Until Next Time (8 page)

They stopped at a row of headstones all marked with the same last name: Smith.
Each headstone, while faded and worn, was etched perfectly with names and old dates. Each also had a scripture of sorts. The first Smith had a bible quote, John 3:16. The second had line about the eternal fires burning and going home. The third had a children’s bedtime prayer. And the forth…Piper chuckled under her breath.

“What’s so funny?” Quinn asked.

“Look at the fourth headstone.”

Quinn’s eyes slid in that direction.

Piper read it out loud. “Here lies a man without his treasures. Had he’d known about death, he’d taken better measures.” At Quinn’s serious face, Piper retreated. “I’m sorry, it’s not really funny. I’ve never really read headstones before and that one sounded pretty silly.”

“Silly, maybe.” His face softened and gave way to a smile. “But the survivor was also giving the rest of us a message.”

“A message?” Piper’s forehead creased with her frown. “Aren’t headstones supposed to be like…a standard of saying goodbye? You know…here-lies-a-loving-husband-who-his-family-will-miss kind of thing?”

A soft laughed rolled from his lips. “Yes, a standard of saying goodbye works for most. Other people prefer to make as a statement, like this one. It’s clear that the man buried here was greedy with his possessions and didn’t think death would touch him. The family was sending a message to those like him.”

Piper nearly rolled her eyes. People learning life lessons from headstones? That seemed like such a silly notion.

At her silence, Quinn continued. “Don’t you know about this kind of thing? I mean, you’re an undertaker, right?”

“I hate that word. Makes us sound like Hell’s Gatekeepers or something.”

“Sorry. Mortician?”

“That’ll do. And no, we don’t know about this kind of thing. I don’t anyway. My funeral home isn’t in the business of selling headstones. Some mortuaries have branched off that way, but not me. I prefer to stick with the business of preparing the dead and caring for the survivors. Headstones are too cold, too stark for me to sell.”

Quinn’s face went somber again, the humor draining from his eyes. Eyes that had lightened even more in the orange glow of the setting sun.

At his continuing stare, Piper felt a sliver of nerves. “What?” she asked.

His head cocked to the side. “It really is just a business for you, isn’t it?”

“What else would it be?” Her voice was unintentionally sharp.

He rocked back on his heels, giving her another once-over. She felt exposed.

“One would think that a mortician had feelings about her customers…and those who passed away. You deal with death every day, Piper, you have to care. Not only about the business, but about the people.”

She shook her head, casting her eyes away. “No. My position requires the perfect balance between compassion and detachment.” She sucked in an unsteady breath. “Give the family what they need and allow them to express their feelings. In order to do that, I
must
remain detached and objective.” She spun around, her words suddenly choking her. “In order to do that, I can’t become attached to clients. Otherwise, emotions would get in the way. End of story.”

Hands gripped her shoulders. She tensed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, Piper.”

His words soothed her shaken nerves. Her muscles went lax. “It’s okay. I’ve never had to explain this to anyone.”

“I imagine not many people try to get to know morticians on a personal level.”

The humor in his voice made her relax even more.

“True.” Spinning back around, she gave him a soft smile. “When I talk about what I do—how I feel—out loud—it makes me sound cold.”

He stepped closer, his heat warming her skin faster than the cooling night air could chill her. “Not cold. Fascinating.”

Her cheeks went hot. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” He gave her a soft grin. “What would a woman like you have on your headstone?”

A snicker escaped her. “The End?”

He leaned back, jaw agape. “That’s it? Seriously?”

“You got something better?”

“Here lies a man who got all he ever wanted.”

Piper’s breath caught at the sensual tone of his voice. “That…uh, seems fitting.”

He drew closer, sweeping her hair back from her cheek. “Life isn’t worth living unless you live it to the fullest.” His eyes held a spark of an unasked question. “What do you think, Piper?”

And Piper, God help her, had an undying need to close the few inches that separated them and kiss him. The sun had set completely, leaving them in low-lit gray mist.

His head dipped, coming dangerously close to hers. His lips were right there, twitching with amusement. Or maybe it was a challenge. “Well?”

“I think…” Her breath was all but gone. The ring of her cell phone snapped her brain from the fog. Piper jerked her phone from the small bag slung over her shoulder. “Downing and Sons Funeral Home,” she answered, still short of breath. “This is Piper.”

She nodded and jotted a few notes down a little notebook she took out of her bag. “Yes, sir. Yes. Uh-huh.” Her eyes fluttered to Quinn. He had taken a step back. That was a relief. She’d been getting ready to cave. Big time. Lips on lips. Hands on skin. The whole shebang. Two more seconds and a couple soft words and she’d been on the ground, panting and moaning and enjoying every second of Quinn’s touch. But he would make sex intimate and personal. She didn’t do either. “Yes,” she continued. “I’ll be there within the hour.”

Her phone snapped shut, and she jammed it back in her bag. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I’ve got to go.”

“Work?”

She brushed her wild hair out of her face. “Yes, sorry. It’s a twenty-four/seven gig.”

His hand founds hers. “It’s okay.”

As they made their way back to the gazebo to clean up, Piper felt Quinn’s eyes on her.

“Why is the business called Downing and Sons?”
Quinn asked. “I mean, you run the place and you’re a girl, aren’t you?”

Piper laughed at his humor. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Thanks for noticing.”

Together they crammed the leftovers into the basket.

“My father wanted a son, hence the name. All he got was one girl…me.” She shrugged and placed the last item in the basket. Quinn snatched the basket off the table and wrapped his free arm around her waist. His grip was comforting and natural. So natural that Piper found herself leaning into him as they walked to the car.

“They didn’t have any more children,” Piper continued. “But he kept the business name anyway, and then so did I when I took over.”

Quinn’s rolling laugh made her stop short as he popped the trunk.

“What’s so funny about that?” she asked.

“We have that in common,” he replied as he stowed the basket and slammed the slid.

“Your father wanted boys?” She couldn’t help but laugh. “Uh, you
are
a boy.”

He walked Piper around to her side of the car and helped her in. He leaned in as she buckled her seat belt. “No, my mother wanted girls.” He closed the door and walked around the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. “She got three boys instead. And she wanted girls so bad, she gave us girl names.”

“Macy,” she whispered.

He nodded, a grin curling the side of his mouth as put the car in drive and pulled away. “Exactly. That’s why I go by my middle name, Quinn.”

“What about your brothers? I think I saw them at your grandmother’s funeral, but I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. What are their names?”

“Delaney and Kacey.”

Piper leaned back in the seat, enjoying the view of Quinn’s funny twisted expression. “Those can be boy names, too.”

“Yeah.
Del and K-C.
”

She laughed as he spelled out the K and the C. “I like your names,” she commented. “Our parents made do with what they got, I guess. Mine were happy.”
For however brief a time.
She sighed.

He cast her a sideways glance. “Mine, too.”

Once back at the funeral home. He walked her to the front door. His fingers were interlaced with hers again. During the date, their conversation had been so natural, so easy. It was comforting even though she wanted it to be anything but.

Before digging out her keys and unlocking the door, she said, “I have to admit, while strange, this has been the most creative date I’ve ever been on. Thank you.”

His grin was quick and devastating. And so was the soft stroke of his fingers across her wrist. “Women deserve to be treated special. And you—” his voice dipped low “—require special attention. It only took me one false start to figure that out. I’m glad I got it right the second time. Thank you for saying yes.”

Another stroke, this time his finger stopped on her pulse. Piper hoped he didn’t feel it thumping fast.

“I’ve learned nothing’s worth doing unless you go all-out. Put everything into it. Everything, Piper.”

Her body stiffened. She twisted her hand from his. The night wind was suddenly cold on her heated skin. She locked her eyes on his.

“Listen, Quinn.” Her breath hitched. “I need to be honest with you about something. I like you—”

“I hoped so.” His face was curious, his eyes still twinkling in the moonlight. “Can I see you again?”

Her mind raced with the implications of his question. While parts of her were screaming
no
, a more realistic part screamed
yes.
“I…uh…yes?”

The roar of his laugh made her tingle. “Did you answer me with a question?”

She steadied her breathing. “I’m sorry. Yes. You caught me a little off guard. Before I truly say yes,
you need to know that I started this date with the full intention of not going on another one with you.” His brow raised a fraction, but he said nothing. “During the course of the evening, however, that notion got further and further away. I don’t do the whole love and commitment thing. We can date, have a good time and enjoy each other’s company, but I’m afraid that’s all I have to offer. So…” Her arms rose in display at her sides. “If you can handle that, then the answer is yes.”

He stepped back, his expression mildly stunned. His hand rubbed across his smooth jaw. “So that’s it? If I promise to not love and commit to you, I can date you?”

When he said it like that, it did sound pretty silly. But it was the truth. Piper didn’t do love. And without love, you couldn’t have commitment—end of story. Her eyes focused on his increasingly captivating ones. “Yes.”

Quinn’s hand caught hers, and he drew it up to his mouth. His voice was low, sure. “Well, Ms. Downing, I believe I’d like to know more about this rule of yours in the future. But for now, I agree.” His lips touched her skin, lingering longer than necessary.

The warmth of it lit a little fire in the pit of her stomach. Pricks of pleasure radiated from her hand all the way up her arm. She knew she wouldn’t be able to shake it off, so she didn’t even try.

That was her first mistake.

Chapter Seven

Piper’s second mistake was trying to ignore mistake number one. Quinn had touched her. Physically, yes, and while that had been nice…the touch she meant was in a way she couldn’t explain. And in a way she didn’t quite like. It lit a fire deep in her stomach, igniting her long forgotten feelings.

No, not forgotten…suppressed.

And for good reason. She passed her mother and father’s wedding picture hanging on the top landing as she descended the stairs for another day of work. She touched a finger to the frame as she walked by.

Yes, not forgotten.

But Quinn. Holy mother of apple pie. What was she going to do about him? It had been a week now. A long one. He’d called—once—and she hadn’t had the nerve to return the call. She didn’t know what to say. Sure, she’d been ready to have a nice fling with him. After all, the man was gorgeous, kind, and had eyes that lit up an entire room. Not to mention his face. But something deep in her gut told her that Quinn wasn’t simply a pretty face. There was so much more to him, and it was the
more
that would get her trouble.

She ambled all the way down the steps, saying good morning to Jessica and grabbing a cup of coffee from the arrangement room, the area where she met with clients. She scanned everything, checked both of the funeral rooms, double-checked the thermostat, rearranged the flowers along the walls, and made sure everything was perfect. In her office, she checked her messages, her email, made general correspondence, and filed away invoices. Then she finally made her way down to the basement. It was the same routine every day. Even the weekends. She was scheduled from eight to five, and then, when time permitted and there weren’t dead bodies dropping all night on her doorstep, she made rounds at the market, the flower shop, the post office, and the like. Not necessarily for herself, but for business. Her father had taught her that keeping her face in the crowd kept her business in the black.

Most nights, though, were filled with calls and intakes and body bags. Not that she minded. It was a routine, a strict one, and she had no problem following it. She didn’t have a social life, and that was fine by her.

But Quinn.

Piper shook her head fiercely and snapped on the lights before heading down the final flight of stairs to the underground of her home. Focusing, she slipped the clipboard from the wall—an intake from the night before—and did what she did best: prepare the dead for their afterlife.

<<<<>>>>>

After a full day of work, Piper stretched her arms and glanced down at the newest arrival. Mrs. Robbins lay on the cold hard steel, her once glimmering brown eyes distant and dark. She hated when they popped open during transport, which happened frequently. She said a silent prayer, closed the eyes, and went about preparing her second grade teacher’s body for her eternal rest.

Once complete, she touched a hand over the woman’s chest. “Rest in peace,” she whispered. “Thank you for being the foundation of my education.”

A hand fell on Piper’s shoulder. She lurched back, bumping into a warm body. Spinning around, heart thundering, Piper’s wide eyes met Margo’s.

“For the love of chocolate, Margo,” Piper huffed. “You scared me to death.”

Margo shrugged, her eyes flitting to Mrs. Robbins and back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you hadn’t heard me come in. I even knocked when I saw you bent over the table.”

“Oh.” Piper’s hand flew to her cheek. “I must have been deep in thought, I guess.”

“I guess I’ll go with that.” Margo ushered Piper away from Mrs. Robbins, giving her a good look before sliding the woman’s body into the cooler. “You did a good job on her.”

Piper dumped her apron and gloves into the bin. “Thanks.”

“Is it hard to work on someone you knew?”

“How did you know I knew her?”

Margo’s shoulder lifted. “I didn’t. I heard Jessica’s intake call. Apparently she was Lenny’s teacher. How did you know her?”

“She was my teacher, too.”

Margo meandered around the space, picking up the restoration products Piper had scattered about. That was normal.

“You and Jessica grew up here,” Margo said. “I imagine you’ve worked on several people you knew. I’ve never had to do that. The very thought terrifies me.”

Piper helped pick up several products from the counters and stuffed them unceremoniously in the open cabinet. When she realized she was making a mess of the newly organized space, she stacked the items neatly, giving Margo a soft smile. “That’s normal, Margo. I’d never worked on anyone I knew until after Dad died. He did all intakes and embalming himself. I wished I would have had to courage to ask him what you asked me. It would have been nice to know how to deal with it. I wasn’t prepared that first time.”

“Who was it? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Mr. St. James, our old florist.”

“You had a florist before Maggie and Dave?”

“Sure.” Piper closed the now full cabinet. “That’s how we got started with them. When Mr. St. James passed, we had to find a new florist. Dad was fiercely loyal, even though Mr. St. James’s prices were higher than the rest. ‘You want to best, you pay for the best,’ Dad always said.” Piper allowed herself a small chuckle. “Maggie and Dave had just sprung up shop on the edge of town. And since Mr. St. James’s family wanted no business in flowers anymore, Maggie and Dave to the rescue.”

Margo nudged Piper’s arm. “And Dave rescued you as well, I hear.”

Piper’s eyes bugged out. “Who told you that?”

Margo blushed. “Jessica.”

“Little gossiper.”

Margo’s laugh was robust. “No, I mentioned to her once that I’d never seen you date, and I wondered what it would take for anyone to catch your eye.”

“And when did you have this conversation?”

“Last week, after I met Mr. Oliver when he came to see you.” Margo shuffled across the floor, sweeping her hair into a low ponytail. “He seemed to catch your eye, and since that was the first time I’d seen such a thing, I couldn’t help but ask Jessica about other times.”

Piper cocked her hip. “My love life is that much a conversation starter, huh?”

“Town’s small. Besides, Jessica said there wasn’t much to talk about.”

Piper set the last of the products in the cabinet. “She’s right.”

“Which brings me back to you and Dave…and Mr. Oliver.”

The cabinet door creaked shut, and Piper gave it a hard push into place. She should really order a new one. She hadn’t been able to force herself to replace any of her father’s old equipment yet, though.

“So?” Margo insisted.

Piper drew her brows together. “First—” she twirled around and shuffled across the room. “—there never was a
me and Dave.
It was a few dates, that’s all. He wanted serious, and I don’t do serious. Plus, we did business together, and I decided that wasn’t a good idea.” She flipped through a clipboard full of paperwork, checking off boxes about the body she’d just completed, filling in notes when needed.

“And Mr. Oliver?”

“There’s also not a
me and Mr. Oliver.
By the way, his name is Quinn.”

“Quinn? So you’re on a first-name basis, then?”

Groaning inwardly, Piper hung the clipboard back on the wall and leveled her eyes with the increasingly interested Margo. “We went on a date, yes.”

“I know.”

“Jessica, right?”

“Of course. We were both wondering if you used any of your famous Piper-isms on him.”

Piper gave her a pointed look. “Piper-isms?”

“Yeah, those silly words you use in place of real ones. Like mother of chocolate instead of—”

Piper’s hand shot up. “Please don’t use that language. I don’t like it.”

Margo chuckled. “I know. But that’s what I mean.
Piper-ism.
”

She only shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to curse. It’s a matter of preference, really. Those words seem so cold and mean.”

“And you’re not either?”

Piper almost laughed. Sure, she wasn’t mean, but she wasn’t so sure about the cold part. She could admit that she was detached. But her detachment had a purpose. And she just didn’t like the sound of those nasty words. Her mother and father had taught her better than that.

“Now about that date…”

When Margo only stared at Piper expectantly, Piper grumbled under her breath. “What about it? It was only a date.”

“No second date, then?”

“No. Not yet. Not officially, anyway.”

Margo snickered and busied herself with a tray of new tools. “Not yet,”
she mumbled under her breath.

Piper’s eyes narrowed. Was that sarcasm she heard? She really was better at dealing with dead people. They didn’t form opinions and didn’t judge, not that Margo was judging her. Piper didn’t understand other people’s interest in her dating life, even though everyone and their brother seemed to mention something about it when she ran errands. It was like she was under some sort of an invisible microscope, everyone waiting for her to take that plunge.
Sorry to disappoint
, she’d always have to say; Piper didn’t do the plunge.

“Well?” Margo’s voice snapped Piper back to attention. “Are there any pointers you can get me about working on someone you knew?”

Piper shook her head, curious as to the quick changing subject matter. Not that she minded. “Besides it being hard?”

“How did you deal with it?”

“The first time, while hard, was actually easier for me because Mr. St. James’s family didn’t want anything to do with the funeral.”

“What? Why?”

“Dad loved him, but apparently his family did not.”

“But…” The look of concern spreading across Margo’s face was expected. “Why would that be easier? Sounds like it would be harder. I mean, a man creates and raises a family, only to be disrespected in death? That’s freaking crazy.” Margo slapped a hand on the steel table by the wall.

“One thing you learn as a funeral director is never to judge a family, Margo. They’re each woven differently in time; the next never the same as the last. Not everyone can be as close as yours was.”

A frown crinkled Margo’s forehead. Her full cheeks deflated. “But even if families aren’t close, they shouldn’t stonewall you if you keel over. I mean,
damn.
That’s cold.”

Piper gave a small shake of her head. “Sometimes it’s not all about the living.”

“Then what the heck it is about?”

“I’ve seen death every day since I was a child. I’ve seen how it affects the old and the young. It makes you hard, a job like this does. I’ve learned that even though you’re catering to the needs of the living, it’s the dead that matter.”

“Well, of course, they matter. I mean, they are the ones you have to prepare, make look good for the family—”

“True. But it’s not even that.” Piper’s eyes floated to the white ceiling. Cracks were beginning to show through the old plaster. “It’s so much more. The deceased make a statement by what they leave behind. Mr. St. James left behind a family who didn’t mourn his death; he didn’t leave behind anything for them to be sad for. I respected that, while physically it was hard to work on someone I had spoken to in real life. Mr. St. James wanted to leave this earth on his own terms, without the burden of leaving others behind, so from what I gathered, he disconnected. Every dead person has a story. I like ones like his best.”

Margo’s mouth hung open. After several silent beats, she spoke. “I don’t understand.”

“You’ve got, what, six months left on your internship before you can take the test and become all official and open up your own place?”

Margo’s eyes lit up. “Five months and thirteen days.”

Piper strode across the room, giving the doorframe a quick rap before turning once more to Margo. “Piece of advice? Learn how to disconnect yourself now, Margo, or you’ll never make it.”

She hustled out and up the stairs as fast her feet would take her. When the parlor door swung open, Jessica stepped into view.

“Oh, good,” Jessica huffed. “I caught you. I wanted to give you these messages before I left.” She thrust a stack of pink papers into Piper’s hand.

Piper flipped through them one by one.

“Mr. Morgan, the new product guy, will be here Tuesday at noon. The Mastersons called and gushed about the flower arrangements for Gloria’s funeral. They requested a duplicate—fake—casket arrangement for their home mantle.”

“Mmm. I’ll call Dave.”

“The city inspector scheduled your yearly walk-through—”

Piper groaned, still flipped through the endless messages.

“I scheduled it for this upcoming Monday at noon. I put all this on your calendar, so you shouldn’t have a problem keeping track.”

“Thank you, Jessica.”

“Oh, and Mr. Oliver called. Quinn, that is.”

Piper stopped short and clutched the wad of paper. “Is something wrong?”

“No. He said he had both business and personal things to discuss. I took the business message. It’s in your stack there.” Jessica hustled around the desk, shutting down her computer and switching the phone over to Piper’s work cell. Rounding the corner, she jerked her purse from the closet. “And as for the personal? Since he said he’d left one message already and since you went on a date with him, I went ahead and gave him your cell number. I was shocked he didn’t already have it.”