Chapter 5
Hayden
I don’t know why I agreed to this.
I don’t do coffee dates. Or dates of any kind. My life is reserved for two things: routine and order. And letting Levi Wilder bulldoze into my schedule with his bright, chatty demeanor is the opposite of both.
Yet here I am, across from him in a café that smells like vanilla, pretending I don’t already regret it.
“So,” Levi says, leaning forward with a grin, “why funerals?”
“What?” My chest tightens.
“Funerals,” he repeats, propping his chin on his hand like it’s the best question he’ll ask all week. “Why did you choose to run a funeral home?”
I stare at him, unsure how to respond. It’s not that the question is inappropriate. It’s just…direct. Mortals tend to avoid asking about my line of work unless they’re in immediate need of it.
“I didn’t ‘choose’ it,” I say finally. “It chose me.”
Levi raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That sounds vaguely haunted.”
“Death doesn’t need to haunt me. We’re long acquainted.” I cross my arms, an unnerving discomfort prickling the back of my neck. “It’s efficient,” I add. “Predictable. Quiet in the ways I prefer.”
Levi hums thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on me with open interest. “Okay, but…that’s not really an answer. Care to elaborate?”
I pause, noticing a group of women at a table nearby whispering and stealing glances in our direction. Levi follows my gaze, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
“You realize you’re kind of a mystery around here, right?” he asks, his voice low. “Stonevale’s hot, broody funeral director who no one can quite figure out. They’re probably dying to know what finally dragged you into the daylight.”
I shift slightly, absorbing Levi’s words. I’ve spent years carefully crafting my distance. I thought my solitude made me invisible. Instead, it only made people more curious.
It’s unsettling to realize the town has such a clearly defined image of me. Formed without my awareness or consent. And it’s even stranger how readily Levi seems to see past it. Being seen is a risk. Being unseen is a sentence. I haven’t decided which is worse.
“Small towns,” I murmur. “Easy to forget how much people talk.”
“Especially when the subject is you,” Levi says, warm rather than accusing. “Not that I blame them. You’ve officially become the main event at Stonevale’s daily moms’ brunch. Congrats.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Should I wave?”
“Absolutely not,” Levi says solemnly, shaking his head. “Wave and they’ll pounce. It’ll just encourage them. Trust me, the PTA has been circling your broody aura like sharks for years. Do not give them an opening.”
I let out a quiet huff, and he laughs into his cup. Somehow, he makes being the subject of local gossip almost charming. “You asked why funerals,” I say, shifting the subject. “Because death is certain. The only constant I’ve ever understood.”
He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I get that. Predictability can be comforting. It’s part of why I started gardening in the first place. There’s something satisfying about doing the right things…the right soil, the right sunlight…and something beautiful grows. Unless it’s basil. Basil’s a diva.”
I wonder if Levi even knows how easily he talks about life.
As if it’s something he can coax from the dirt with nothing but warmth and stubborn will.
He speaks of roots and sunlight the way I used to speak of order and endings.
I nod, relieved to let him take over the conversation.
“And that’s why you opened a flower shop? ”
“Partly,” he says, his lips pulling into a smile.
“The other part was my mom. She had this backyard greenhouse. Roses, hydrangeas, you name it. She said flowers could fix the world. Honestly? She almost made me believe it. She’d let my little brother and me ‘help,’ which mostly meant getting dirt in places dirt should never be. ”
I shouldn’t be watching his mouth. But I am. It’s the kind of distraction that pretends to be harmless…until it isn’t.
There’s something reckless in his smile, his hair catching sunlight like fire. Like he doesn’t realize he’s dangerous. Or worse, maybe he does. He’s animated, his hands moving as he speaks, light spilling from every gesture, and it’s…distracting.
Because beneath all that brightness, I can sense an ache threaded through his laughter. Hurt dressed up as charm. He wears it well, but my shadows still recognize it. They always do.
“And before?” he asks, pulling me back into the conversation. “What did you do before the funeral home?”
I shift in my seat, suddenly feeling the weight of his gaze. “I worked in…management,” I say. It’s not technically a lie. Ruling the underworld was a form of management, for all intents and purposes.
High-stakes, eternal management, but still.
Levi narrows his eyes, suspicious, like he’s a detective and I’m the world’s least convincing liar. “Management of…?”
“Operations,” I say flatly, sipping coffee.
“Operations,” he repeats slowly. “That’s the vaguest job title I’ve ever heard. Congrats…you just out-mystified every guy on Grindr who lists ‘creative director’ as a profession.”
“Thank you,” I reply, dry. The urge to smile is…annoying. I look past him to the window, back toward city hall down the block. “Specifically old contracts,” I add, too soft. “Complicated ones.”
The shift comes first in my shadows. Pulling sharp, restless, drawn toward the corner of the café where she’s chosen to make her presence known. Levi rubs his forearm as if catching a draft.
A spirit flickers two tables down, half formed in the daylight, drumming her fingers like she’s been waiting on me. Impatient. Young. And if she truly knew her destination, she wouldn’t be in such a hurry.
“Hayden?” Levi’s voice pulls me back, gentle as if he senses something he cannot see. His brow furrows as he follows my gaze.
“Hmm?”
“I asked if you ever get tired of funerals,” he says. “Doesn’t it ever get…heavy?”
I take another sip of coffee, navigating around the question. “What about you? Do you get tired of flowers?”
Levi blinks, surprised by my pivot, but then grins. “Not a chance. Flowers are the best part of my day. They’re colorful and messy and unapologetically themselves. I mean, sure, sometimes they wilt, and sometimes you run into a pest problem, but they’re never boring.”
“Messy,” I repeat. “And you…enjoy that?”
“Of course,” Levi says, leaning back into his chair. “Life’s messy. Might as well embrace it.”
I glance toward the spirit again, who’s now rolling her eyes dramatically. Spirits are like houseflies. Persistent, annoying, terrible at boundaries, much like certain florists. And as quickly as we lock eyes, she’s gone. Levi follows my gaze again, frowning.
“You okay?” he asks, taking me by surprise.
“Fine,” I lie. “Tell me more about your shop. Why ‘Full Bloom’?”
Levi lights up instantly. “Cheesy, I know,” he says. “But I love the idea of flowers at their peak. Bright, open, entirely alive. People deserve a full-bloom moment, too. And I kind of made it my mission to help them get there.”
His voice softens slightly at the end, and for a moment, I remember why I hesitated to join him.
His optimism feels foreign, so…opposite of everything I’ve built my life around.
He speaks so easily of hope and growth, things I buried long ago, and yet I find myself leaning closer, a moth drawn recklessly toward a flame.
“What about you?” Levi asks again, catching me mid-thought. “What’s your full-bloom moment? Don’t say anything to do with management or operations, for the love of God.”
“I don’t think I have one,” I say softly, realizing now how empty that sounds. How much I wish it were otherwise.
He rests his chin on his hands. “Then maybe it hasn’t happened yet. Doesn’t mean it won’t. Sometimes the best blooms show up late.”
I resist the urge to look away. I am older than…just about everything. No one should talk to me like hope is still an option.
“Maybe,” I repeat quietly, feeling something in my chest stir. Something fragile and tentative.
Levi smiles, and it feels like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
“I’m holding you to that.” He checks his watch, and a flash of disappointment crosses his face.
“Shit. I should go. City hall hates when I miss paperwork deadlines, and I’ve already got invoices, deliveries, and a greenhouse full of temperamental orchids waiting for me.
Five minutes late, and suddenly I’m the guy begging a clerk to waive my fee with a smile. ”
I nod, remembering he’d left with me without turning in his paperwork.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I say, voice more uncertain than intended.
“Thanks for saying yes,” Levi counters, tugging on his coat. “I’ll consider us even. No more lily break-ins. Unless you secretly liked it.” He winks like he knows exactly the effect it has.
I glance up, arching a brow. “That remains to be seen.” If he knew me, he wouldn’t leave flowers. He’d leave town.
Levi grins, wide and apologetic. “I’ll be seeing you, Hayden Harlow,” he teases, like it’s both a promise and a dare, before disappearing out the door. Then the café grows quiet, as if Levi took a piece of its warmth with him.
This was supposed to be a disaster. But instead, Levi has left me disarmed. And worse, curious enough to let it happen again.
· · ·
“How was your meeting?” Irene asks as I hang up my coat, tone implying she knows it wasn’t just paperwork.
“Productive,” I say, slipping past her before she can press. Before she can notice the crack in my routine.
The prep room is as cold and sterile as ever, its surfaces gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.
The body I’m working on today is already laid out on the metal table, dressed and ready for final touches.
Mrs. Eleanor Durmond. Eighty-eight. A lifelong quilter.
Hands folded neatly, face serene, framed by the white curls her granddaughter said she always kept “just so.”
“You look lovely, Mrs. Durmond,” I murmur, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Your granddaughter was right; those curls really do suit you.”
She doesn’t answer, of course. They rarely do in this state, especially after finding peace. But that’s the thing about working with the dead. They don’t ask questions or expect explanations. They let you…be.
I adjust her collar slightly, smoothing the fabric with care. This ritual, offering dignity at the end, is the only part of this mortal life that makes sense. Here, at least, my heart remembers how to feel useful.
“You’ll be happy to know your son approved the arrangements,” I whisper, my voice coming out more like a lullaby while Mrs. Durmond sleeps soundly. “Lilies, of course, but your daughter-in-law managed to sneak in a few violets. Subtle but elegant. Like you.”
Pausing, I glance at her peaceful expression. “I used to do this on a grander scale, you know. Kingdoms of the dead. Shadows stretching farther than you can imagine.”
My voice slows, the words weaving together. “It wasn’t perfect. Chaos never really is, but it made sense. I made sense. Order, rules, a place for everyone. The living feared me, but down there, I was…necessary.”
I step back, adjusting the hem of Mrs. Durmond’s dark velvet skirt. “Now I file paperwork and keep the place clean. It’s not the same, but…it’s something. If I can still give the dead a little dignity and the living a place to set it down, maybe that’s enough.”
I lean against the counter for a moment, exhaling. My reflection from the metal of the cabinets stares back at me. A shadow of the ruler I once was.
“They used to leave gold coins for me,” I mutter. “Offerings. Names whispered in fear. Now, I get half-hearted Yelp reviews and polite nods in grocery aisles. Progress.”
Her hands remain folded in place, her expression unchanged. I take the silence as agreement.
“I met someone,” I admit before I can stop myself. “Levi. He’s…different. As mortal as they come. Relentlessly cheerful. He talks like the sun is a verb and asked me why funerals. Can you imagine?”
Mrs. Durmond doesn’t respond, but I can almost hear the dry chuckle I might’ve earned if she could.
“I couldn’t explain it,” I continue, my voice quieter now. “Not the way I wanted to. But it’s this. People spend their lives trying to make sense of chaos. When they’re gone, it’s my job to make it neat. Orderly. Final.”
Pressing a hand to the edge of the table, I ground myself in the cold, solid reality of it.
“I’m not sure Levi gets that yet. He’s all sunflowers and noise.
Maybe that’s the point. People like him remind people like me how to let a little color in.
But there was something else there today… ” I trail off.
The thought of what I felt over coffee remains as I smooth my hair, straighten my tie, and give Mrs. Durmond one last look.
Leaning down, I adjust the soft curls framing her face. “You’ll be remembered, Mrs. Durmond,” I whisper, a secret just for her. “Just the way you hoped.”
Back in my office, I stare at the note Levi left. I’d almost tossed it. One word, sorry, softening my walls like the first warm day after millennia of winter. Cracking doors better left closed, letting sunlight slip through the shadows.
They don’t retreat.
They listen.