“That was my goal,” he says, his eyes softening.
I laugh quietly, staring into the warm, golden gaze of the man who says he wants to keep me forever.
I’mthisclose to believing him now.
Chapter fifteen
Sunshine
Three months later
If you had told me a month ago that
The funeral home would be booked out a week and a half in advance.
Our online reviews would include the phrase “killing it”.
I would be in a healthy and stable relationship with a man who resembled a toddler when I met him.
I would’ve had your head checked for a concussion or dementia.
But, surprisingly, here we are, stealing kisses while finishing random chores around the house.
The business is doing extremely well. Not in a “where are all these bodies coming from” kind of way, but definitely steadier than I ever expected. We’ve consistently had two funerals a week for the last two months. We get regular referrals from the vet and two local churches in town. We had to start turning people, and bodies, away because of the steady business.
The church grandmas, including Geraldine, bring us cookies and coffee now. And it's not the stale leftovers! They’re always freshly made and delicious. Ember says they’re trying to get discounts for their inevitable, and probably soon, demise, but I prefer to look at it as gaining popularity within the community.
We have had to adjust pricing slightly due to high demand, for everyone except Miss Geraldine, of course, and because of that, we’ve finally updated the lobby. No more ugly rugs. No more stacks of pamphlets on the front desk. No more creepy painting of a man who was mauled by a bear.
Sorry, Richard, but you had to go eventually.
We’ve also added catering, courtesy of the beautiful Monica Broussard, and seasonal floral packages.
The garden has never looked better. The snapdragons made a full recovery from the tornado and are now a shining example of health. The patch of phoenix-fed soil produces blooms twice as vivid as the rest of the garden.
And Ember?
He moves through the funeral home as if it belongs to him. Like he was born knowing how to steady grieving hands and negotiate casket upgrades without sounding like a used car salesman. Sleeves rolled, voice calm, and eyes always checking on me just in case an old widower tries to flirt with what he considers his.
We’ve settled into something… perfect.
Mornings are coffee on the back porch, drinking from our dumb funeral pun cups, and talking softly about anything and everything. Ember fills me in on what he remembers from past lives, and I tell him what it was like to grow up with siblings.
Evenings are filing paperwork and cleaning up before heading upstairs for dinner and… relaxation. Ember is really,reallygood at making sure I’m relaxed.
I no longer question our relationship. I don’t need to. Ember makes me feel like a permanent fixture in his life, like we were always destined to happen. Our soul pieces finding each other and falling together perfectly to complete the puzzle.
Today is another one of those suspiciously perfect days.
The stained glass catches the light just right. The hydrangeas bloomed right on schedule. No one flirted with me during a will-reading/raising. Ember reorganized the lobby to display a more fall-themed ensemble of local blooms. We closed at five on the dot.
It was too perfect.
After we closed, we took care of our usual business duties, me doing paperwork, and Ember organizing today’s supply delivery and cleaning up.
Ember, of course, had an amazing idea on how to get me comfortable being in/near the supply closet again. I guess henoticed that I was skittish about going in there for anything not completely necessary.
Twenty minutes and a mind-blowing blow job later, and I’m feeling better about the small space. I think we’ll need a few more sessions before I’m completely comfortable with it, though.
