by K. L. Hiers
“Like a bank?” Aaron pressed, wagging his eyebrows over at Tom.
“Yeah, exactly, baby!” Edie exclaimed cheerfully.
Tom could see exactly where this was going and derailed Aaron’s crazy train by saying, “Whatever you call it, I hope just they catch the guy.”
“Me, too, babies. I still can’t believe it.” Edie huffed. “Forgive me, Lord, but I hope they stub their big toe, and the nail falls slam off.”
Tom was pretty sure that was Edie’s cruelest threat, giving her a side hug as he said, “Ah, I swear you’re the sweetest lady in the whole world, Edie.”
“Aww, thank you, baby. You’re sweet, too.”
“Hey! I’m sweet, too!” Aaron said. “Just in case anyone was wondering.”
“Aw, yes, you are, baby. All my boys at the funeral home are so very sweet.”
Tom felt his phone vibrate, pulling it out from his pocket to find he had a new text from Cypress. He couldn’t wait to see what it said, biting his lip anxiously as he read it:
Meet me in the men’s room up front
Right now
Tom’s pulse was thumping a mile a minute as he headed to the men’s bathroom in the front of the funeral home. This one was reserved for families and their guests, and employees were discouraged from using it.
If anyone asked, Tom was going to claim Earl had clogged the toilet in the back.
He waved at Miss Wheel at the front desk as he crossed into the lobby. Luckily, she was on the phone and didn’t pay him any mind. He made a beeline for the bathroom, pushing the door open and stepping inside.
There were three stalls including a handicapped toilet, and Cypress was leaning against the sink. He smiled when he saw Tom and said, “Wasn’t sure if you could come.”
Tom greeted him with a kiss, biting back the urge to moan as Cypress squeezed his hips. “No embalmings today. Mm. What are you doing here? Don’t you have flowers to deliver?”
“I do, but I saw your text,” Cypress replied. “Had a casket spray to drop off for that Poole lady, and well, yeah, I gotta know who the hell told you—”
“That your name is Shirley?” Tom teased.
“Okay, first of all, it’s not my name, but a terrible nickname,” Cypress said firmly, trying to hide a smile. “Now spill. Who told you?”
“Agent Fox Sanderson.”
Cypress, expression instantly hardening, asked very carefully, “Tom, are you in trouble? Is this about the formaldehyde?”
“What? No.” Tom shook his head quickly. “God, no. There’s been some break-ins, and they’re all families we served here at the funeral home. He was questioning all of us.”
“Jesus,” Cypress breathed, relieved. “They think it was someone who works here?”
“All the burglaries happened when the families were at funerals or here for viewings, and we don’t post viewings publicly.”
“So, an inside job?”
“I guess that’s what he’s thinking,” Tom replied glumly. “I can’t imagine anybody here doing that. I mean, Gerald is a bastard, but he’s not a thief. Miss Wheel is a gossip, but she’s harmless. Okay, maybe Junior, though.”
“Well, keep your head down,” Cypress cautioned. “If Fox is here, it’s pretty serious.”
“So, how do you know him?”
“Mutual friends,” Cypress replied mysteriously.
“Oh, that is so not an answer, Shirley.”
“Come over to my place tonight, and I’ll tell you all about it,” Cypress promised.
“Tonight?” Tom smiled eagerly.
“If you’re free.”
“I would love that.” Tom rolled his eyes, adding, “Unless I have to work late again.” He cringed. “Shit, what about Mister Doodles?”
“Bring the little man-eater over. She’ll have a blast.”
“Where do you live?”
“Above the flower shop.”
“And what am I supposed to do with Mister Doodles the next morning? Or is it too presumptuous to assume I’m spending the night?”
“Oh, you’re definitely spending the night.” Cypress chuckled. “You’ll just have to get up extra early to take her home before you go to work.”
“Eh, I dunno.” Tom tilted his head, pretending to think it over. “That sounds like an awful lot of trouble.”
“I’ll cook for you.”
“Cook?” Tom laughed. “You can cook?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Cypress said with a wink.
“Guess so, Shirley.”
“Stop,” Cypress groaned. “I hate that nickname.”
“Oh?” Tom couldn’t resist. “Why is that, Shirley?”
“Easy now,” Cypress warned, reaching down to boldly grab Tom’s cock through his pants. “Feels like you’re getting a little too comfortable. Forgot who’s in charge here, hmm?”
Tom gasped, blood instantly charging south, and he had to hold onto Cypress’s shoulders to steady himself. They couldn’t do this here, not now.
“Maybe I should go have a talk with Fox right now,” Cypress taunted. “Tell him what a very bad boy you’ve been.”
“No, please.” Tom shuddered as a rush of heat raced down his spine. “You wouldn’t!”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Cypress kept rubbing Tom’s cock, his dark eyes glassy now as he gazed down at him. “I wish I had the time to take you right here… spank your little ass until you can’t sit down…”
“Yes, fuck, please,” Tom moaned quietly, kissing Cypress fiercely. “Please, I’m sorry, mmm, just do it. We can be quick, so very quick—”
“Mmm, Tom,” Cypress murmured as the kiss heated up, his hand dipping down inside Tom’s pants to rub against his cock through his underwear.
Tom could feel Cypress was getting hard, too. He started pulling at Cypress’s belt, begging breathlessly, “Oh, please. I’ll suck you right here. Come on.”
He didn’t know what had come over him. He knew anyone could walk in and see them, and the thrill was like a drug. He couldn’t get enough. They could do it fast, no one had to know—
“Uh uh,” Cypress said firmly, taking Tom’s hands from his belt.
“What? Why?” Tom panted.
“Because I have work to do,” Cypress replied, taking a deep breath and adjusting himself.
“Cypress!” Tom pushed his hard dick forward, trying to go in for another kiss. He was absolutely throbbing, and he couldn’t believe Cypress would deny him like this. “Mmm, come on.”
“Nope.” Cypress turned his head, reaching down and gently thumping Tom’s dick. He looked positively smug. “You’re gonna have to wait.”
“You’re so mean.”
“Shouldn’t have called me Shirley,” Cypress teased, laughing as he kissed Tom.
“So, so very mean,” Tom mumbled, falling back into Cypress’s strong arms. As frustrated as he was, he had to admit he enjoyed the torment.
And the kissing.
The kissing was really nice.
“Me, you, dinner,” Cypress promised as he pulled away, “and I’ll make sure the wait is worth it.”
Tom did his best to keep up his unhappy glare, but it was hard to stay mad when Cypress smiled at him.
Even with a dick hard enough to cut glass.
“Gotta go,” Cypress said, kissing Tom goodbye. “Might wanna stay in here until, ahem, you calm down.”
There was no way for Tom to hide his erection in his scrubs, and he flipped Cypress off.
“Later,” Cypress chuckled, slipping out through the bathroom door.
Tom considered going into one of the stalls and jerking off, but the lusty fear of getting caught wasn’t as much fun by himself. He washed his hands and his face, waiting for his cock to wilt.
When it finally did, he headed back to the prep room to get back to work. Aaron and Miss Edie were both gone, but Mrs. Poole looked lovely. He got her casketed and ready for her viewing and was immediately out of things to do again.
He went
back to cleaning, took a brief lunch break, and stared at the clock ticking down to five o’clock. All the employees filtered in and out of the office, either on their way to talk to Fox or after they were done.
Scott and Bosco were both very upset by the insinuation they could have anything to do with the burglaries. Miss Wheel was a frantic mess, Earl was cranky, and Mr. Crosby seemed to think Fox was here interviewing for a job.
Aaron did his best to explain to him what was happening, but all Mr. Crosby would say was that he was glad Fox owned a nice suit so they wouldn’t have to buy him one when he started work on Monday.
Tom didn’t see any trace of Junior, and he didn’t dare ask about him. Of everyone here, he was certain Junior was the only person capable of these crimes. But could he have actually done it?
After talking to his co-workers, he took note of when each family was burgled. Junior certainly would have been free to go sneaking off and rob most of them, but the Winslow family’s home was broken into when they were here for the viewing.
And so was Junior.
Maybe Tom was wrong. He hated to assume anyone’s guilt, but he had the strangest feeling Junior was still involved somehow. He kept his thoughts to himself, barely saying goodbye to anyone before he was flying out the door precisely at five o’clock.
Cypress had texted him and let him know he needed to come to the back door of the flower shop, and Tom texted in reply he’d be there as soon as he could.
He got home, walked Mister Doodles, and then he had to decide what to wear. He stared forlornly at his closet, packed with bland suits and not much else.
This was still a date, no matter how casual the setting, and he wanted to look nice.
Finally settling on his best pair of jeans and a light blue sweater, he got dressed and packed an overnight bag with a few essentials. He made sure to bring what he needed for Mister Doodles, checking over the bag one more time to see if there was anything else he’d missed.
Scrubs, underwear, socks, pajamas, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, dog food, dog bowl.
Tom wasn’t sure if he was forgetting something, but he was too eager to get going to worry about it. He gathered up the bag and Mister Doodles, and he headed over to the flower shop.
He drove through a small alley to park in the rear next to Cypress’s car. He got Mister Doodles on her leash, let her pee, and walked up to the back door. He didn’t see a bell, so he knocked.
Tom felt his heart flutter when the door opened, and he saw Cypress’s bright smile. “Hey!”
As usual, Cypress was perfectly edible in a snug emerald turtleneck and dark jeans.
“Hey there, yourself,” Cypress said, ushering Tom into a cramped hallway and kissing him. “Mmm. I’m glad you’re here. You look great.”
“Mmm, so do you.”
“Hi to you, too, Mister Doodles,” Cypress greeted, reaching down to pet her.
Mister Doodles barked and wagged her tail.
“Aw, she’s happy to see you.” Tom grinned.
“Probably because I smell like food.”
“Wow, so this is all yours?” Tom looked around, seeing a staircase and another door.
“Sure is. Want the grand tour?” Cypress asked.
“Is that okay?”
“Of course. We’re closed, and unlike your job, no one is gonna come walking in. Come on.” Cypress took his hand and led him to the door. He opened it, leading Tom and Mister Doodles into a large room crammed full of empty floral arrangement stands, dozens of vases, and big boxes of ribbon. “Storage, very glamorous.”
“Kinda reminds me of the supply closet at the funeral home.” Tom laughed. “Little bit of everything.”
“I might be a tiny bit of a floral packrat. Can’t stand to throw anything away if I think I can use it again.”
“This is nothing. I’ve seen Mr. Crosby try to wash a used coffee filter before.”
“Yeah, no. I’m not quite there yet.”
Cypress led them through another door into a short L-shaped hallway, explaining, “If you go to the right, you’ll hit what used to be the kitchen. It’s now cold storage for flowers. And if you go the other way through the big archway, it goes into the front of the shop.”
Tom peeked around the edge of the archway, blushing to see the back of the counter he had just been bent over last week. He turned back to peer down the other end of the hallway, asking, “Cold storage? You mean like a cooler?”
“Of course, you wanna see it,” Cypress said with a laugh.
“Professional curiosity.”
They passed by a long workbench before making the turn to the cooler, and Cypress opened the door for him. “Go right ahead. Knock yourself out.”
It was an impressive sized walk-in refrigeration unit, not too dissimilar from the one at the funeral home. Tom couldn’t help but think it could hold at least eight bodies, more if they had a rack. Instead of racks or tables, there were several shelves with dozens of buckets all packed full with a rainbow of various flowers.
“Smells like bleach in here,” Tom noted.
“Yeah, everything has to be cleaned daily to keep bacteria from growing. It can mess up the flowers, make ‘em wilt too early, make ‘em smell bad. A lot of the flowers we get from wholesalers don’t have much of a scent anyway, so people really notice if they’re funky.”
“They don’t smell?”
“Believe it or not, smelling nice isn’t a high priority for big growers. They want flowers that are gonna stay fresh longer after they’ve been cut and survive transport. You end up with roses that might last two weeks, but they won’t smell like anything.”
“Huh. I never even thought about that.” Tom glanced down at a plastic bucket on the floor full of water and knives, nudging it with his foot. “You have to clean your instruments, too?”
“You mean my tools?” Cypress grinned. “Yeah, shears, knives, scissors, all that. I wash ‘em with water and dish soap. If there’s really stubborn gunk on them, I’ll soak ‘em in buckets like that.”
Tom started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“I never realized how similar our jobs are,” Tom replied. “We both have coolers, we clean a crap ton, and we have to soak stuff when it gets really nasty.”
Cypress chuckled. “Okay, okay. I see what you mean. I feel like half my day is just cleaning.”
“Yeah, same, except we never use bleach.”
“No?”
“If it mixes with formaldehyde, it can actually create chlorine gas and a bunch of other nasty stuff. Gerald had some near-death experience with it once, so now if he even thinks that he smells bleach, he freaks out.”
“Duly noted.”
Tom finally had enough of the cold and stepped out, his attention now drawn to the workbench. While Cypress closed up the cooler, he explored the neatly arranged tools and a large trash can underneath. It was full of leaves, twigs, and all kinds of petals. “What’s that? Leftovers?”
“When we get flowers, we have to clean and process them,” Cypress replied. “They don’t arrive ready to be used in an arrangement. We have to trim off the leaves, wash off the dirt, all that stuff.”
“You have to get them ready for a viewing,” Tom said with a smile, happy he’d found another parallel between their jobs. “I mean, you know, to be viewed in a bouquet or whatever.”
“Exactly like a viewing,” Cypress agreed. “Well, have you seen enough?”
“Mm, for now,” Tom replied coyly. He looked down at Mister Doodles, who was busy sniffing herself. “Doesn’t seem very impressed, does she?”
“Not so much. Come on. Maybe she’ll like the kitchen.”
“Which used to be down here?”
“Right,” Cypress said, taking Tom’s hand and heading back to the staircase by the back door. “My grandparents remodeled the downstairs back in the sixties to expand the business and moved the kitchen up to the second floor.
“They also ripped out this massive stairca
se that used to be about where the front counter is now and closed it all off. Then they built this one to replace it.”
The stairs creaked quietly as they ascended, and Cypress ushered Tom into a small parlor. The first thing Tom noticed was the smell—he could smell flowers, sweet and fragrant, underscored by the scent of something savory cooking.
There were plants everywhere: green and tall, small and flowery, long and climbing all over the doorways. It was beautiful and made the entire space feel alive as if a little bit of nature herself had taken up residence here, too.
The parlor opened up into a large sitting area with a plush couch, a recliner, and a modest television. Beyond that was the kitchen, a small breakfast area, and a hallway that led to the rest of the house.
“This little room actually used to be a bathroom, but grandma swapped everything around when they closed off the old staircase.”
“It’s beautiful,” Tom said. “I love all the molding. And oh, the little windows above the windows.”
“Fun useless fact, those are called transoms.” Cypress chuckled. “I’ve redecorated most of the upstairs myself. Took down some pretty hideous wallpaper, painted all the earthy greens and browns that you see. Floor is original to the house except in the kitchen, where grandma put down tile.”
“Shoes off?”
“Please.”
“No problem.” Tom quickly heeled out of them, nudging them over in front of a little shoe cubby next to Cypress’s.
“I’ll take your bag to my room.” Cypress smiled warmly. “I’ve got wine in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
“Is it okay to let Mister Doodles off her leash?” Tom asked. “I mean, none of these plants can hurt her, right?”
“No, she’s fine. Promise.”
“All right, releasing the beast,” Tom warned, unhooking her leash and watching her zoom right to the kitchen. He followed her, taking a quick look around as he went. In addition to the plants, there were lots of art and photographs to explore later.
The kitchen had definitely been updated since it was moved here so many decades ago, boasting black marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, white cabinetry, and a high bar in front of the sink, underneath which were tucked four barstools. There was a pot simmering on the stove, and it smelled amazing.