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“You can have my apartment—while I do this—rent free if you take on some of the responsibilities that come with that.”

She brings a hand to her mouth, thick lashes fluttering.

“And, Dondi,” I direct at him. “Your job will stay the same unless Wanda needs help with something and I’m not around.” He opens his mouth, but I talk over him. “Unless that’s a problem, there’s a lot of work that needs to be done at the house, and I need time to do it.”

They stare; I clear my throat.

“What I’m saying is, I’m moving out of the apartment and spending less time at work. I’ll be at every send-off, of course, but the in-between things I’ll be—I’ll need to—I won’t be here.” I huff, annoyed by how they’re looking at me like I’m performing a miracle. “Will that be a problem?”

“You’re moving out of the crematorium?” Wanda asks, hand to mouth as she rises from the couch and takes short steps toward me, face filling with emotion.

Here we go.

“To work,” I correct.

“Whoa!” Dondi says with wide eyes. “The Dondinator would never believe this if he wasn’t sitting here. The Ash Queen leaves the fire. What’s next, you selling to Tranquil Departures?”

I puff a slight laugh. “Not today.”But soon.The funeral home has been trying to buy me out for years—like they need to be the death conglomerates of Ledger—and I’ve always shot them down. Once I know the house isn’t a complete waste, I’ll call them.

Wanda hugs me with a squeal, making me grunt. “This is amazing, honey. Anything you need, Dondi and I are here to help. Aren’t we?”

“You know it,” he pipes in.

“And we can do any of the send-offs too,” Wanda adds, dabbing at her eyes with the pads of her fingertips.

“No!” I snap too loudly, taking a breath before adding in a more even voice: “No, I can’t pawn all the work off. It’ll go to your head.”

They chuckle, but they also know the truth: I do the send-offs because the send-offs are why I’m here.

“I never thought I’d see the day you move out of this place,” Wanda says, her red lips shaky with emotion. “Thank you for this, Scotty. You’ve given me more than anyone else in my life, and I mean that.”

Something claws at my throat with the looks on both of their faces, but a loud knock banging on the back door saves me. We look at each other—the door is the service entrance that leads to the back of the building and only used by us. My eyes narrow. “Stop looking at me like your eyes are made of pudding and get to work. I’ll see who it is.”

I don't wait for them to respond, and in my short walk to the back, another knock bangs. “I’m coming!” I shout.

When I push the heavy door open, warmth from outside mixes with the coolness from inside at the threshold.

“Can I help yo—”

My words die, replaced by pure hatred for the face in front of me.

There, with smiling eyes despite the flat line of his lips, stands Ford Callahan. In his police uniform.

I groan, moving to pull the door closed.

He grips the edge of it, swinging it open. “Five minutes, Scotty.”

“No.”

He holds the door open, filling the space around me like a bear on a country road. “Please.”

I cross my arms over my chest, leaning in the doorway. “Why?”

“You caught me off guard the other night, and I don’t like how it ended.”

“So you’re here for a happy ending?” I quip.

A smile tugs at his lips, but he neither moves nor says anything.