I tear my gaze from him, not wanting to be caught staring at the bulging biceps fighting against the sleeves of his shirt. “What do you need from me?” I ask Pippa, following her through the large wood front doors. Pippa takes a deep breath, leading me to the expansive kitchen. She points to a counter full of photos, papers, and catalogs for different packages from the funeral home. “I need a lot, honestly. But most importantly, I was wondering if you’d maybe speak at the service?”
