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The air smelled like pine and exhaust and the faint tang of bacon grease. The mountains loomed on all sides, big and present and too close, the horizon folded in around the town. The buildings leaned a little, their old brick, weathered wood, and fresh paint valiantly attacking decay.

Blackwood didn’t feel dangerous.

It felt…like a person who didn’t know me yet, but was trying to decide whether to like me, ignore me, or swallow me whole.

I walked past The Hollow, its neon sign useless with how sunny it was today, and noticed the place was already busy again. Voices drifted from the open door, chairs scraped against the floor, and someone laughed too loud for the early afternoon.

Across the street, Big Hank glared down at me. The empty space where a horn should have been pointed straight at me like an accusation.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “Get in line.”

My pulse and my pace picked up as my gaze clipped over the bar’s door, envisioning Sterling walking through the door. I only needed one disaster at a time.

Bloom & Gloom, option one on my job hunt today, sat three doors down from The Hollow. The flower shop/funeral parlor’s storefront display window was…an experience. Half of it was taken up with cheerful arrangements in mason jars. The other half held a polished mahogany coffin with a tasteful spray of lilies across the lid.

The sign above the door read: Bloom & Gloom, Floral & Funeral Services. We’ve got you covered from first date to final rest!

I stopped on the threshold. “I can do this,” I told myself. “It’s just flowers. And probably a few corpses. But mostly flowers.”

A bell jingled when I pushed the door open, and the scent hit first.

Lilies. Roses. Damp soil. Underneath all that, a faint undercurrent of bleach and something chemical and sharp that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

The interior was divided by vibe. The front half was all warm wood, coolers full of flowers, a counter with a vintage cash register, and a jar labeled Tips for Your Trip to the Afterlife :) in loopy handwriting. The back half, separated by a curtain, showed glimpses of gleaming metal and muted drapes. There was a door marked Family Viewing Only.

“Welcome to Bloom and Gloom!” a voice called cheerfully. “Are you here for a bouquet…or a body?”

I froze.

A man stepped out from behind a display of potted peace lilies, wiping his hands on a towel. He was in his forties, maybe, with neatly combed dark hair and a bolo tie shaped like a coffin. His expression was serene in the way of yoga instructors—and serial killers.

He blanched. “I mean—funeral arrangements. For a body that’s…not you. Obviously. Oh dear.”

“I…uh…” I said eloquently. “Flowers?”

“Wonderful,” he said. “I’m Morton. Co-owner, operator, and spirit guide, but only in a strictly nonreligious, secular comfort way.”

“Oh, well…nice to meet you.”

“And you must be Sienna.” He reached out and shook my hand. “Big Hank’s unexpected dance partner.”

“News travels fast,” I muttered.

“In Blackwood it travels instantly,” he agreed. “Please, come in. What can I do for you? An apology bouquet for Big Hank? A ‘congratulations on surviving trauma’ arrangement? We have a special on those.”

“I’m actually looking for a job,” I said, forcing myself not to turn around and flee. “Hattie mentioned you might need help. With…flowers. And phones. Not bodies, preferably.”

Morton’s eyes lit up. “We would love an extra pair of hands. The Gloom side is fully staffed, but the Bloom side is always in need of creative souls.”

“Great,” I said. “I have…two hands and a soul. Though the jury’s still out on the creative part.”

He laughed softly like I’d told a joke. “Come, let me show you.”

Morton led me around the counter, pointing things out with an oddly soothing enthusiasm. “These are our sympathy arrangements. Over here are ‘just because you’re alive’ bouquets. This cooler is for custom orders. You’d be answering phones, taking notes, helping arrange things up front…and occasionally refreshing the store with our display fragrances.”

“Fragrances,” I repeated.

“Just to keep the shop smelling fresh,” he said. “We use a light rosewater mist. It’s very pleasant. Our customers tend to be…emotionally heightened, and scent goes a long way.”