Page 10 of Mace

It was pretty empty.

The funeral business was very much last minute and fly by the seat of your pants. At least, that is what it seemed like to someone on the outside looking in.

Sure, Dorothy and I were always planning the services on the fly, but we did have basics that always went into every wake and service. It was all based on the vibes and feelings of the family.

Sometimes services were very sad and somber, while others were more of a celebration and a party saying goodbye to their loved ones.

Whatever the family wanted, that was what we gave them.

“Hello?” a low voice called. “Anyone around?”

I powered off my computer and grabbed a pad of paper. It looked like our next family was here. Most times, we first received a phone call, but there were times like now when the family just came to the funeral home to start the ball rolling.

“I’ll be right there,” I called.

Dorothy and I tended to keep the families out of our office and talk to the families in one of the sitting rooms.

I grabbed my favorite pen and headed out to the front door.

The man had his back to me and was staring at a painting of a spray of flowers by the front door. He looked to be wearing a leather vest and had dark blue jeans on. His shoulders were wide, and the vest was stretched across them. He didn’t look like the person we typically saw, but it was hard to tell exactly what he looked like from behind.

I smoothed my hand down the front of my shirt and took a deep breath. “How can I help you?”

The man slowly turned, and my stomach dropped to my feet.

He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head, and his eyes scanned me from head to toe.

“Imogen?”

Only one person had ever said my name with that low, sultry timber.

Jonathon Walker.

A feather could have knocked me over.

Jonathon was the last person I would have ever thought would walk through the doors of Brooks Mortuary.

“Eh, ah.” I licked my lips and tried to get my brain to function.What the heck was going on?

Had the showPunkedbeen revived, and I was their latest victim?

Jonathon glanced back at the front door. “I was looking for a bell to ring or something, but I didn’t see anything.”

I could hear him speaking, but I couldn’t process anything other than the fact that he was standing in front of me.

It had been fifteen years since the last time I had seen Jonathon, and while he looked the same, he wasn’t. He was version 2.0 Jonathon.

He had always been handsome, but time had been very nice to him.

His forearms were covered in tattoos, and one even peeked out from the neck of his white shirt.

Those were all new, obviously.

“Babe,” Jonathon called.

“Jonathon,” I whispered.

Mace looked around and shook his head. “Mace, babe. I don’t go by Jonathon anymore.”

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