“Landry does love his mama,” Frankie agreed, stripping off her gloves. She gathered her things as she checked to make sure the occupied morgue drawers were secured. Leading Eric out, she used the newly installed thumbprint pad to lock the mortuary doors behind her. Only she and Uncle Stan and E.J.J. had access if the door was locked. Another pad was installed on the back bay doors. Anyone who tried to open either door without the right thumbprint would be treated to an earsplitting alarm that sounded like a British ambulance.
“Night, everybody!” she called as she closed the door.
“Still weird that you talk to them,” Eric told her as they walked up the stairs.
“You’ll get used to it.”
“That will never happen.”
Outside, Herc was waiting patiently by Eric’s truck. He even let Frankie take his usual spot in the passenger seat. He did, however, rest his jaw on her shoulder and drool on her Avenger Cats T-shirt. And didn’t take too well to Eric trying to hold her hand as they turned away from town.
“Herc is very disgruntled about not being allowed into the funeral home,” Eric said. “He would like to file a formal protest against the health codes that prevent him from enterin’ this building.”
“Well, I just managed to convince Tootie that her ‘emotional support animal’ argument wasn’t going to fly, so he’s just going to have to live with it.”
“I like the orange streaks,” he told her, running his thumb over her braid, earning a huff from Herc. “Very festive.”
“Well, I wanted to stay in the fall color family,” she said. “So, does it feel safer, now that you’re sworn in as the permanent sheriff? The county commission can only fire you for gross negligence!”
“I feel like we throw around the words ‘gross negligence’ a little too casually between us.” He pulled out his wallet and showed her his badge. “But look, they gave me a new one made out of much heavier metal than the interim badge. They must be expecting me to stick around for a while.”
While she was admiring this much more substantial badge, she glimpsed a tiny miniature of her face winking out at her from the photo portion of his wallet. “What is that?”
Eric’s cheeks flushed pink as she shrugged out of her lab coat. “You’re supposed to carry a picture of your girl around with your badge. It’s tradition.”
“Aw.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. Herc wedged his head between them. Frankie laughed and scratched Herc’s ears. “That’s so sweet. But did you have to use my mug shot from the Lock Down Hunger arrest?”
He shrugged. “Well, I didn’t want to go on your Facebook page and steal a picture, like a stalker.”
“This still seems weirder,” she told him.
He cleared his throat. “Besides, I like the pose.”
Frankie’s brows shot up. “Do you?”
He tugged at his collar. “Yeah, the whole pinup-girl thing? I dig it.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” she said, grinning and waggling her eyebrows.
“So what’s the plan for the night?” Eric asked as they drove near the McCready compound.
“Well, as we have discussed, my cooking skills are limited, so I will be serving you Eggo waffles. But to make up for it, I will let you pick the movie. Sharktopus or Sharktopus vs. Whalewolf.”
“That doesn’t seem like a choice,” he said, shaking his head.
“We agreed when we started dating officially that you would become familiar with the mutant shark film oeuvre.”
“Did we agree to that?” he asked, parking in front of Margot’s old cabin with the cute little blue door.
“It was implied.”
Herc jumped out of the truck after her and trotted into the house. He circled Margot’s old couch and flopped onto the second personalized dog cushion she’d special-ordered for him as a sort of Sorry I’m stealing Eric’s spare time he used to spend petting you peace offering.
It was almost dizzying, the freedom of having her own space to do with as she pleased. Her little house was cozy and colorful and comfortable, with her own quirky pop culture touches. She’d bought a new duvet, because that sounded more grown-up than sleeping under a quilt made from T-shirts she’d worn in high school. She’d found a company that made candles scented like Game of Thrones locations and chose to make her living room smell like the godswood of Winterfell. And she’d framed some very attractive prints for her wall. They were various versions of Dr. Who’s exploding TARDIS, but still, it was art.
“You better close the door before Tootie’s pack comes barreling in here to play with Herc,” she told Eric, opening her freezer to root around for the Eggo box.
Before Eric could close it, Bob “just happened” to walk out of her parents’ cabin and “just happened” to notice that Frankie’s front door was still standing open.
“Well, hey, kids. Congratulations on your election, Sheriff,” Bob told him, giving Eric a firm shake of the hand. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you got elected.”
“You’d be surprised how many people have phrased it that way,” Eric said, grinning.
“So, whatcha up to?” Bob said, apparently scanning Frankie’s living space for unsecured sharp objects.
“Just having a little date night in,” Frankie said. “Dinner and a movie. Lord help whoever tries to interrupt it by dyin’.”
“I’m not sure that’s something they can help, sweetheart,” Eric told her.
“Honey, frozen waffles don’t count as dinner. Why don’t you just come over and join us? Your mama made fried chicken.”
“No thanks, Daddy.”
“All right. I’ll just leave you here,” Bob said, his voice cracking slightly. “Behind a door that closes. Unsupervised. With a man.”
“Dad.”
“And what time will you be heading home, Eric?” Bob asked.
“We don’t know, and neither will you, because I am twenty-eight years old,” Frankie told her father, while Eric did a careful inspection of the ceiling. “Now, scoot.”
“I don’t like this havin’-an-adult-daughter thing,” Bob muttered as he walked toward the door. “G’night, Eric. I don’t have guns, but I’ll . . . figure out a scarier threat later.”
Eric snorted. “Solid effort, sir.”
“Good night, Daddy!” she said, gently but very firmly shutting the door in his face.
It was a good first step.
About the Author
J NASH PHOTOGRAPHY
MOLLY HARPER is the author of more than twenty novels, including the previous Southern Eclectic titles, Sweet Tea and Sympathy; Save a Truck, Ride a Redneck; and Peachy Flippin’ Keen. A former humor columnist and newspaper reporter, she lives in Kentucky with her family. Visit her online at MollyHarper.com.
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BOOKS BY MOLLY HARPER
THE SOUTHERN ECLECTIC SERIES
Ain’t She a Peach
Peachy Flippin’ Keen
Save a Truck, Ride a Redneck
Sweet Tea and Sympathy
THE HALF-MOON HOLLOW SERIES
Accidental Sire
Where the Wild Things Bite
Big Vamp on Campus
Fangs for the Memories
The Single Undead Moms Club
The Dangers of Dating a Rebound Vampire
I’m Dreaming of an Undead Christmas
A Witch’s Handbook of Kisses and Curses
“Undead Sublet” in The Undead in My Bed
The Care and Feeding of Stray Vampires
Driving Mr. Dead
Nice Girls Don’t Bite Their Neighbors
Nice Girls Don’t Live Forever
Nice Girls Don’t Date Dead Men
Nice Girls Don’t Have Fangs
THE NAKED WEREWOL
F SERIES
How to Run with a Naked Werewolf
The Art of Seducing a Naked Werewolf
How to Flirt with a Naked Werewolf
THE BLUEGRASS SERIES
Snow Falling on Bluegrass
Rhythm and Bluegrass
My Bluegrass Baby
ALSO
Better Homes and Hauntings
And One Last Thing. . .
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Gallery Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Molly Harper White
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Gallery Books trade paperback edition June 2018
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Interior design by Michelle Marchese
Cover design by Min Choi
Cover photograph by Elanathewise/Getty Images
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Harper, Molly, author.
Title: Ain’t she a peach / Molly Harper.
Description: First Gallery Books trade paperback edition. | New York : Gallery Books, 2018. | Series: Southern eclectic ; 4
Identifiers: LCCN 2017058066 | ISBN 9781501151330 (paperback) | ISBN 9781501151347 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Man-woman relationships—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Romance / Contemporary. | FICTION / Contemporary Women. | FICTION / Romance / General. | GSAFD: Love stories. | Humorous fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3608.A774 A74 2018 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017058066
ISBN 978-1-5011-5133-0
ISBN 978-1-5011-5134-7 (ebook)
Molly Harper, Ain't She a Peach?
(Series: Southern Eclectic # 2)
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