Page 13 of Cherry Picking

“On what grounds?”

“For—” I scrub a hand over my face. “I might have shared some unremarkable trivia. At the cemetery. Something clinical. About the leading causes of death.” I wince. “I used statistics, Dad.”

He sighs, exasperated. “Evie.”

“He’s a local legend. Famous people have entire operations behind them. He’s going to have my name dragged through a press release. I’m going to be a cautionary slide at a public relations seminar—and then the gravedigger girl rattled off the—”

“Evie.” Firmer now. “You’re not in trouble.”

I stop mid-spiral. “I’m not?”

“No.”

“Then why the hell does he want to meet with me?”

The radio in the background murmurs something about a backup on the 215.

“He has a proposal for you,” my dad says finally. “Didn’t want to discuss the logistics over the phone. Asked if you’d meet him somewhere neutral.”

“Neutral?” The word tastes like copper. “What, like a DMV?”

“More like a coffee joint, I’d imagine,” he replies drily. “He was perfectly polite about it. More words than he managed at the service, frankly.”

A proposal. From Briggs Maxwell. I don’t have the faintest idea what a man that popular could possibly want from a woman like me. Maybe he wants to warn me he’s filing a lawsuit. Or leaving a formal review for the Better Business Bureau.

That would be on brand for someone with an agent, wouldn’t it?

“What did you tell him?” I ask.

“I told him I’d run it by you.” A beat. “So I’m running it.”

I should say no. Whatever this is, it’s likely a complication I don’t have the energy or the time for. I have student debt up to my eyes and a very full plate of just keeping myself upright. I don’t have room for strange proposals from even stranger men.

Still, I’m curious, and I’ve always been constitutionally incapable of leaving a door closed once I’ve seen it. Sue me.

“Tell him okay,” I say. “He can text me the time and place.”

“I’ll relay the message. Stop by the printer on your way in tomorrow morning, if you can. And don’t forget the guest books. Phil was supposed to handle it, so I assume it didn’t happen.”

I fall back against the pillow, the adrenaline beginning to dip. “You got it.”

“Kiddo, you get any sleep at all last night?”

“Tons,” I lie.

I hang up, drop the phone on my chest, and stare at the stucco. Whatever Briggs Maxwell wants, it isn’t going to make my life simpler. But, to my eternal detriment, I’ve never once known how to want the simple thing.

CHAPTER 5

BRIGGS

Danny suggested I meet Evie at Rosefield. He provided a comprehensive list of dos and don’ts, actually. Avoid Charleston; it’s a loud mess. The Bru-ha-ha is okay, not great. And for God’s sake, keep it casual, otherwise she’ll assume you’re attempting to buy her.

It turns out Danny’s known the Suttons for two decades. He and Ray have been running their operations a few doors apart, routing customers back and forth for as long as anyone can recall.

When the topic of Ray’s daughter surfaced, Danny spoke about her like she was his own flesh and blood. Good kid. Sharp-tongued. Heart the size of a house, not that she’d ever cop to it.

He used to talk about me the same way, though I’m fairly certain the script has changed. Now I’m just the negligent son, the one who leveraged a job to stay away. The kid who gave his brother the silent treatment right up until the moment he died.