Chapter 1 #2
“I’m Seymour Madison.” Seymour approached to offer out his hand.
Sariel accepted it. “It is nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Seymour didn’t want to let go just yet, and Sariel hadn’t pulled away. He held on, giving a little squeeze. “So, how about that coffee?”
“Coffee?”
“Yeah! Whenever you’re done with your tombstone scrubbin’, maybe we could get some coffee?” Seymour grinned. “Or dinner?”
Sariel stared for a long moment, and then he suddenly jerked and yanked his hand back, as if startled. “Is this a romantic invitation?”
“Uh, that was sorta the idea, yeah.”
“A date.”
“Yeah, we could call it a date.”
“You wish to go on a date?”
“Yup.”
“With me?”
“Yupperino.”
Sariel’s eyes widened.
Poor guy looked like Seymour had asked him if he could have some of his internal organs to crochet into a blanket for the devil.
“Look,” Seymour said quickly. “If you’re not interested, totally fine.”
“I am interested, but…” Sariel looked at the tombstone. “The circumstances, however, are not ideal.”
“You mean askin’ you out in a cemetery? Easy fix. We could head over to the sidewalk and I could ask you there.”
“I am afraid that would not change much.” Sariel smiled, but there was a sadness to it now.
“Are you in a relationship or somethin’?”
“Or something.”
“Well…”
Sariel returned his attention to his cleaning without waiting for Seymour to finish his reply, and all the lines in his face grew hard. He appeared as old and worn as the stone in front of him and twice as depressed.
There was definitely a story there, and Seymour was certain it was not a happy one.
“Well, if you need somebody to talk to?” Seymour cleared his throat. “I saw a coffee shop on my way in called Hallowed Grounds. Looks like it used to be an old church. Might be there, let’s say, maybe around eight o’clock? Probably in a corner booth or somethin’. So it’s nice and quiet.”
“I do not understand.” Sariel tilted his head as he cautiously glanced back up at Seymour. “Why are you telling me this?”
“’Cause I am plannin’ to be there and I dunno… I hope maybe you show up.”
“I cannot promise that.”
“No pressure.” Seymour shrugged again. “If you’re there, great. If not, that’s great too.”
“How can both things be great?”
“Because I’ll be thinkin’ ’bout you either way.”
Sariel’s face morphed into a spectacular shade of lobster red. “Oh, oh, that, that is very great. Nice of you.” He shook his head. “I meant to say, yes, thank you. I appreciate it. Not many people have shared such a kind sentiment.”
“Sounds like you’ve been hangin’ ‘round some real jerks then.”
“You have no idea.”
“Maybe you can tell me ’bout it. If you decide to come get some coffee with me, that is.”
Sariel nodded. “I will give it a lot of thought.”
“I hope you do. So! Uh.” Seymour turned to nod at Clancy’s grave. “I’m gonna go find me some flowers. Don’t forget. Eight o’clock.”
“Eight o’clock,” Sariel echoed, his expression softening.
“Good luck with your scrubbin’.”
“It was very nice to meet you, Seymour. Thank you for this. I enjoyed it. Very much.”
Seymour didn’t like the sense of finality in Sariel’s words, so he aimed for confident and said, “You can thank me plenty later when you see me tonight.”
“All right. Goodbye.”
“You take care of yourself.” Seymour waved and then left, heading to his car with a smile.
Okay, yes, asking someone on a date while hanging out in a cemetery was a little weird, but it wasn’t like Seymour was particularly mourning his father’s death.
Sariel didn’t seem to mind anyway.
After all, he’d been there cleaning up graves, so maybe he was all right with a little weird.
There was something oddly enchanting about Sariel that Seymour couldn’t shake, and he found himself considering his options to potentially stick around Somerstown for a few more days. He hadn’t had much of a reason before, but now he could see himself wanting to stay and take in the sights.
Namely the sight of a beautiful man with golden curls and a dazzling smile.
And if not, then Seymour would have a very long drive back home ruminating over a hundred what-if’s involving said beautiful man.
At least he’d tried.
It wasn’t like he was offering Sariel much more than a good time for a short while.
He would sooner set his truck on fire than move to the city, so maybe it was better if Sariel didn’t make their coffee date tonight.
Sariel struck him as the breakfast in bed and cuddling type, and Seymour was very much not.
He wasn’t a fan of the term man-slut, but…
If the man-slut shoe fit.
Seymour knew it would be too easy to blame his long hours at the hospital where he worked as a phlebotomist, when the reality was he hated being tied down. His bedmates were always beautiful but ultimately boring, and he would find himself longing for another conquest.
He wanted the rush, the thrill of a new adventure, something more.
Maybe something like Sariel.
Seymour dismissed the thought.
Any potential relationship between them would likely suffer the same fate as all the others. It didn’t matter how gorgeous or fun or intelligent or anything else someone was. The man could be perfect, everything Seymour had ever wanted in a partner, and yet the spark never lasted.
There was a deeper issue, he was sure.
It had nothing to do with the distance, but everything to do with himself and the empty void inside of him that he couldn’t fill no matter how hard he tried or how many men he took to bed or—wow.
All of this over a guy he’d only spoken to for a few minutes who loved cleaning graves and chatting about horoscopes.
Maybe it really was for the best if Sariel didn’t make their coffee date tonight.
Shit.
With a sigh, Seymour got in his truck and searched for a local flower shop on his phone. He found one by the name of Uranian Flora and then headed that way, his heart heavy with the task at hand. It was safer to fret over flowers than deal with his own inner bullshit.
Would roses be weird? Was that too romantic or something?
What about daisies?
Too cheerful for a grave?
Sariel probably would have known.
Shit.
Seymour parked across from the flower shop, eyeing it warily.
The flower shop was a brick building with three stories and a small greenhouse on the side.
There were a bunch of bright pink flowering bushes out front, and the awnings over the door and windows were the same color.
He’d seen those big flowering bushes all over the city, but he couldn’t remember what they were called.
There was some sort of festival every year dedicated to them too, but the name eluded him.
Seymour got out of his car, deciding he had more important things to stress about than the name of some stupid flowers.
Like picking some other stupid flowers for a grave.
He crossed the street to head inside the flower shop, his eyes immediately assaulted by hot pink counters and trim.
The floors were stained a crazy bright blue, and the big menu hanging behind the register was a blinding shade of lime green.
It was a lot to take in and Seymour found himself squinting.
A scruffy young man with dark hair, olive skin, and a bright smile was seated behind the counter at the register, talking to a pale woman with vivid red lipstick dressed like one of those rockabilly chicks.
The woman quieted down as Seymour approached, saying softly, “Oh, he looks like he’s had a terrible day.”
Seymour almost laughed.
No shit.
The young man didn’t respond to her, instead greeting Seymour with a wave. “Hi. Is there something I can help you with? Looking for anything in particular?”
“Uh, yes,” Seymour replied. “I’m new in town. Well, not technically new. I used to live here before, but then we moved.” He shook his head. “I found out my father passed away—”
“Aw, poor thing!” the woman whispered loudly.
“Never met him. Don’t have one single memory of him.
” Seymour sagged. “Still kinda hurts… Actually hurts a lot, bein’ here to mourn somebody I never knew.
Not really sure how I’m supposed to feel.
He don’t even have a tombstone or nothin’ yet.
Just a little plastic sign.” He shook his head.
“Sorry, that all just came out. Been a weird day. I gotta go to the readin’ of his will, and someone kinda got the idea in my head to leave him some flowers. ”
The young man smiled gently. “Hey, it’s okay. My condolences. But don’t worry. I’m here to help.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Seymour offered his hand out. “Seymour Madison.”
“Neil Ricci.”
“Nice to meet you, Neil.” Seymour turned to offer his hand to the woman, but she had stepped back out of his reach. He gave her a polite smile, but she was looking at Neil and didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Seymour.” Neil gestured to several of the arrangements on the shelves. “Traditional flowers for mourning are lilies, carnations, gladioli, daffodils, and a whole bunch of others. Those are the big ones.”
“And those are?” Seymour stared at the flowers.
“Here.” Neil got up and walked around the counter, pointing as he spoke. “These are carnations. These over here are gladioli. These yellow guys are daffodils. And the potted one over there is a lily.
“Lilies are for innocence and remembrance, sympathy. White carnations are supposed to symbolize innocence. Pink ones are for, well, more remembrance. Uh, gladioli are good for someone who had good character and you want to uplift the family.”
Seymour shrugged. “Well, I don’t rightly know what kind of character he had. And the other stuff doesn’t sound right. Pretty though.”
“Right. Uh. Maybe the daffodils then? They’re a symbol of renewal and hope.”
Seymour eyed the yellow flowers, taking in their bright hue.
He remembered what Sariel had said about Leos and warm colors.
“Yeah.” Seymour nodded. “I think those will do just fine.”
“So!” Neil walked toward the wall beside the counter. “What are you thinking? A wreath? Maybe a standing piece?”