I look up, watching his throat work hard to swallow. He turns away from me, throws the car in reverse, and drives out of the lot. I take in his defined arms, his wet hair, and the hint of his sex position socks peeking out of his trousers. Even soaked, he looks hot. He shouldn’t look hot, but he does.
He always looks hot.
Dammit.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ll be diddling myself later tonight to images of Samuel Grayson.
Chapter Three
Samuel
Classical music softly plays in the sterile, cold room, as I prepare to embalm Mrs. Portman. Embalming is an art that requires a strong stomach, patience, empathy, and a special license. Mine hangs prominently on the wall by the door.
Did I always know I wanted to work with the dead? Not really. I always thought I’d be a dentist, but I quickly learned I much preferred deceased people to those living. I have a mortuary science degree and did my apprenticeship right here at this very funeral home under Ernest Hanson. His son, Rob, is also an embalmer, but I’m the one on-call most of the time. Aaron, Ernest’s grandson and the third generation Hanson mortician, chose not to seek that specific license, probably because it required more schooling and training, and less partying.
My career isn’t one most would consider on Career Day. It’s messy, potentially hazardous, and requires you dealing with people on the worst days of their lives. But believe it or not, I find it wildly fulfilling too. I help those people as they deal with their grief, preserving and presenting their loved ones the best way I can. The final time they will see their loved ones is in my hands, and I take this obligation very seriously.
I take everything very seriously.
Just as I make my incision, the intercom buzzes on the wall. “Samuel?” Elma’s gruff voice pipes through the room on this fine Friday morning.
“Yes?” I ask, holding my hand steady as I prepare to inject the preservation chemicals into the body via the embalming machine.
“Your sister is here. She says it’s important,” Elma replies.
I set my tools down, the process on hold for a few moments, and glance at the clock. It’s very rare that one of my siblings actually stops by the funeral home. Usually, they text, knowing I could be very busy at any point in the day. Worried something is wrong, I state, “Please send her down. I’ll meet her in the hallway.”
I don’t know which sister it is, but that doesn’t matter. If one of them is here, it’s important. I head over to the washing station and remove my gown, gloves, and mask. Once they’re disposed of, I scrub my hands and head toward the door. A burst of warmth hits me as soon as I step into the private hallway in the basement of the funeral home. Families never come back this far, as this is where we prepare the bodies for burial or cremation.
My eyes land on Harper and the wide smile on her face. A smile can be deceiving, but hers seems to be one full of happiness, which causes me to pause in confusion. “What’s wrong?” I ask, adjusting my cuff links as I tend to do when nervous.
“Nothing,” she replies right away, still the smile plays on her face. “Do I need a reason to stop by and see my older brother?”
I think for a few seconds about her question. No, technically, she doesn’t need a reason to stop by, however, we’ve never been much for random visits at the workplace. Especially her workplace. In fact, I’ve never casually dropped by. It’s not that I’m against it; it’s just her boutique makes me…uncomfortable. Panties and bras everywhere. I never know where to look.
“Uh, well, no, I guess not. Though, I was just getting ready to embalm Mrs. Portman.”
Harper pulls a face. “Your job is so…weird.”
Again, I adjust my cuff links. “The same could be said for yours.”
She stops and considers my words before bursting into a fit of laughter. “Touché, brother. Anyway, there was a reason I stopped by this morning and interrupted your dead-person time.”
Her blasé statement gets on my nerves at little. My siblings have never really understood why I went to mortuary school instead of dental school, but that’s okay. It’s not for them to understand or like. It was my choice, my career path. “Get on with it,” I state, crossing my arms over my chest and waiting her out.
“Oh! Yeah, guess what?” she asks, her eyes sparkling like diamonds. “I’m getting married!” she squeals before throwing herself into my arms.
A smile crosses my face. A real one. I’m genuinely happy for Harper and Latham. They went to high school together and upon his return from the military, set out to make each other’s lives miserable. Of course, it was a front for their true feelings, which is very evident in the way she flashes a large, gaudy diamond in my face. “Congratulations, Harper,” I reply, awkwardly patting her back.
“Thanks,” she replies, grinning down at the sparkler. “Anyway, I stopped by to ask you a question. You’re off next weekend, right?” She nibbles on the corner of her lip, which is a telltale sign she’s nervous about something.
I mentally pull up my schedule. I’m on-call most weekends, however I’m completely free next. Aaron takes one weekend a month, while I take the other three. I don’t mind, really. This work is my life, and I prefer to be here than at home most days. I want to oversee everything, from the arrival of the body to the services and final resting place. “I’m free. Why? Do you need something?”
“Yes,” she starts, taking a deep breath. “We’re getting married next Saturday. In Las Vegas.”
That gives me pause. Next weekend? In Vegas?
I adjust my necktie, suddenly struggling to pull air into my lungs. “I can’t go.” My words come out slightly strangled.
“Sure you can. The flight is less than
