Chapter 5 #2
"Actually, I don't."
"You do."
"I don't."
Trinity laughed and looked away.
Unfortunately, looking away only made her more conscious of him.
The room.
The building.
The situation.
All of it.
This was exactly the kind of moment she had feared.
A deeply romantic moment occurring inside a funeral home.
The contradiction felt impossible to explain to anyone who hadn't lived it.
Cedric noticed the shift immediately.
"You're thinking."
"That's dangerous."
"It usually is."
He moved another step closer.
Not aggressively.
Not dramatically.
Simply closer.
The air between them seemed warmer.
More intimate.
And yet the awareness of where they stood remained impossible to ignore.
Trinity finally shook her head.
"This is absurd."
"What is?"
She gestured vaguely around them.
"Us."
Cedric looked genuinely confused.
"I thought we were doing fairly well."
"We are."
"Then what's absurd?"
The laugh that escaped her carried equal parts affection and frustration.
"We're standing in a funeral home having one of the most romantic conversations of my life."
For a second Cedric stared at her.
Then he laughed.
A real laugh.
Deep and warm.
The sound echoed lightly around the room.
And unexpectedly, that helped.
Because suddenly the awkwardness became shared.
Not hers alone.
Not his alone.
Theirs.
Cedric reached for her hand.
"This may be the strangest date I've ever been on."
Trinity's fingers slipped into his naturally.
"That's not helping."
"It wasn't supposed to."
The smile remained in his eyes.
"So what should I do instead?"
Trinity looked at him.
Really looked at him.
At the patience.
The confusion.
The attraction.
The effort.
At the man trying very hard to understand something unfamiliar because the woman attached to it had become important.
Her voice softened.
"Just stay."
The words carried more meaning than either pretended.
Cedric understood immediately.
His thumb brushed gently across her hand.
"I'm still here."
For the first time since revealing the truth, Trinity allowed herself to believe that might actually matter.
The questions weren't gone. The discomfort wasn't gone.
The awkwardness certainly wasn't gone. But standing there in the quiet consultation room, surrounded by evidence of the life she had built, she realized something important.
The funeral home had not driven him away.
Not yet.
And for tonight, that was enough.
Cedric's hand remained wrapped around hers long after the conversation should have ended, and that simple fact affected Trinity more than she wanted to admit.
Over the past week she had prepared herself for distance, for careful politeness, for the subtle withdrawal people often disguised as understanding while they quietly reconsidered their feelings.
Instead, here he was, standing in the middle of her world and refusing to leave.
He was uncomfortable. She could see that.
He was still processing. She could see that too.
Yet neither of those truths had erased the other truth standing beside them, which was that he wanted to be here with her.
The consultation room suddenly felt too small for everything moving between them.
Trinity slowly withdrew her hand, not because she wanted less contact, but because she needed motion.
Emotion always felt larger when she stood still.
She crossed toward a bookshelf containing memorial albums and framed thank-you notes from families.
The familiar objects grounded her. Every photograph, every card, every handwritten message represented a family she had helped through one of the most difficult periods of their lives.
Usually those reminders strengthened her confidence.
Tonight they also exposed her vulnerability because she wanted Cedric to see them the way she did.
"You know what the strangest part is?" she asked quietly.
Cedric watched her from across the room.
"What?"
She ran her fingertips lightly across a framed note.
"For years I thought if I ever fell in love, this would be the part that frightened me most."
His brow furrowed.
"The funeral home?"
She nodded.
"The profession. The explanations. The assumptions."
Cedric listened carefully.
Trinity smiled sadly.
"I spent so much time worrying about whether someone could accept this part of my life that I never stopped to think about whether I could survive caring about their opinion."
The honesty settled heavily between them.
Cedric's expression softened immediately.
Because that was the wound.
Not the profession.
Not the building.
Not the flowers.
The risk.
The possibility that someone she loved could look at her life and decide it was too much.
Too strange.
Too uncomfortable.
Too different.
Cedric moved closer again, his voice gentler now.
"Trinity."
She looked up.
"I need you to hear something."
There was enough seriousness in his tone to make her fully attentive.
Cedric slipped one hand into his coat pocket while searching for the right words.
Not polished words.
Real ones.
"I'm confused."
The answer surprised her.
Not because of the content.
Because of the honesty.
Cedric continued before she could respond.
"I'm confused because when I picture this place, I feel one thing."
His gaze moved around the room.
Then returned to her.
"When I picture you, I feel something completely different."
For a moment Trinity simply stared.
Cedric laughed softly.
"I know that's not elegant."
"No."
Her voice came out quieter than intended.
"It's honest."
"Good."
His smile appeared briefly.
"Because I don't have elegant tonight."
The confession somehow made her like him more.
He wasn't trying to perform understanding.
He wasn't pretending to be perfectly evolved.
He was struggling in real time.
That mattered.
Cedric looked around again.
"I keep waiting for the two images to fit together."
Trinity crossed her arms loosely.
"And?"
His eyes settled on hers.
"They're starting to."
Something in her chest tightened.
Not painfully.
Hopefully.
Cedric shook his head.
"You know what keeps ruining my stereotypes?"
The corner of her mouth lifted.
"What?"
"You."
She laughed despite herself.
"I have never been accused of ruining stereotypes before."
"You should add it to your résumé."
The warmth returned.
The ease returned.
Yet neither ignored the deeper conversation continuing beneath the humor.
Cedric walked toward one of the framed photographs displayed near the bookshelf. It showed Trinity at some community event, smiling beside scholarship recipients and local leaders.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"That's you."
"Very observant."
"You know what I mean."
Trinity joined him.
The photograph had been taken several years earlier.
"You look happy."
She studied the image.
"I was."
Cedric looked at her rather than the photograph.
"No."
The word stopped her.
"What?"
"You look proud."
The distinction surprised her.
She glanced back toward the picture.
Then toward him.
Cedric continued.
"There's a difference."
The room grew quieter.
Not because no one was speaking.
Because something meaningful had entered the conversation.
"I think people underestimate pride."
Trinity listened.
Cedric gestured gently toward the photograph.
"When I look at that picture, I don't see somebody working around death."
His eyes met hers.
"I see somebody who's built something."
The words hit harder than she expected.
For several seconds she couldn't speak.
Because that was exactly how she saw it.
Not death.
Not darkness.
Not discomfort.
Service.
Community.
Responsibility.
A life.
When she finally spoke, her voice carried emotion she wasn't entirely hiding.
"Most people don't say that."
Cedric nodded.
"Most people haven't spent weeks falling for you first."
The statement landed between them with startling force.
Neither moved.
Neither looked away.
The words remained.
Simple.
Direct.
Dangerously sincere.
Trinity felt her pulse quicken.
Not because he had complimented her.
Because he had accidentally told the truth.
Falling.
Not fallen.
Falling.
Present tense.
Ongoing.
Real.
Cedric seemed to realize exactly what he had said at the same moment she did.
A nervous laugh escaped him.
"Well."
The smile in Trinity's eyes deepened.
"Well."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I wasn't planning to say that tonight."
"Apparently."
"I had a much better speech prepared."
"You had a speech?"
"It was excellent."
Trinity laughed.
"Now I'm disappointed."
"You should be."
The humor softened the moment, but it didn't erase it.
The truth remained.
Cedric had feelings deeper than either had fully acknowledged.
And judging by the expression on Trinity's face, so did she.
Outside the consultation room, the funeral home remained silent and dignified.
Inside, something much messier was unfolding.
Cedric looked at her for a long moment.
Then shook his head.
"See, this is what I'm talking about."
"What?"
His expression became almost helpless.
"I should be focused on understanding your profession."
Trinity raised an eyebrow.
"And instead?"
Cedric's gaze moved slowly across her face.
Her eyes.
Her smile.
Her hair.
Then back again.
"And instead I'm distracted."
The look he gave her made the meaning perfectly clear.
Warmth immediately climbed into her cheeks.
"Cedric."
"What?"
"You are impossible."
His smile widened.
"No."
The answer came quietly.
Thoughtfully.
"I'm trying very hard not to be."
That response affected her far more than flirtation would have.
Because beneath the attraction, beneath the humor, beneath the chemistry, there was effort.
Real effort.
He was trying.
Trying to understand.
Trying to stay.
Trying to reconcile the woman he wanted with the world he didn't fully understand.
And suddenly Trinity realized she wasn't the only one taking a risk anymore.
The thought softened her completely.
She stepped closer.
Close enough to feel his warmth.
Close enough that neither had to raise their voices.
"Cedric."
His eyes met hers immediately.
"Thank you."
He studied her face.
"For what?"
Trinity's smile carried tenderness now.
"For trying."