©2026, Vampires Love Garlic by Ashley Chapman. All Rights Reserved.

This chapter is dedicated to Mommom. Miss you, Mommom.

17

Death

Heather

Grandpa’s funeral is on Wednesday.

He wouldn’t have wanted everyone dressed in black, weeping over him, so all the guests at Bonaventure Cemetery are in bright, vibrant colors even though it’s fall and it’s cold. It’s rainy, and I can feel the cold wind whipping around my legs. I’m wearing a dress that falls to just above my knee, leaving my legs in nothing but pantyhose that chill with every whisper of a breeze.

The river is right there, right behind where Grandpa’s casket rests. The water is rough today, stirred up by the breeze. Spanish moss catches in the air and tangles around tree limbs, clinging as though seeking comfort in this gloomy weather.

I would love comfort.

It’s been four days since I’ve seen McKenzie.

I don’t know why I’m thinking of him now.

The last time I saw him was in the hospital, and he hasn’t visited the café since. I got six stitches in my hand that night, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as my fear did. I wasn’t afraid of McKenzie being a vampire. It didn’t even terrify me that he had been drinking my blood.

I was afraid of losing him.

The death of a friendship.

For some reason, I can’t help thinking about him as Oma cries. My mom has one hand on my shoulder and one on Oma’s, and I can’t help but wish McKenzie’s hand was on me instead.

We sing a hymn, “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” Grandpa’s favorite. We are led in a prayer, and then everyone is dismissed.

I stand by Grandpa’s descended casket for a long time.

The wood is so shiny and pretty against the white lilies and carnations scattered across it.

I’m unaware of time passing, of a storm rolling in, of the wind kicking up.

There’s just…nothing.

A numbness that doesn’t make any sense.

Grandpa shouldn’t be in a wooden box in the ground. He should be at home making chili, putting on a football game or a sitcom, sitting in his plush recliner with a huge mug of coffee in hand. He doesn’t belong here in a world of frosted statues and sightless eyes.

He should be with me.

I sniff, not caring about the liquid trickling from my nose. I always cry from my nose before I cry from my eyes. It’s a last-ditch attempt not to cry for real. There’s no stopping the tears today, and I sniff repeatedly as the tears fall and the rain pours in sheets.

The small canopy above me does little to protect me from the rain, but I don’t care.

This isn’t fair. It just isn’t. I know Grandpa was old and he lived a good life, but I want him here.

The wind is moaning now. The rain is shifting into sleet. I can feel it nipping at my legs, blowing in sideways.

I’ve never felt more alone in my life.

And then he’s there.

I can feel McKenzie before I see him. I know he’s staring at my back, thinking. I can’t hear his footsteps at all, but I can smell his cologne and feel his warm breath on my neck as he stands behind me.

Warm, gloved hands find my shoulders. They don’t squeeze, don’t caress. They’re simply there, a welcome weight, grounding me.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say between soft sobs.

“Things did not end well for us,” he says quietly. “And you need me.”

I want to argue, but I can’t.

“You’ve avoided me for four days. I had to get stitches.” I hold up my bandaged hand. “I thought you were angry at me. That I did something wrong.”

“I couldn’t resist your blood. It would have been dangerous for me to stay at the hospital. I didn’t think you wanted to see me again after that. I was giving you space.”

“My first questions about you being a vampire had to do with your sexuality, and you think I didn’t want to see you again?” I can’t help but laugh. “I’ve had time to think.” I turn to look at him.

Now it makes sense, how this man is so handsome.

He’s not a man.

“You could have drained me dry in the kitchen. You didn’t.” I look at his tie, at how he dressed in a black suit, and I realize the effort he put in to come here. There’s a massive bouquet of yellow and orange roses resting on the ground by his feet.

“Are those for Grandpa?” I ask.

He shakes his head no.

“The dead have no need for flowers. Those he’s been gifted with will be removed and forgotten. These.” He sighs and picks up the bouquet. “These are for you. I had a man deliver a bouquet of camellias to your grandmother.”

“For me?” I whisper, taking the beautiful arrangement.

“Smiley faces don’t work in a setting like this, but I thought a little sunshine might.”

And I’m crying again.

Dang it.

When the crying stills and I’m left a snotty, trembling mess, I realize that I’ve somehow found my way into his arms. My forehead is against his chest, my arms are around his waist, and he has one hand on the back of my head, stroking through my hair.

I pull back, embarrassed by the mess I’ve made of myself.

He holds up a handkerchief and carefully wipes around my eyes and nose.

“Feeling any better?” he asks softly.

I nod, exhausted.

“Today is hard. Tomorrow will be, too.” He smiles and tilts my face up, the tips of his fingers on my chin. “But I’ll be here if you need me. I don’t know what your family has planned for this evening, but Narcissa is back in town. She ordered me to invite you to the house for some dinner and a movie.”

“Am I on the menu?”

I can’t help but ask.

He laughs. A genuine, rich sound that feels so out of place in this dreary cemetery.

“No,” he says between chuckles. “Quiche, pralines, some sparkling cider, maybe some garlic bread, but no Heather.”

“What are we watching?”

“Pretty in Pink.”

My favorite movie.

How does he…

“You were playing the soundtrack through your earbuds while you were cooking,” he explains. “I have sharp hearing.”

“I have a thousand questions,” I warn, letting him loop my hand through his arm to rest on his bicep. He holds the umbrella high and walks with me toward my car.

“I have a thousand answers.”

I bite my lip, trying to hold back a smile.

“It’s allowed, Heather,” he says softly. “You can smile. Your grandpa would love it if you did.”

“It’s going to take a little while,” I whisper. “To get back to a real smile.”

“And that’s okay.” He bumps his hip against mine. “Death is hard.”

“Are you…are you immortal?”

“No.” He shakes his head and opens my car door for me. “I’m basically a human with a unique blood disorder. Most of the world doesn’t know my particular deficiency exists. While the normal human sweats water and needs water to replenish his body, I sweat blood and I need blood to stay hydrated. I can’t live forever. I’m thirty-three years old. Real years, not some made-up vampire nonsense.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to get tired of my questions. If I come tonight, I’ll be a pest,” I say, releasing his arm.

“Ask away.”

“One more question, before I go.” I pause, about to get into my seat.

“Go ahead.”

“Do you have a heart? Not metaphorically speaking.”

He smiles, his expression soft and welcoming. He takes the bouquet from my hand and tosses it into the car before reaching for my hand. I allow him to take it, to raise it to his chest. He slips it between his coat and shirt, pressing my palm against the cool, crisp fabric. I splay my fingers, and there, against my cold skin, I can feel his heartbeat. Heat radiates from his chest, soothing the cold, and his heart beats a steady, calm “thump, thump,” against my fingertips.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I have a heart.”

I glance up, and my eyes meet his.

This is the closest I’ve been to his face. I can see every speck of amber in his emerald eyes, but there is something more there than just color. There’s a look, and I can’t describe it. To say his eyes darkened would be a cliché, but the emotion in his gaze isn’t just friendliness. It feels like he’s looking into my soul, searching for fear, for understanding…for something deeper that I don’t have a word for.

“Thank you for coming,” my voice rasps.

“I am glad I could be here.”

“You…”

“You should probably get out of the cold.” He steps back, clearing the air and my head. “You can come over any time tonight. Narcissa and I will keep an ear out for you.”

I get in the car, he shuts the door, and I drive away.

I can still feel his breath, subtle and inviting, against my lips.

A different feeling tangles with the grief inside me.

I really am crushing on this man.

Hard.