I bark out a laugh in surprise. Maybe they won’t be so bad if Amy is joking about kidnapping me. It’s soon, but I can get the twisted humor in the non-threat. “Surprisingly, that does help.”
“Where is she?” a female voice shouts from deep in the house as Blake opens the door without knocking. “Move out of the way, Frosted Blakes. Let me at her.”
The woman who peeks around Blake for point-oh-two seconds before shoving him out of her way is smaller than I expected. Blake talks about his sister like she’s larger than life, but perhaps that’s her presence, not her size? Petite, with a pixie haircut that flips out all over her head like cowlicks but which I’m betting takes product and skill to get that effect, and bright eyes that sparkle. I’ve seen that look . . . on Blake.
“You must be Amy?” I say, holding my hand out properly.
“Pshaw, you can stop with that mess. We’re huggers.” She proves it a moment later by swallowing me up in her arms like we’re long lost friends. I look over Amy’s head to Blake, who is smiling widely, but I can see a sheen in his eyes. I think today is just as important to him as it is to me, despite his repeated assertions that it’s ‘no big deal’.
“I’m so glad to meet you . . . finally.” The last bit seems to be a barb thrown at Blake because he chuckles.
“Sorry, Sis. Was kinda busy prepping her for you so she wouldn’t run away screaming. You’re a lot, you know?”
Amy doesn’t look offended in the slightest. In fact, she seems to take it as a compliment. “No excuse. If she can’t handle your family, she can’t handle you.”
“How about being kidnapped and almost dying? Does that excuse count?” I deadpan.
Amy blanches, her buzzing energy freezing in place as she cuts her eyes to me. I wait two long seconds before letting her off the hook, giggling. “Just kidding. Well, I mean I was kidnapped and thought I was gonna die, but that’s not why we didn’t come yet. I told Blake I wouldn’t meet his family until he took me on a proper date. He did last night, so here I am.”
It started out sounding humorous, or at least my weird version of a joke, but by the end of my little explanation, I realized how horrible it sounded and started talking faster and faster to get it over with.
Amy blinks and then, with her eyes locked on me, she stage-whispers over her shoulder to Blake, “Oh, I like her. I like her a lot. You should lock her down immediately before she realizes that your good looks hide what an absolute dork you are.”
I whisper back to her, “It’s the dorky parts I like best. I’m a bit of a trivia nerd too.”
“No way!” Amy shouts, pushing my shoulder in surprise. “Frosted Blakes is such a weirdo, I never thought another human being existed like him. Robot girlfriend? Maybe. But not an actual woman.”
I hold my arms out wide, like ‘here I am’, and she beams.
“Blake, I’m going to say something I never say. Are you ready? Because it’s only happening once.”
I’m confused, and a look at Blake doesn’t provide any clarity. He looks just as confused as I feel.
Amy takes a big breath of preparation and says clearly, “I was wrong.”
“Holy shit!” Blake breathes. “Fernanda! Get in here! You have to hear this!”
Another woman comes in from the back of the house somewhere, carrying a wooden spoon and wearing a polka-dot apron. She’s naturally gorgeous, not a stitch of makeup on, her inky black hair down her back but shaved on the sides and tattoos covering her arms and hands.
Blake tells her, “Amy just said she was wrong.”
Fernanda’s brows, one of which is slit, lift high in shock. “She did not.” Fernanda and Blake both eye Amy in disbelief.
Amy throws them both an impish grin. “Too late. I told you I was only going to say it once.”
Fernanda looks to me and I agree, “She did say that.” Quieter, I also share, “But she did say she was wrong too.”
“Ay mi dios! Hell has frozen over!” Fernanda yells, but it seems like good-natured teasing because Amy laughs.
“I can’t help it if I’m always right. It’s just who I am.” Amy adopts a queenly tone, her hand pressed delicately to her chest.
“Oh, God,” Blake moans. “Can we eat so I can get Zoey out of here before the shit gets any deeper?” He mimes high-stepping, lifting his knees up to nearly chest height. I know that has to be uncomfortable because he’s been complaining about his sore abs since yesterday’s workout with Trey.
But to give his sister a hard time? Worth it, I guess.
Fernanda jerks her head toward the kitchen. “Si, chilaquiles are ready. Let’s sit down.”
And all my nerves disappear. This is what family is like, I remember. Fun teasing, a shared history, and time spent together doing things that don’t seem major but that create a foundation of love.
I had this with my parents, and with Grandma and Grandpa, and have tried my best to create it with Jacob. Blake has always had it, doesn’t know any different, and honestly, he doesn’t realize how special it is.
But even so, he’s willing and excited to share his family with me, trusting that though my history is sketchy and riddled with bad omens, superstitions, and hard loss, I will only bring good things to his family. Weird things too, but that seems not only accepted but welcomed.
“Hey, Miles, did I tell you about the new game Jacob showed me? It’s got penguins that ice-skate, but if you fall off the ice . . . seals eat you alive. Chomp-chomp-chomp,” Blake says as he fills his plate and mine with tortillas covered in green salsa, white cheese, and fried eggs.
“That sounds cool,” Miles says with a snaggle-toothed smile. “Can we play after we eat?”
“Yeah, man. And maybe next time, we can bring Jacob, Holly, and Olive to brunch too. Olive is five like you.”
Miles’s little nose crinkles. “I don’t like playing with girls.”
Blake nods his head like that’s sage advice. “I know. But sometimes, girls are okay. Your moms are pretty cool, and Zoey is too. And Olive . . . she’s badass at keeping the penguins on the ice. She could probably teach you a few things. If you wanted, I mean.”
Blake shrugs like he doesn’t care one way or the other. Miles looks thoughtful, scanning the table from Amy to Fernanda to me. I lift my brow, giving him a ‘whatcha gonna do’ look.
Miles shrugs, a perfect imitation of Blake. “I guess that’d be okay. You think Olive likes to slide too? We could play outside after we play penguins.”
“Yeah, I’m sure she’d like that,” I tell him.
Blake looks at me and his eyes are brighter than a summer sky. “I love you, Miss Walker.”
I lean into his shoulder and whisper back, “I love you too, Mr. Hale.”
“Ew, gross!” Miles shouts around a mouthful of food.
Blake laughs. “You want to hear something gross? You should hear about the first . . . no, the second time I met Zoey. She was elbows-deep in a human body. A real one.”
I freeze, knowing that my primary concern was not talking about work today so I didn’t freak anyone out. But Miles looks enamored and Fernanda leans in, her voice intrigued. “Really? That’s awesome.”
Maybe I have found a new family after all. And I’ll do anything to keep them safe. I touch my necklace for luck, but it’s out of habit more than superstition. Blake catches me and takes my hand, kissing my fingertips. “Zoey tells it better than I do, but I’ll warn you . . . the story makes me look like a desperate ass.”
“Tell me everything,” Amy demands. “Because I know he’s a desperate ass.”
“Well, it all started when he hit me with his car.” I shoot Blake a grin, but he doesn’t dare correct me this time, even though we both know I hit him and then tried to scare him off by grossing him out when he came to the morgue.
I’m really glad he didn’t give up that easily.
I’m even more thankful that he took the time to show me that I can be Drop-Dead Gorgeous and not have people dropping dead around me all
the time.
Death is what I do, life is what he does, but the important thing is that together, we’ll make every day we have the best it can be.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Zoey and Blake’s story. If so, make sure you check out the bonus chapter, available here. Check in with Zoey & Blake and Holly & Jacob in the future!
If you loved Drop Dead Gorgeous, make sure you check out my book The Dare (standalone) and My Big Fat Fake Wedding (3 book series)! Read on for an excerpt of My Big Fat Fake Wedding.
Excerpt: My Big Fat Fake Wedding
Violet—Five Months Ago
This can’t be happening. He can’t be leaving me.
Not now.
Not ever.
My heels click across the hospital floor as I race down the hallway. I’m in such a panic, the words blaring over the PA system hardly register from the blood rushing through my ears in a dull roar.
“Code blue, room four! Code blue, room four!”
I nearly trip over my own feet as I break into a shuffling run, boomeranging for the nearest patient room. I swear my heart is going to explode when I spot the correct door and burst inside to see . . .
“Nana!” I exclaim as I see my grandmother, Angela Russo. She looks up from where she’s hovering like a hen over my grandfather. The scowl on her face highlights the parentheses of wrinkles around her lips, making her worry immediately apparent.
My grandfather, Stefano, looks up at me, his unusually pale face widening into a huge smile. But even with the happiness blooming, I can tell he’s worn out, aged decades in the short time since I last saw him.
“My beautiful little flower, Violet!” he sings, his Italian accent coming through as he holds his arms out to me. “I knew you would come. Come here so I can give you a kiss!”
“Oh, Papa, I was so scared!” I say, rushing into his arms and collapsing into a ball of relief. “I dropped everything and came as soon as I heard.”
Papa looks over at Nana with a triumphant wink of his eye as he rubs my shoulders. “See, Angie? This one loves me the most. Do you see any of our other granddaughters here?”
“That’s because you’ve scared them all away with your crazy stories,” Nana growls, but there’s an undercurrent of affection for the man who is both a thorn in her side and her everything.
Papa laughs and squeezes me with a fierce strength that belies his shrinking frame, raining kisses down upon my forehead. I feel comforted, enveloped in his familiar scent, leather and spicy meats . . . masculine and comforting. For a moment, I forget the direness of the situation as he rocks me back and forth in his arms like I’m a child or the one in need of comfort, though he’s the one in the hospital bed.
But the moment is fleeting as reality slams back into me, and I rise to my feet to ask Nana in a rush of words, “What happened? Is he going to be okay? How long has he been like this?”
“The old fool was working out back in the summer heat after I told him he should take it easy and come inside,” Nana says with a frosty scowl at Papa, but her voice softens as she speaks, revealing how frightened she really is. “I found him lying face down in the dirt.”
“Papa!” I say in admonishment. “You know you’re not supposed to be taking on a heavy workload, doctor’s orders. Why didn’t you listen to Nana?”
Grandpa waves away my worry with a bony hand. “I don’t see what the fuss’s all about. A man has to work, and I’ll do what I need to until the day they put me six feet under. I just tripped and had a little fall, that’s all.” He says it like he believes that to be the truth.
Nana gives me a sour look that says, ‘That’s definitely not what happened.’ “He passed out—” she begins.
“I fell and was getting up before you came squawking like a worried hen, making things worse,” Papa interrupts. “So, I decided to lie back and let you do what you were going to do. You shoulda done the same for me.”
“Nonsense!” Nana snaps. “If I hadn’t found you, who knows what would’ve happened?”
“Nothing.” Papa dismisses Nana with a nonchalant shrug. “I’d be fine, maybe about to pass out from eating some of your overcooked pasta—”
“Why, you old bast—”
“Bah! Hush, woman, you worry too much. I’m more likely to drop dead from all of your hen clucking than I will from a little heat.”
Their bickering is comforting in a twisted way, the camaraderie of being together for decades and knowing which buttons to push to get a rise out of each other but also which ones are entirely off limits.
He pulls a long cigar out from the side of his bed and offers it to her. “Here. Calm yourself and have a stogie.” The shit-eating grin on his face says he knows he’s poking the bear, and I realize he’s giving her something to focus on besides worrying about him. He’s a slick old fox, I’ll give him that.
Nana snatches the cigar out of his hand, brandishing it as if it’s a weapon. “Have you gone pazzo? They don’t even allow smoking in the hospital. And really? A smoke when you’re supposed to be recovering?”
“Sure, why not? I’d rather have a smoke than act like a pagliaccio!”
Nana throws her hands up in frustration, the cigar flying from her hands in a perfect arc that ends in the trashcan. If she wasn’t so riled up, I’d give her a round of applause, but as it is, I’m staying out of their battle. For now, at least. “Oh, fanculo tutto! You’re impossible!”
“I know.” Grandpa tosses me a mischievous wink meant to lighten the mood. “That’s why you married me. You like the challenge.”
The two continue to bicker as I look on fondly, feeling a sense of relief. Whatever happened to land Papa in the ER hasn’t robbed him of his feistiness, so it couldn’t have been too bad, could it?
It’s a particularly hot summer, and it’s not uncommon for the elderly to overheat when they underestimate the weather. Maybe he’s right and this is all a lot of fuss for nothing. He just needs a slap on the hand to follow the doctor’s and Nana’s orders a bit better, and everything will be fine.
Even as I tell myself that, I know it’s wishful thinking and childish hopes. A girlish desire to deny the mortality of a man who has always seemed larger than life to me. Deep inside, I know he’s no more immortal than the rest of us, but even so, I need to know this isn’t going to happen again. I love him too much to lose him. Especially not now, and if I had my say, not ever.
After being reassured several times by Papa that he’s fine, I excuse myself from the room to let him and Nana bicker themselves out.
In the hall, I run into a man wearing a long white coat and carrying a binder with Papa’s name on the spine. His name tag says Dr. Lee, and he has an aura of calm control that seems to relax me immediately.
“Are you Violet?” he asks before I can say anything, giving me a warm smile.
I nod. “I am. How’d you know?”
He grins. “Your grandfather wasn’t concerned in the least about his health and has been talking about you since the moment he came in, telling anyone who’ll listen about his granddaughter. If you didn’t know, he’s quite fond of you.”
I smile. “That definitely sounds like him. Can you tell me what happened? I’m not sure I trust his version of events.”
Dr. Lee’s expression turns solemn and the energy around him shifts, making me instantly nervous. “It appears that, due to the heat and overworking himself, your grandfather’s blood pressure dropped and he lost consciousness.”
“That’s what Nana said. So, if we can keep him from overdoing it, he’s going to be okay.” I say it definitively, like I’m adding tying him to his recliner in the air-conditioned living room to my to-do list.
Dr. Lee tilts his head, his lips pressed together. “Well, as I explained to Angela and Stefano, we’re waiting for tests to come back for a more complete picture, but I don’t need the tests to tell me that his heart isn’t in good shape. It hasn’t been in quite some time.”
Oh, no.
“But he
’s stable now . . .” I say, like I’m refuting his medical knowledge with only the power of my hope.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Violet, but . . .”
The growing look of sorrow and despair in Dr. Lee’s eyes says everything, and I’m forced to grab ahold of a wall rail to keep from falling.
No.
It can’t be.
It just can’t.
My worst nightmare come to life.
“How long does he have?” I ask through the lump in my throat. The words sound surreal, like someone else is saying them.
“At his age, it’s hard to say,” Dr. Lee muses, shrugging his shoulders. “Anything I say is at best an educated guess. Six months? A year, maybe? But he’s a stubborn mule who refuses to follow orders, which complicates things. To be honest, he could go at almost any time if we can’t get his heart to function properly and him to be compliant.”
His words, an awful confirmation of what I feared most, hit me like a sucker punch to the gut, the air leaving my lungs in one forceful gust.
Six months to a year? Or less?
How can Papa, the only father figure I’ve ever known, the man who practically raised me from a pigtailed toddler to adulthood, the man who could take on anything the world threw at him and live to tell about it . . . have such little time to live?
In that moment, all the should’ve, could’ve, and would’ves flash in front of my eyes. It’s as if everything I expected to experience with Papa has turned into a puddle that’s evaporating quicker than I’d ever considered.
But the worst part is, the one thing he’s wanted to see the most is likely to never happen, and that looms like a dark umbrella over my breaking heart.
When’s my beautiful little flower getting married so I can walk her down the aisle?
To say marriage is a huge tradition in my family is like saying a tsunami is a little wet. An understatement of such magnitude, it’s laughable, especially for my grandparents, who look forward to the next generation of weddings with teary smiles and proclamations of the continuation of their legacy with another branch on the family tree.
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