Page 29 of For Better or Hearse

Ash looks up from the coconut, noting the ever-so-slight curl of Nathaniel’s lips.

“Sorry to say, devastation is imminent.”

Ash hums, ignores him.

“Late night, Bigfoot?” he asks, brow cocked. “You look tired.”

Ash eyes him warily. She’s certain he’s 11 percent human and 89 percent homicidal robot.

“I slept like a baby.” A lie. After their heated conversation in the bar, she slept like shit. She dreamed up no less than fifty scenarios where she is wrong and he is right.

What if heisright?

What if she hurt him for no reason at all?

Ash stands from the table. Moves into prime coconut position. Rests her knee on the bench, her thigh tattoo shifting with the movement. Her frayed cut-offs—tossed over a one-piece bathing suit—expose more of her ass than she’d like in this awkward position, but it’s for the good of the coconut.

Glancing over her shoulder, she finds that Nathaniel’s also thinking about her ass. If the way he’s ogling it is any indication. She smirks. He’s not the only one who can catch a person in the act of self-destruction.

“That’s a very shameless stare, Doctor Whitford.”

Instantly, his eyes snap to her face. His Adam’s apple bobs. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, the hunger in his expression morphing to discomfort, then disdain.

Ash evaluates him from behind her dark sunglasses. She’d need a chisel and a hammer to get him to smile.

The wind kicks up. Drags with it a familiar, lovely scent.

“Mmm.” Ash smiles. Breathes deep. “It smells like the Amalfi coast. Lemon. Cedar.”

Nathaniel blinks. His jaw slackens.

Hit with her own bout of annoyance, she crosses her arms. “You think you’re the only one who travels? So small-minded of you.”

The edges of his lips twitch. Barely.

Thanks to her mom’s job as a flight attendant, Ash is well versed in the art of traveling. She and Tessie both have seen the world. One of her favorite trips was to the Madonna Inn on her sixteenth birthday. They wore vintage dresses and ordered a bottle of champagne even though they were underage.

“First time in Hawaii?” Nathaniel asks.

“Hawaii’s one of the few places I haven’t been.” Her heart gives a twinge, but she wills it to flutter away. Then she rests her palm on the coconut in front of her.

Nathaniel mimics, palming his own coconut.

She has to fight to keep her breath from catching. Christ. His hand is the size of her face.

Lucky patients.

“That looks wrong.” Brow furrowed, Nathaniel gestures to the row of knives and chisels beside the coconut. The machete’s blade gleams in the sunlight.

Ash snorts. “Okay, I didn’t realize I was speaking with the CEO of coconuts.”

“We should get someone.” He cranes his neck, searching for an employee. “I can’t believe they just left you alone with an arsenal of weapons,” he mutters.

“Don’t be silly.” Ash’s pulse quickens in excitement as shegrips the sticky handle of the machete. “This seems completely safe.”

Beside her, Nathaniel watches her carefully, his face a mask of grim disapproval.

“Don’t you want a Hawaiian coconut fresh from the farm?” she asks with a wicked smile.