Page 16 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

Grim stands quietly in the doorway, rain beading across the shoulders of his black coat before slipping silently to the floor.

He doesn't speak immediately. Instead, he stands quietly inside the doorway, allowing the little bell above it to fall silent. His gaze drifts around the shop, taking in the flowers, the shelves, the buckets crowding the worktables. There is nothing intrusive about the way he looks. If anything, he reminds me of a naturalist studying an unfamiliar landscape, patient enough to let it reveal itself.

I realize I'm staring.

Again.

"So . . ." I say, leaning one hip against the worktable. "Back for more coffee?"

His mouth hints at the smallest smile.

"No, thank you. I'm here on behalf of the Vane family. They wanted me to see the arrangements before tomorrow."

"Oh."

I nod, pretending that's a perfectly normal request from a perfectly normal man whose thoughts continue to refuse to exist.

He walks slowly past the display buckets before stopping near the Japanese anemones.

"You haveAnemone japonica."

It isn't a question.

I blink.

"You know your flowers."

"My mother kept a garden."

There is something in his voice that makes me look at him more carefully. Sadness, perhaps, though not the raw kind. It has been softened by time, polished smooth around the edges until it feels more like remembrance than grief.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

He gives the slightest shake of his head.

"It was a very long time ago."

The answer is simple enough, yet something about it lingers in my thoughts.

I gesture toward the buckets.

"Would you like to choose anything? We're using violets and snapdragons, but there's still time to add something more personal."

He studies the flowers for a long moment before looking back at me.

"No."

His gaze settles on the arrangement already waiting near the cooler.

"I think you've already honored him well."

The compliment catches me off guard.

"Thank you."

We stand closer than either of us seems to notice. He smells faintly of cedar and rain, the sort of clean scent that reminds me of walking through the woods after a storm. For the briefest moment, I have the odd sensation that he's studying me just as carefully as I've been studying him.

"You really do attend every funeral," I say.