Page 27 of Collect the Pieces

“Yes.”

“Jigsaw or Jensen?”

His lips quirk. “I’m not crazy about people outside the MC world calling me by my road name.” He brushes his fingers against my shoulder. “Except you.”

Carl’s footsteps clatter over the back porch again. I straighten as he reappears with the second arrangement, carefully maneuvering through the door. “Same place?” he asks.

“Yes, please.” Still giddy over Jigsaw’s request but needing to do my job, I follow Carl, directing him where to place the arrangement.

When he’s finished, he dusts off his hands and hands me a small electronic signature pad to confirm I received the arrangements. While I’m scrawling my name across the screen, Carl’s body shifts.

“Are you new to Cedarwood?” he asks Jigsaw.

“No.” I hand the stylus and pad back to Carl. “Forgive my rudeness, Carl, this is my boyfriend, Jensen.”

Carl’s jaw drops but he recovers quickly, sticking his hand out. “Nice to, uh, meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They shake hands, Carl staring at Jigsaw and nodding. Should I be insulted? Does he think I’m that undateable or something?

“Well, that should be everything. If you have any issues, just call.” Carl hesitates for a beat then mutters a quick goodbye.

“Bro didn’t hide his disappointment well,” Jigsaw says, watching him go.

“What? Be serious.” My gaze skips from the door to Jigsaw’s face. “Are you happy now?”

“Yes.” He shifts the full weight of his attention to me, stepping closer, crowding against the wall. Not touching, yet. But close enough to notice how much space he takes up and how protected I feel in his orbit.

At the back door, several other voices converge. Whatever’s happening between us has to wait. I press my hands against Jigsaw’s chest. “I…I have to get back to work.”

He shifts his body to the side, allowing just enough space to slip through.

My dad’s voice rises above the others, knocking all the fuzzy feelings right out of me. My nervous gaze darts around the room. Chairs—almost done. Flowers—still need to be moved. Supplies—still need to be brought up from the basement. I haven’t accomplished much this morning. “Damn. Dad’s back already,” I mutter.

“I’ll finish lining up those chairs.” Jigsaw clasps his hand over my shoulder. The heat and possessiveness in his eyes have been dialed back to a slow simmer. “What else can I help you do to get ready? Between those cops wasting your time and me not being able to keep my hands off you, you’re running behind.”

I slide my hand down his chest. “I’ll never complain about having your hands on me.”

“Good.” He lifts his chin. “Tell me. What else?”

“Ah, the chairs. One more row, there.” I drag my finger through the air, indicating a space near the podium. “And then I have to run downstairs for some bulbs. I need to change out the ones over there.”

He nods once. “I saw a ladder in the closet back there. Okay to use that one?”

“Yup.”

“Got it.”

I hurry into the hallway and meet my father at the back door. “Flowers are here.”Duh, he just ran into Carl.Why am I so flustered, acting like a teenager who got caught making out in the driveway after curfew?

“Good.” He lifts his gaze, staring down the long hallway.

“I’m still working through my list,” I say before he starts firing off questions. “Two detectives stopped by earlier. Talking to them set me back a little.”

“Detectives, why?”

I shrug. “I guess Laurel Larsen’s husband died? They wanted to know if we’d spoken to her recently. I have their cards.”

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