Chapter Eight
TERMS AND CONDITIONS MAY APPLY
Andi
There’s nothing like the smell of bleach and bad decisions to start my morning off right.
I’m catching up on administrative work at my desk when I hear it—the door creaking open, followed by the distinct sound of someone who doesn’t belong trying to walk in like they do.
I don’t even look up.
“Unless you’ve got a body or a reason, turn around.”
Silence.
Then his voice.
“I’ve got a reason.”
I sigh, hard.
Cole.
I glance up, and there he is, leaning in the doorway like he’s got all the time in the world, a stupid grin plastered across his face, and something tucked under his arm.
“What is that?” I ask, already annoyed.
He steps inside, holding it up. A piece of cardboard, messy handwriting scrawled across it in thick marker.
“Your future.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
He walks over, sets the cardboard on the desk in front of me with way too much pride.
THE ANDI brACKET.
In subtext below it, “Will Cole get Andi to go out with him?”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
I scan the levels—talk for five minutes, smile, give him my number, go out with him, blah blah blah—all the way down to kiss him (not happening) and admits she likes him. (Um, never?)
Someone’s overconfident.
At the bottom, someone’s used markers to scrawl out the words—Operation: Melt the Ice Queen.
“What the hell is this?”
He looks down, almost bashful, for just a second. “I might have mentioned to the guys at the station about my raging crush on a certain morgue tech… and they did what they usually do... which is to take things too far.”
“I… see that.” I’m still reading over the bracket; it’s shockingly detailed. I finish reading and look up at him, deadpan. “You actually think I’m gonna fall for this?”
He shrugs, easy. “I figured I’d give you a heads-up. Let you know exactly how I plan to win you over.”
“Win me over?” I repeat, eyebrows raised.
He leans in, resting his hands on the desk. “Most people play hard to get. You’re just hard. Period.”
I narrow my eyes. “And most people take the hint.”
“Yeah, but most people aren’t me.”
I should tell him to get lost. Should tell him this is pathetic. But instead, I’m staring at this dumb bracket, and all I can think is… no one’s ever tried this hard to get close to me.
Most people want to get away.
He’s doing overtime to get in.
I hate it, but I respect it.
And damn it, it is kind of cute. If I were one of those girls. The kind who flirted and enjoyed flings with hunky firemen. Thank goodness I’m not, because that sounds exhausting, and I’m sure it only ends in disaster anyway. Much better to just save myself the trouble.
“You know I’m not going to make this easy,” I say, crossing my arms.
His eyes don’t leave mine. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
There’s something in his voice—steady, sure—and it does something weird to my chest.
I glance down, hoping he doesn’t see it.
“And what happens when you lose?” I ask.
“I won’t.”
“You’re that sure?”
He smiles, slow. “I notice things, Callahan. Like how you’re still talking to me.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s weaker than it should be.
And worse—I notice things too.
The way his hair’s a mess again, like he’s been running his hands through it. The stubble on his jaw, just enough to make him look more like trouble. The way his arms stretch the sleeves of that uniform like it was made for him.
I hate that I notice.
“Go home, Cole.”
“I will. After you smile.”
“Get out.”
He laughs, backing away, hands raised. “I’ll be back. Bracket’s not going to win itself.”
I shake my head, but when he’s gone, I’m still staring at it.
And damn it, now I’m smiling.
I’m still staring at the bracket, fighting the urge to burn it, when Mikey walks in, whistling like he’s got no concept of personal space—or silence.
“Callahan, tell me you’ve got coffee because—”
He stops dead, eyes locked on the cardboard disaster still sitting on my desk.
“What the hell is that?”
I sigh, pushing it away like it might bite. “Don’t ask.”
His grin spreads instantly. “Oh, I’m asking.”
He steps closer, squinting at it.
“Operation: Melt the Ice Queen?” He snorts, shaking his head. “Wow. Bold.”
I glare. “It’s Cole’s latest dumbass idea.”
“Figures. Guy’s got a death wish.”
He picks it up, scanning the levels, laughing harder with each one. “Stage seven: First kiss? Damn, he’s ambitious.”
“Stage eight’s better,” I mutter.
Mikey reads it out loud, gasping between laughs. “She admits she likes him? Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This is gold. I’m framing this.”
I snatch it back, stuffing it under a pile of folders. “Not a chance.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m plenty of fun. Just not for him.”
Mikey wiggles his eyebrows. “Not yet.”
“Do you want to get punched?”
He holds up his hands, still grinning. “Fine, fine. I’ll back off. For now.” He plops down in the chair across from me, stretching like he owns the place. “Anyway, you hear the latest about the gala?”
I groan. “What now?”
“They finalized the auction list. Guess who’s still in?”
“Don’t say it.”
“You.”
I drop my head onto the desk.
“And,” he continues, way too happy, “they’re making flyers this week. Public flyers. Your face, front and center.”
“I’m quitting.”
“You say that every week.”
“This time I mean it.”
Mikey just laughs, kicking his feet up. “Better pick a good outfit. You’re gonna make someone’s night.”
I lift my head, glaring. “Over my dead body.”
He shrugs. “Hey, maybe Cole will bid on you. Win himself an actual date.”
I throw a pen at him. He ducks, still laughing.
When Mikey finally leaves—still laughing, still talking about how “this is going to be your year, Callahan”—the room feels quieter than before. Too quiet.
I stare at the files on my desk, suddenly unmotivated. My hand finds the edge of the bracket again, fingertips brushing the stupid cardboard.
I shove it in a drawer.
It’s just noise. All of it.
I check the clock. Still two hours to go.
Outside the morgue, I can hear voices, someone pushing a cart, the low hum of the hospital moving on like nothing ever stops it.
But me?
I’m stuck.
It sneaks up on me every year. Right around this time. The day everything I knew slammed into a guardrail on a highway three towns over. Fast. Brutal. Final. The anniversary of the day I lost my parents.
Seven years.
You’d think it’d get easier.
It doesn’t.
People like to say grief is a wave. Something that rises and falls. But no one tells you about the undertow—the way it can pull you under, even when you think you’re standing strong. You look fine on the surface, and underneath, you’re drowning.
I still remember the call. The way everything slowed down. The way no one could look me in the eye. I was about to graduate from high school, and then suddenly, I was planning funerals.
Since then, I’ve been fine. Or whatever version of fine works when you decide needing people just isn’t worth it anymore.
No one sticks.
No one stays.
Except Beef. And maybe Shay.
And now this idiot with a bracket and a death wish... I don’t have it in me to care.
I pull open the drawer again, staring at the mess of levels.
He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know.
And he won’t.
Not if I can help it.
It’s dark by the time I slide into the booth at Rita’s Diner. It’s a place that hasn’t changed since the seventies and probably never will. Vinyl seats that squeak, fluorescent lights that hum, and a waitress who knows your order before you open your mouth.
I like it here. It’s predictable.
I tug off my hoodie, leaning back as the door swings open.
Jack walks in, solid and steady like he always is, a man who takes up space without trying to. He nods to the waitress, barely glancing around, then heads straight for me.
“You’re late,” I say, just to poke.
He grunts, sliding into the seat across from me. “Traffic.”
That’s it. No apology. No excuse. Just Jack.
We’ve known each other since I was a kid. He was my dad’s best friend—back before the accident, before everything changed. After they died, he didn’t say much, didn’t push, but he checked in. Always has.
A text here. A call there. The occasional fix-it job when something breaks and I refuse to call a real repair guy.
He’s not warm, not someone who asks how you’re feeling. But he shows up. And sometimes, that’s enough. “You eat yet?” he asks, flipping open the menu even though he always gets the same thing.
“Not really.”
“Good.”
The waitress appears, sets down two waters. “The usual?”
My usual is a milkshake.
Jack nods. “Yeah. And she’ll have the grilled cheese.”
I roll my eyes. “You ordering for me now?”
“You need to eat something.”
I don’t argue.
He leans back, watching me like he’s trying to figure something out. He’s got gray at his temples now, more lines around his eyes than I remember from when I was younger. Still tough. And sharp and incredibly fit. Probably more like me than I want to admit.
“That sink in your downstairs bathroom still giving you trouble?”
I snort. “I fixed it.”
“Sure you did.”
I sip my water, hiding the smile. “Beef would’ve called you if it wasn’t working.”
“Speaking of.” He tilts his head. “You let him out?”
“Yeah, before I left. He’s probably ripping apart my couch cushion.”
Jack shakes his head. “That dog hates everything.”
“Except me.”
“And me.”
I can’t argue that. Beef loves Jack. Always has. The only man he doesn’t bark at, doesn’t growl at, doesn’t try to scare off.
It’s weird. But then again, Jack’s always been the exception.
The food shows up fast—vanilla milkshake and a grilled cheese for me, steak and eggs for him, just like always.
We eat in silence for a minute, the clink of silverware filling the space.
Then he says it. “So, you dating anyone?”
I nearly choke on my sandwich.
“God, no.”
Jack doesn’t react, just cuts into his steak. “Good.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What about you?”
He shakes his head. “Nah.”
I smirk. “No? Figured you’d at least be on one of those dating apps by now. Isn’t that what old people do?”
He grunts. “I’m not that desperate.”
I laugh, sipping my water.
But something shifts in his expression. Just a flicker.
“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
He shrugs. “Got talked into trying it.”
I sit up straighter. “You? On a dating app?”
“Don’t start.”
“Jack, that’s... wow. I’m impressed.”
“It’s stupid.”
“Anyone bite?”
His jaw twitches, like he doesn’t want to answer. “Maybe.”
I grin. “What’s her name?”
“Kate.” He smiles when he says it. Okay, that’s new.
“She’s either a saint to put up with you or just blind.”
Jack snorts, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “I’ll let you know.”
I go back to my sandwich, still smiling. It’s weird. Jack dating. But kinda good, too.
He nods toward me. “You sure about the no dating thing?”
I roll my eyes. “Positive. Got some idiot EMT stalking me lately.”
He pauses, fork halfway up. “Stalking?”
“Not literally. Just… persistent. It’s dumb.”
“What’s his name?”
“Cole.”
Jack frowns, like he’s heard it before.
“You know him?”
“Yeah. A little.”
“Well, you can tell him to back off.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
And now I’m wondering why.