Page 17 of Drop Dead Gorgeous
It's less a question than an observation.
"I do."
"Why?"
"It is my work."
"And what exactly is your work?"
He is quiet for so long that I assume I've pushed too far.
Then he says, "I observe. I remember. I make sure no one is left alone at the end."
There is no mystery in the way he says it.
No attempt to sound important.
It's simply the truth.
I could ask another dozen questions, but something tells me I wouldn't receive another answer.
Instead, I tie the final ribbon around Kilian's bouquet and carry it to the counter.
"You don't owe me anything."
He accepts the arrangement carefully, as though flowers deserve the same respect as the people they honor.
Our fingers almost touch.
Almost.
The smallest spark dances across my skin.
Not painful.
Just . . . unexpected.
He inclines his head.
"Thank you."
Then he's gone.
Jasper appears beside me so suddenly I nearly drop the scissors.
"That guy is the weirdest thing to happen around here since the fox wandered into the elementary school."
I watch the door a second longer.
"I don't think weird is the right word."
"What is the right word?"
I honestly don't know.
By the time I lock the shop that evening, the rain has softened to a fine mist that turns every streetlamp into a hazy golden halo.
Instead of heading upstairs, I find myself walking toward St. Aloysius.
