Page 21 of Bitter’s Sweet

“I can orient her,” Bitter says, his voice suddenly deeper.

“No, you can’t.”

“I know this building like the back of my hand. My grandpappy...”

“You know every shadowy corner women should avoid because you’re always slinking in those corners.”

“Exactly. Useful information.”

“Bitter.”

He lifts both hands like he is innocent, which he absolutely ain’t. “What?”

“She’s a student.”

“She looks grown to me.”

“I am grown,” I say.

“Barely,” Mercy says.

“How old?” Bitter asks.

“Twenty-three,” I answer with my chin high.

Bitter exhales an audible breath.

Mercy points at me without looking away from him. “Don’t help him.”

“Sorry.”

I ain’t really sorry. I don’t know why but standing between them feels like being in the middle of a thunderstorm and a porch light, and I like it more than I should.

Mercy goes on, “Bitter’s thirty-five. Old enough to be your…”

“Older brother?” he says with a laugh.

I roll my eyes. He’s right. There’s only twelve years between us.

Bitter looks back at me. “You really not bothered by Raven out there?”

“The man on the Harley?”

“Dead man on the Harley,” he corrects.

“He looks wonderful.”

Now both he and Mercy stare at me.

“What?” I ask.

Bitter’s smile turns slow. “Wonderful.”

“He does. Whoever worked on him did an amazing job. His skin tone is even, his beard is perfect, and he looks like himself, not like someone tried to make him into a church deacon.”

Miss Mercy’s face softens so fast I almost miss it.

“That was my work,” she says.