Page 10 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

"But not today."

She glances toward the flower shop, then back at me.

"Would you like to come inside? It's miserable out here."

Invitations are uncommon.

Genuine ones are rarer still.

Yet I discover, with no small amount of surprise, that I want to accept.

Belladonna Blooms is warmer than I remember. The air smells of fresh greenery, damp earth, and honey, while flowers crowd every available surface in cheerful defiance of the storm outside. Nothing matches, yet somehow everything belongs.

Lavinia disappears behind the counter and returns with a towel before placing another mug in my hands. This one is considerably sweeter than the first.

"I wasn't sure how you take your coffee," she says.

"Neither was I."

She laughs again.

We spend the next hour talking.

She tells me about her first floral arrangement, an uneven little wreath she made for a childhood friend's goldfish, and how delighted she'd been when someone thanked her for the flowers instead of laughing at them. She speaks about funerals with remarkable gentleness, never dwelling on grief itself but on the lives that deserved remembering.

In return, I tell her only enough about myself to remain truthful without revealing too much. To my surprise, she never presses for more.

Sometimes conversation is measured by words.

Sometimes by the ease of shared silence.

Ours seems content with both.

Through the rain-speckled window, I see Kilian Vane pause at the corner with a small bundle of wildflowers tucked beneath one arm. He finds me immediately and offers the slightest inclination of his head.

I return the gesture.

Soon, I will walk beside him.

Soon, duty will call me away once again.

For now, I allow myself one impossible luxury.

I enjoy the warmth of the little flower shop, the comforting weight of a chipped coffee mug in my hands, and the quiet company of a woman who has somehow managed to make even Death feel welcome.

As I prepare to leave, Lavinia walks me to the door.

"If you ever find yourself wandering by again," she says, "you're welcome to stop in."

I meet her eyes.

"Thank you."

Most people spend their lives hoping never to cross my path.

Lavinia Graves invites me back.

For the first time in centuries, I find myself looking forward to tomorrow.