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The person runs past, their music loud enough that I catch the tinny sound of guitars and drums filtering out from the headphones. Black ink covers their legs, and I recognize the pattern instantly. Sunday’s legs are covered in the same black ink as his arms, with jagged flashes of bare skin peeking through. The globes of his ass jiggle as he pounds the pavement in a punishing rhythm, his toned body carrying him away.

“Tut-tut, Bellamy.” Delphine’s heart-shaped face appears directly in front of me. I hadn’t realized I’d stopped moving. “One must not ogle the opposition. It’s bad for one’s constitution.”

I pull a face and walk straight through her. She squeals and bats at me, protesting that I am terribly rude and ungentlemanly.

I’m not listening.

Because the ghosts of my fractured past are haunting me more than she ever could.

Chapter Nine

Sunday

Reddit, how do I grovel to my ex?

Flowers, obviously. But I hate them.

When I was still working at the mortuary, Mom once tried to get me into the florals side of the business. But if it wasn’t dead, or at the very least stabable, I wasn’t interested. She tried though, bless her.

Still, I have to do something. Bellamy’s clearly not going to let me get a word in edgewise, so I’ll have to do things the old-fashioned way and woo him with stuff and things.

Not that I’m trying to woo him, obviously.

Well.

Maybe a little bit.

It’s true that I never apologized to him, and it’s not like I didn’t get the opportunity. I had his number. I was still stalking him on social media for ages after our breakup. Still trying to check in on him, too cowardly to tell him that I was sorry for hurting him the way I did.

I was… I could have handled it better. I was a young, stupid kid.

Which is why I find myself crafting something fiddly and pretty, a vain attempt to apologize, several years too late. The insect specimens I work with are all ethically and sustainably sourced, and it just so happens that I managed to get my hands on a rosy maple moth in the last batch. It kinda reminds me of him—whimsical and soft, with pale pink and yellow wings. Cotton candy.

I’ve already glued the wood and moss into the base, peppering in some dried flowers in a way I hope looks arty. Small purple flowers and tufty grasses are nestled around the crystals that I had to negotiate with Mom to send me. She was pissed until I hinted that it was to do with a guy. I didn’t tell her who, or that I’m not dating anyone right now, but it was enough for her to get all happy-clappy and express me the goods.

After what feels like an eternity of messing with it, trying to make it perfect, I’m finally putting on the finishing touches. I dust some gold paint powder over the base to give it a bit of something something. Lastly, I use a miniature soldering iron to burn the species name into a tiny wooden plaque and set it inside. As soon as I’ve secured the top of the bell jar, I set off in the direction of the office.

It’s technically a shared space between departments, but I usually only go in there once a month to do boring admin or play how many dead things can I buy on the company credit card before Lara throws a hole punch at my head? I’m getting pretty close, I think.

I internally fist pump when I pass Séverin droning on in his mother tongue to a couple of tourists, knowing Lara is busy in a meeting with the big boss man. It means Bellamy is probably stuck prepping learning materials for tomorrow. I don’t really believe in fate, but I might have to start.

Apprehension slinks through my gut as my inked fist hovers an inch away from the wood of the office door.

I can’t knock on a shared office door. That’s grade-A freak behavior.

Jeez Sunny, just walk in.

Pushing the door open, I’m met with Bellamy’s gold eyes and hollowed cheeks as he sits cross-legged on his desk chair, sucking on a lollipop.

Okay, apparently fate is a motherfucker.

As if to prove my point, Bellamy pulls the candy out of his mouth with an audible pop. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t going to sprain my wrist thinking about his lips in that shape later.

Before I can say or do something completely stupid, I stride forward and thump the diorama onto his desk, nudging it forward. I stick one hand on my hip and gesture at it with the other.

Once.

Twice.