Page 33 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
In between texts from Mom about Mom’s life love (which was going disastrously, as always), Lily had been dealing with seating chart issues for the past two hours, and as such was not in a state for public consumption. Her cheek had a huge red blotch where she’d had it propped on her palm, and her comfortable trousers were covered in cookie crumbs. And cupcake crumbs. And also full-sized cake crumbs.
‘Down in a sec!’ she shouted, brushing herself off.
Donning an orange floral dress whose wrinkles she hid beneath her favourite pink jacket, she gave her hair a quick comb with her fingers, then swiped some lipstick over her lips. Oops, she’d gone a bit over the vermilion there, but the overlined look was in. She hoped. Wait, deodorant, just in case Gramps still had a sense of smell.
Shoes in hand and feeling acceptably presentable given the low-lighting situation of their graveyard destination, Lily clattered down the stairs, wondering when the stair runner had turned black, and the banister adorned with bat decorations – she’d have to do something about that tomorrow. She opened the door to Mort, who looked like he was, well, on his way to a funeral. The only concession to colour was the band on his watch, which was dark brown. And also Esmeralda, who padded into the shop behind Mort, then proceeded to sharpen her claws on the fluffy mohair cushion on Lily’s desk chair.
‘The safety orange look suits you,’ said Mort. ‘It brings out your …’
‘Fake tan?’ guessed Lily, laughing. Oh, but he was bad at compliments. But she loved that he was trying. ‘Meanwhile, you’re begging to be run over by a boomer with poor night vision.’
‘They’d never,’ said Mort. ‘Not if they want a discount on their funeral plot. Ready?’
‘I’m ready, I’m ready.’ Giving Esmeralda a stroke on the head, Lily squeezed into her heels and followed after him.
Mort held up a hand, stopping her before she could step over the threshold. ‘Those shoes.’
‘They’re amazing. I know.’
‘But are they … apt for a cemetery stroll?’
‘Graveyard. And oh yeah. Watch.’ Lily bent and snapped off one of her heels, converting her shoes into flats.
Mort blinked. ‘Wow.’
‘They roll up, too. Girls have to be ready for anything.’
‘Anything, hmm.’
His dark eyes regarded her thoughtfully. Lily’s heart was doing something odd in her chest. Was Mort … flirting? Was Mort capable of flirting? Or did he mean death? Because everything always seemed to come back to death with him.
‘I can use the heel as a blade, too,’ she added hastily, trying to fill the very noticeable gap in their conversation. ‘In case you’re thinking of trying something.’
‘Do I look like the kind of guy who would try something?’
Lily gave him an assessing look.
Mort leaned against the doorframe. ‘Are you … funeral director profiling me?’
‘Always. It’s the wedding planner in me. So are we done judging my footwear?’
‘If we’re done judging my overall aesthetic.’
But it was so fun! ‘Never.’
Mort chuckled. ‘Fair.’
He led her down the vine-smothered laneway that ran to the left of Eternal Elegance (Wedding Edition), all quaint archways and mossy flagstones. Lily loved browsing its teeny-tiny shops in her off hours: the cramped gallery behind a curved wooden door and a deeply rusted hanging hurricane lantern; the jewellery shop with its breathtaking custom rings (and equally breath-taking prices); the fancy wine shop that she was too terrified to enter lest she bump into a bottle and have to mortgage her future firstborn.
Above them, on curved wooden arbours, wisteria and string lights bobbed in the gentlest breeze.
‘This place is magical,’ Lily breathed. ‘I feel like every time I say something I’m casting a spell.’
Mort smiled. ‘It has its charms. Even if …’
‘Please don’t say something about death.’
Mort groaned. ‘But there’sso muchdeath. It must be the ocean air. And all the rollerblading. The car’s over there.’
