let his eyes lazily lower down my body before quickly flicking back up to meet my gaze.
A haughty laugh shot out. “A friend of the family.”
The man was stone. Unwavering in his assessment of me.
Irritated, I rolled my eyes and stormed past him, hobbling as my uneven footwear stole any sliver of grace I still had.
I turned to him. “You know what? Judge me all you want, but the only thing sadder than a funeral is a funeral no one shows up to.”
At that, despite the fact I cursed myself for letting far too much slip, I stormed off toward my car, but not before I had the satisfaction of seeing realization spread across the sharp angles of his handsome face.