Page 21 of Grim Tidings

I ignore him, shouldering another bag of potting mix. “Oh? Is that why I saw you dragging them down the alley last time?”

“I wasn’t dragging them.”

“There was a trail of soil from the street. You cut one open and just left it there. For six days.”

He doesn’t lower his eyes. “You certainly seem to be in a mood this morning.”

I grunt. After Darcy left me in the alley last night, I went back to the bar and pretended like I didn’t let my libido override my good sense. I filled drinks, wiped down the bar top, and kept my customers from making monumentally stupid decisions.

But that kiss wedged itself in the back of my mind like a god-damned burr. I couldn’t shake it free. Her taste, her sounds, the way her body moved against mine. It was nothing but Darcy for me, even after I closed the bar for the night and trudged up to my apartment above it.

What was the truth? And what was the lie? I’ve never met a Reaper who didn’t relish the thrill of the chase. But Darcy didn’t seem all that interested in having the upper hand. She said she wanted something different, and— Shit. I think I believed her.

It’s not true, I remind myself. She was just saying what you wanted to hear. She was preying on your own misgivings.

Frank shuffles behind me as I cart the massive bag to his work-bench, dropping it on top of the others.

“Thought you’d be whistlin’ Dixie,” he mutters. “All things considered.”

He grabs his pair of discarded gardening shears and starts to prune the thorns off the rose he was working on when I burst through the door five minutes ago, looking for a distraction.

“Yeah, well,” I glance back in the direction of the alley, wishing there were more heavy things for me to toss around. I’ve already scrubbed the bar within an inch of its life and reorganized all the bottles in the storage room by color. “I’m not.”

“You looked cozy with your mystery girl when I left for the night.”

I make a noncommittal sound.

“Oh?” Frank snips another thorn. “She give you a hard time, pretty boy?”

I drag my hand through my hair. “Something like that.”

Frank snickers. “Maybe it’s because you were acting like a fool.” He sets his flower to the side, then grabs another. “Women like a more subtle approach, not whatever it is you were doing. The drinks, and the towel, and the leaning. You need to work them up to the idea of you, play hard to get. Build a strong foundation, for all the things to come. You know, I have this story from when I was seventeen—”

I turn toward the window as he keeps prattling on, trying to locate my patience. It’s nowhere to be found, probably buried beneath the self-flagellation I’ve been subjecting myself to since I found out I tried to get in the pants of a Reaper.

A Reaper.

For God’s sake.

I’ve lost my damn mind.

“Nothing happened with her, Frank,” I offer, sounding more sullen than I’d like.

Well, I think mournfully. Something happened.

“Of course it didn’t. If it did, you wouldn’t be throwing around my gardening supplies at half past ten in the morning.” Another snip, snip, snip of his shears. “Where did it go wrong?”

“She wasn’t who I thought she was.”

He pauses. “The woman you met at the bar last night and had a five-minute conversation with wasn’t who you thought she was.” Frank snorts. “You lack imagination.”

I turn toward him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He gestures at me with his shears, then turns and grabs an armful of lavender from one of the massive bins that line the wall. Every day, the bins are filled with whatever fresh flowers come in from the various farms in the area. Roses, lavender, daisies, baby’s breath, tulips. A living collage of color, spread across the back of Frank’s Florals.

He peers up at me, both eyebrows inching up into his hairline. “Connection takes time. Effort.”

“I’m not interested in a connection.” Not with someone like her. Someone who collects souls like trinkets. Someone who has a complete and utter disregard for human life.