“Okay,” Aaron replied reluctantly. “Then you’ll finish telling me about wound filler stuff?”
“Scout’s honor.” Tom slowed down as he approached the open door, putting his jacket on and trying not to appear too eager as he stepped inside the garage. He broke into a huge smile when he saw it was HFG in all his bulging glory.
HFG was black, tall, and broad with thick shoulders and an even thicker beard framing his dark brown face, and Tom had daydreamed about running his hands all over his body. They had barely even spoken more than a few words, but Tom had a definite crush.
The funeral home hours didn’t give Tom much freedom and being on call almost every night killed any chance of an active social life. After a nasty breakup followed by a disappointing string of one-night stands through dating apps, he’d committed to staying single until the funeral home hired more help.
In the meantime, he’d grown quite fond of HFG’s deliveries. He didn’t even know his name, but he’d been trying to find out for weeks. HFG was always in and out too quickly to ever strike up a conversation, and Tom wanted a name to go with that gorgeous face.
It didn’t matter HFG was painfully out of his league—unless he happened to be into pasty white brunettes, who had never grown out of their baby fat, with big chins and an awkward little gap between their front teeth.
Tom had been cruelly teased about his smile since he was a little kid, no doubt the root of his introverted nature, but he was too excited about seeing HFG to care for once. As he stepped into the garage, however, his joy instantly faded.
HFG was there, but he was arguing with the assistant manager of the funeral home, Gerald Ayers.
Gerald was a prick.
No, he was the absolutekingof pricks.
He was a corpulent king prick whose entire mission in life was to make everyone around him suffer. He’d been working in the funeral business since he was a teenager, back when it was Ayers Funeral Home and before his parents sold it off to the Crosby family who then changed the name. They chose to keep the Ayers moniker as the Ayers family name was well known and had agreed to keep Gerald employed.
Even though his side of the family didn’t technically own the funeral home now, it didn’t stop Gerald from acting like it. He was a total snob, and everyone did their best to avoid him. Well into his sixties now, the passing of time had only made him meaner. His nasty behavior went completely unchecked because he happened to be a big figure in the local community—church, rotary club, city council—and his influence brought the funeral home a lot of high-profile cases.
Having had his fair share of run-ins with Gerald over the years, Tom preferred to stay away from him as much as possible. His instincts told him to flee at once, but he found himself frozen in place as he listened to them fight.
“It’s supposed to be two dozencrimsonroses!” Gerald was screaming, his chubby cheeks flushed with rage. “What the fuck am I supposed to do withblueones? Huh?”
HFG was totally unmoved by his sweaty rage, calmly replying, “Explain to me how that’s my problem. I delivered what was ordered.”
“Crimson!Crimson! It’s red, it’s fucking red!” Gerald seethed as he pointed at the very blue casket spray. “Are you some kind of fucking idiot? Can you not fuckin’ read?”
HFG reached into his back pocket and presented Gerald with an order slip.
“What the fuck is this?” Gerald snarled as he ripped it out of HFG’s hands.
“The order.”
“And?” Gerald squinted. “Cerulean? The fuck is cerulean?”
“Cerulean,” HFG explained flatly, “is a color ranging from azure to a deep sky blue and is also the color of the flowers that you ordered.”
“I did not.” Gerald faltered, and he was so angry that he was shaking. “You must have fucked up. This is all fucked up. I’ve got this man in our chapel in his casket and ready to go. I need his fuckin’ flowersnow.”
Tom hadn’t seen Gerald this furious in a long time, and the urge to bolt was growing rapidly. He didn’t want to be inadvertently caught in the crossfire, but this was a train wreck he couldn’t look away from.
HFG’s smooth handling of the situation was seriously hot. He didn’t look bothered in the slightest, maybe annoyed at best. It was amazing.
“I get it.” HFG shrugged. “You get to clicking on the website and all those darn ‘c’ words look really similar. Crimson, cerulean. Maybe you need glasses.”
“You’re bringing a new spray. Now.”
“Suck my dick.”
Gerald looked like he was going to blow an artery. “Excuse me?”
Tom’s stomach lurched, and he had to fight the urge to laugh hysterically. Oh, God. HFG said that. He really said that.
Out loud.
