Page 4 of Don't Bite the Boy Next Door
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“Honestly, I think you got the pick of the litter,” she says as she watches me dress for work. “I studied him at work in his shed last night while you were at the funeral home, and sheesh, those muscles. I mean he is a sexy little irresistible mother-fucker in a brooding, intense kind of way.”
I shake my head at her language. But my curiosity gets the better of me, “what was he doing?”
“He was sanding a table-top. I think he’s making the furniture for his house, from scratch. You and he are a match made in Heaven, neither of you knows how to bloody shop.”
“I think it’s nice that he’s making his own furniture,” I shrug, “but we are no match, Pru. I plan to get to know him, to desensitise myself to his allure, and then never see him again for the rest of his life. Once he dies anaturaldeath, old age, or accident or whatever human calamity befalls him, then, and only then, can I relax and enjoy the tranquillity of my farm again.”
She shakes her head.
“You know the lore now, Tess, it’s silly to try and run from fate. When you and he finally get together, and he turns into a vampire, your strength will grow exponentially. I mean, far out, I could lift a car with one hand now that Tristan has joined with me. It is amazing how strong we are as a team. Serena and Christopher, Charlotte and Nicholas, we are all the same – super strong and super happy. Why fight it?”
“I’m happy the way I am,” I murmur, “and I don’t need any more strength than I already have.”
“You want to be alone? Here? Forever?”
“Yes. And I’m not alone. I have my pets.”
“A pig, two cats, half a hundred hens and a cow,” she snorts.
“And the rabbits,” I add. “Buffy is pulling all the fur out of her stomach and making a nest. So, I’m positive I will have baby rabbits soon, white ones. I can’t wait.”
“There is something really wrong with you,” she snorts as she follows me downstairs. “Now you’re sure you are OK driving yourself to work tonight?”
“Pru, I’m fine. The first night back was hard, answering all the questions about the supposed illness that kept me away for weeks, you know how I hate lying. But tonight, it’s business as usual.”
“Just workin on stiffs,” she raises her eyebrows up and down comically.
I shake my head at her.
“Do you still talk to them when you are making them look beautiful for their burials?”
“You know I do,” I sniff.
“Alright,” she laughs, “you weirdo. Don’t forget to stop at the Piggly Wiggly and get your supermarket items.”
“List right here,” I tap my jacket pocket, “icing and flour.”
“And wine,” she reminds me, “if I’m to stay here playing ‘little house on the prairie’ for another fortnight, I’ll need liquor.”
I smirk and bend down to kiss Orson on the nose before heading to the car.
“Lucky you are immortal,” she groans as I turn to see her shudder, “some hideous disease would have killed you by now otherwise, kissing pigs. Ugh.”
“Like you haven’t,” I laugh.
I can still hear her guffaws as I get into my car, and I can’t help but keep smiling on the drive to work.
‘Pru coming here was a good idea, after all. Maybe, just maybe she’s right. Maybe her plan will work. God, I hope so.’
Reaching the funeral home, I square my shoulders and clear my mind of the problems at home. I owe it to my clients to concentrate on making their last days on earth, even as corpses, serene and pleasant.
But, as soon as I walk into the foyer of the funeral parlour, I freeze, all thoughts of serenity flying straight back out the door.
He has been here. I can smell him.
‘Is he following me? Dear God, is there no escape?’
