“Mr. Hall is in perfect health, you rascal.”
I deliberate, humming vaguely. “No, no. One foot in the grave, him. We talked about it recently. He’s been coffin shopping. Did you know you can order them from Walmart?”
Granee regards me, gaze dry as the bran muffins she always insisted weregood for uswhenever my brother and I would visit her as kids. Something about fiber, I think. Honestly, it’s a miracle that Wynnter and I survived to adulthood.
“They have pink ones,” I provide, magnanimous, benevolent, her favorite granddaughter, probably.
She rolls her eyes. “No one needs a coffin, August. And she’s not with Mr. Hall.”
Alas. The poor man might need a coffin yet, for the love sickness is sure to kill him.
A terribly wonderful tale of heartbreak, mystery, and comedy takes root inside my skull while my grandmother snatches my hand and drags me out into the lobby opposite my tables tonight.
Beyond the bar, sitting a secure distance away in a booth, is Lynn…and…aguy.
“Whoa,” I whisper. “Kirei.”
“Mmmhm,” my grandmother practically purrs.
Regal, the man exhibits a foreign grace in his every minute motion. Tall, broad, and elegant, he combs his fingers through mid-length blond waves that shine in the moody Bear’s lighting.
An edge of discontent tints his blue eyes while I retrieve my waitress notepad and begin scribing his features onto it.
Strong jawline. Straight nose. Sharp cheekbones.
Princely.
“He is marvelously pretty,” I provide, fevered notes filling the page. “Your contribution to my story fodder is valiantly appreciated, Granee. I shall weave a tale posthaste.” Mayhaps it’ll be historical this time. An Arthurian fantasy? Hm. Realization burdens me, and I freeze, turning to my grandmother. “My most altruistic madam, might I trouble you for a raise?” Cover art is expensive. And if I’m planninganotherfantasy before my current one is even finished, the cost of the photo manipulation and hand-drawn elements will push me over my budget.
Sighing deeply, Granee says, “August, he’s not for yourstories. Look at him! He’s exactly what you requested.”
What I…
Oh.
It’s all coming back to me now.
A little over a week ago, my best friend December and I put together a binder outlining my exact romantic interests because I got very, very tired of my well-meaning grandmother trying to set me up with any seemingly nice tourist who tumbled into her and Grampy’s fine establishment. I believe the words I used when I handed it to her were,Find a man like this before the end of summer, and I’ll happily addarranged marriageto the trope list.
Silly, foolish me.
At least the number of unsolicited texts I’ve received in the past week has dropped by a significant margin?
Surely that is a good trade-off for welcoming an impending marriage arrangement.
Gung-ho to start the wedding discussion, Granee grabs my hand yet again and drags me across Bear’s.
“Ah dear,” I whisper to myself. “The consequences of my own deluded actions arrive, haunting me like midnight horrors, chasing me like Victorian wraiths, tormenting me like—”
Granee caps her palm over my mouth to shut me up during the rest of the journey to Lynn’s and the pretty stranger’s booth.
“I’m so sorry about this.” Lynn, in clear distress, shakes her head. “There’s really nothing I can do beyond what’s already been done…”
“I understand. Life happens…” The man sags, royally, which is to say he might deflate by half a centimeter before noticing my grandmother and me coming to an unceremonious stop before them.
His blue eyes steadily climb from my restaurant-appropriate, non-slip ankle boots, up my Bear’s uniform apron, to my…covered mouth. He stills, breath ceasing, and holds my gaze.
“Leeann, August,” Lynn greets, dragging my attention to her. Wise to the approximation of her substantial years, Lynndeciphers the situation regarding the pretty boy and me and has the sense to look anything but amused.
