Darynda Jones: Sixth Grave on the Edge

When Reyes looked back at me, he caught me with my mouth open in astonishment. I slammed it shut, hoping I hadn’t in any way resembled a cow. But he turned back to the women as though suddenly interested in the wares they were peddling. As if.

Cookie wheezed beside me, trying to get air through her abused esophagus, but I couldn’t worry about that now. I had to win my man back from these silver foxes. One of them had a walker, for goodness’ sake. How limber could she be?

“Excuse me, busboy,” I said, snapping my fingers in the air to get his attention.

He ignored me, but I caught the grin he was wearing. I also felt the pleasure my attention gave him. It radiated from his essence and brushed over my skin like hot silk.

“Busboy,” I repeated, snapping more loudly. “Over here.”

He finally apologized to the flirty foxes, explaining that his heart belonged to another before he strolled to our table. “Busboy?” he asked, stopping in front of us and leveling a look of concern on a red-faced Cookie.

She took another sip and waved a hello.

I gestured to his apron. “You look like a busboy.”

“In that case, can I clean anything for you?”

“You can clean your dirty mind,” I said, teasing him. “Having fun?” I indicated the table with a nod.

“They were complimenting my cooking.” He leaned in very close. “According to consensus, I’m really good at scrambling things.”

They’d nailed that one. He was really good at scrambling my insides. My emotions. My girlie bits. “That’s wonderful,” I said, pretending not to care, “but we need lunch.”

“Didn’t you hear? I’ve been demoted to busboy, so you’ll have to ask your server about lunch. I don’t think busboys can take orders.”

I pulled the apron string in much the same way as the flirt did. “You’ll take my order, and you’ll like it.”

A soft, deep laugh reverberated out of him. “Yes, ma’am. Can I suggest the Santa Fe chicken with Spanish rice?”

“You can, but I’ll have the margarita chicken with fries smothered in red chile.”

“I’ll have the Santa Fe chicken,” Cookie said quickly, so falling for his ploy. He’d probably ordered too many chickens from Santa Fe and now had to hand-sell them to get rid of them. How different could chickens raised in Santa Fe be?

He flashed her a grin that was so beautiful, my heart skipped several pertinent beats. “Santa Fe chicken, it is. Would you like iced tea with that?” he asked me. When I hesitated, trying to decide between tea and an extra-large nonfat mocha macchiato with caramel sauce on the bottom and a dollop of whipped cream, he said, “It’s a yes/no question.”

I almost burst out laughing. Ever since he proposed to me on a sticky note, he’d been asking me a lot of yes/no questions to reiterate the fact that his proposal was also a yes/no question.

I shrugged. “Sometimes it’s not that black-and-white.”

“Sure it is.”

Cookie, knowing where this was headed, decided to study her menu again.

“Then my answer is yes.”

He stilled, waiting for the punch line. He knew me very well.

“Yes, I’ll have tea with my lunch and an extra-large nonfat mocha macchiato with caramel sauce on the bottom and a dollop of whipped cream after.”

Without missing a beat, he said, “Tea, it is.”

He started to turn, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem—” I lowered my voice. “—warmer than usual.”

“I’m always okay,” he said, mimicking what I’d said to Cookie earlier. He caught my hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips, kissing it softly. The heat from his mouth was searing.

It wasn’t until Reyes walked away that I realized the room had grown silent. Every eye was on us. Well, every female eye was on us. I glanced at Jessica and our gazes locked for an uncomfortable moment. She was jealous, and that fact didn’t make me happy. Why was she jealous when she didn’t have any claim to Reyes? Then again, jealousy was in a whole category by itself. One that sat right between instability and insecurity. But her jealously raked across my skin like fingernails.

Jealousy from Reyes was one thing, but jealousy from humans had a different taste, a different texture. It was hot and abrasive, like putting on scratchy burlap clothes right out of the dryer.

“When are you going to answer him?” Cookie asked, drawing my attention.

“When he deserves an answer,” I volleyed.

“So, saving your life countless times doesn’t warrant an answer?”

“Sure it does, but he doesn’t need to know that.”

One corner of her mouth tilted mischievously. “True.”

And that was one thing I never felt from Cookie. Jealousy. She was just as hot for Reyes as anyone, but she was never jealous of our relationship. She was happy for me, and therein lay the heart of a true friend. I’d thought Jessica was my best friend, but looking back with my 20/20 hindsight, I realized I’d felt jealousy radiate from her on several occasions in school. That should have been a clue, but I’d never been accused of being the brightest bedspread in the hotel.

“Okay, how are you going to get him over?”

“Well, since he lives right next door, I thought I’d just pound on the wall.”

“Not Reyes. Robert.”

Who was Robert again? Oh, right. “You let me worry about Uncle Bob.”

Cookie was getting nervous for the seven millionth time, so I went through my plan again from beginning to end. I loved going over it anyway. Mostly because it was brilliant, but also because if Cookie didn’t go along with it, all that brilliance would go down the drain, kind of like my self-esteem every time I ran into Jessica.

“This first date is just the primer. I’ll get him over right as your date is picking you up. He’ll be so blindsided, he won’t know how to react. What to say.” I giggled like a mental patient at that. “I’ll explain to him that you joined a dating service.”

“What?” Cookie balked. “He’ll think I’m desperate.”

“He’ll think you’re ready for a relationship.”

“A desperate one.” She fanned herself with the menu, her doubt evident in every swish.

“Cook, lots of people join dating services. It doesn’t have the stigma it used to.”

“Then what?”

“Then you’ll go on another date.”

“With the same guy?”

“Nope, a different guy.”

Fear caused panic to spike inside her. “What? Who? You said this would be quick and painless.”

“It will be. I’m not sure who date number two will be. I have only so many friends who will let me use them unscrupulously.”

Cookie groaned.

“This will work, Cook. Unless you want to do something really crazy and just ask him out yourself?”

“I couldn’t,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “What if he says no? And then it would be really awkward between us for the rest of our lives. We’d have those awkward silences that make my eyebrows sweat.”

“Oh, yeah, those are pretty awful. Anywho, it’s date number three that will be the clincher. If he doesn’t ask you out before then, we may have to hire an actor.”

“An actor?”

“Cook, we’ve already been through this. Why are you questioning everything?”

“I think I’ve been in denial. But now that it’s really happening, I feel like those people who say they can bungee jump, but when they’re actually standing on the bridge, the reality of the situation hits them in the face.”

“Yeah, never bungee jump. Reality isn’t the only thing that hits you in the face.”

“At least the bungee rope didn’t leave a scar.”

“Thank goodness. So, for date number three, we need someone good. Someone who can be sexy and a butthead at the same time. Someone—” It hit me before I even finished the thought. “I got it.”