Page 61 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

“Grim! There you are! Can you help me with a cameo?” she says, turning toward me and then, with impressive grace, back toward the phone. “Everyone, Grim’s here! You asked, and here he is. Death, but make it friendly.”

The chat window on Lavinia’s phone races by in an unreadable blur, an effusion of hearts, flowers, and questions far too fast even for me. She waves me over, and I step behind the counter, taking care not to catch the tripod with my boots.

“Say good morning to the internet, darling.”

I face the camera. I have absolutely no idea where to look.

“Good morning...internet.”

The chat erupts.

Lavinia beams.

“He’s gotten so much better at this,” she tells the audience before lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He doesn’t even groan anymore.”

“I have not groaned in a fiscal quarter,” I say.

She laughs, loading more flowers into a vase while keeping one eye on me and one on the phone.

“Okay, myth-busting time!” she proclaims. “Today’s episode is: Top Five Misconceptions About Death!”

There is a smattering of applause from the customers. Someone hisses, “Go, Lavinia!” from the back. The energy in the shop is ridiculous, as though we’re hosting a live cooking show aboard a cruise ship.

“First myth,” Lavinia says, reading from a notecard in her unmistakable handwriting. “Death is scary and only wears black capes. Grim, rebuttal?”

I pluck a stray carnation from a bin, tuck it behind my ear, and address the camera.

“I own two capes. They are reserved for formal occasions. Otherwise, I wear business casual.”

The chat explodes again. Several customers applaud.

“Second myth,” Lavinia continues, “Death doesn’t have a favorite flower.”

I glance sideways at her.

“Everyone has a favorite flower.”

She grins.

“Is it belladonna? You can say belladonna. The store is literally named after it.”

I shake my head.

“Classic bias. My favorite is morning glories.”

A sophomore from the community college, who has been pretending to browse for the last five minutes, gasps.

“Isn’t that kind of on the nose? They only last a day.”

I consider this.

“Yes.”

“The language of flowers,” Lavinia explains to the phone, “says morning glory means—and are you ready for this?—'love in vain.'”

She tilts her head toward me with the patience of someone who has learned not to push.

“Any comment?”