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Chapter 9
Tess
No one ever tells you how lonely funerals can be. Dozens of people surrounding a casket for a single purpose, yet everyone alone in their grief. My mother and I have barely spoken to each other in the last week. My supervisor gave me the week off and Rand never reached out except for one measly text offering his condolences. Just me, my mom, and the memory of Sal in a big, quiet house.
There’s a pretty big turnout for Sal. I’m glad he had so many friends. For me, I think it’d be just my mom and Josie that would come to my funeral. Maybe an ex-boyfriend or two. It’s a bit sad to think of how little I’ve accomplished and how few friends I have.
The service is almost over—a priest is starting the closing prayer. I dip my head and close my eyes, gasping when a woodsy scent and massive arms envelop me from behind.
Rand. He’s here.
I immediately sink into his embrace. This last week has been so difficult. But he’s here. And I’m not alone. At least for the moment.
The priest finishes the prayer and everyone either starts walking to their car or mingling with other mourners. I turn in Rand’s arms. His warm brown eyes look down at me and he runs his hand gently through my hair. It feels like an invitation, so I accept on my terms—laying my cheek against his chest and hugging him back.
After a few minutes, Rand leans down to whisper in my ear, “Hey, fighter. Will you introduce me to your mom?”
“Yeah, she’s probably already wondering who you are.” My mother may have been overwhelmed with grief, but she’s still my mom. There’s no way she won’t notice a handsome stranger hugging her daughter.
Turning, I take his hand and lead him around the group of women offering my mother their condolences. I smile at the women. “Mom, can you come with me for a minute?” She smiles gratefully. Our rituals around death are crazy. The last thing you want to be doing at your husband’s funeral is making small talk with dozens of people. Give the woman a few weeks, for heaven’s sake.
Once we’re a few feet from the crowd, I stop. “Mom, I’d like you to meet my friend from Moreau Construction. This is Rand.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Martone. I’m so sorry for your loss.” They shake hands. Part of me can’t believe this is a thing—my mother and my boss—er, friend—meeting at my stepdad’s funeral.
The disbelief grows when Rand pulls an envelope out of his pocket and hands it to my mother.
“In honor of your husband, Moreau Construction has made a donation to a non-profit that funds cancer research.”
My mother peeks in the envelope and gasps, one hand going straight to her chest. She passes the envelope to me, and I take my own look.
Holy shit.
That’s not just a donation. That’s a sizable donation. But that’s Rand. He doesn’t do anything small, if you know what I mean. I hand the envelope back to my mom just before she wraps Rand in a hug. She murmurs something I can’t quite hear, but I hear Rand’s reply.
“I’m glad to do it. I’ve seen how much Tess cares about you both. This is one way I can do something for you…” He looks straight at me, brown eyes burning. “And for your daughter.”
My mom pulls away, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Thank you, again.”
“Of course.” Rand holds his hand out for me and I take it. “Mrs. Martone, would you mind if I take Tess with me? I’ll bring her home in a few hours.”
I turn to him. “But how will my mom get home?”
“I hired a limo for her.” He gestures to the edge of the cemetery where a limo is parked and waiting. “You have it for the night, Mrs. Martone. You can go home. You can ride for hours. Whatever helps you feel better.”
Tears fill my mom’s eyes again. “Thank you, Rand.” She looks at me with a warm gaze. “Honey, you know I wouldn’t mind a little time alone.”
That’s true. I give her one last hug and remind her to call me if she needs anything. She heads back to the crowd, presumably to accept more platitudes. I follow Rand to his truck, hopping in the passenger seat.
Rand climbs in the driver’s side and I can’t help rubbing my hands down my dress with nerves. He’s here now. But he hasn’t been here all week. What changed?
We pull away from the cemetery. I watch him while he drives, noticing some changes even in the short time since I last saw him. His black hair is just a touch too long, and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week. Not that he looks worse. If anything, he looks more rugged. Or maybe I’m seeing him through rose-colored glasses because I missed him so much.
Unfortunately, it’s time for the hard questions. “Rand, what are you doing here?”
His jaw clenches, his cheek doing that throbbing thing that happens when men get frustrated.
“I’m glad to see you, sure. But if you were planning on coming today anyway, then why haven’t you called this week?”
