He didn’t finish. Blythe went cold as she watched his loafers step toward her. This had to be it; her final moments on this earth. Not the worst place to go, she had to admit, in her favorite armchair. But it was a shame, such a shame, that Rose wasn’t here to hold her hand. There was so much she wanted to tell her sweet, troubled daughter, her best friend really, about life and about love, about the secrets she’d never had a chance to share…

“I wish this didn’t have to happen tonight,” she admitted. “You know I’m not ready.”

“Is that your family?”

Blythe glanced up at him, her gaze almost pleading. He was looking at the photo she’d stood next to her. The flicker of longing she perceived in his dark eyes had to be coming from her, she knew—hello, this was Death here—but it was all the hope she had left. That he might somehow take pity on her, gift her a bit more time so she could say goodbye to her children. She stared hard at him, projecting all her emotion.

“Those are my darlings, yes. They’re all I have left in this world.”

“What are their names?”

“Rose and Andy.”

“Where are they?”

“Rose works in the city. She’s promised to come see me, though. She’s supposed on her way tomorrow. If I could just have another day or two, I could—”

He interrupted with a slightly snappish “That isn’t how things are done, you know.”

Because everything he’d said beforehand had been so flat and emotionless, Blythe now sensed some sort of conflict in his voice. It took her aback, forced her to mentally reshuffle. She knew this was her shot—her one and only shot at convincing him.

“I realize it isn’t strictly by the books, but I love my kids more than anything. All I’m asking for is a couple more days to say goodbye. After that, I swear I’ll come gladly. Hell, when the time comes I’ll even hurry you along.”

He slowly paced to the sofa and back again without making a sound. Whatever was going on in his head, it had to be working in her favor, otherwise, he’d have shut her down straight away. Bizarrely, Death seemed to be in a quandary. She’d obviously got through to him somehow.

He sat facing her on the sofa, crossed his legs. “I accept your offer, Blythe.”

“You do?” Resisting the urge to scream with relief, she replied, “Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“You have three days from tomorrow.”

“Three? That’s more—I mean that’s perfect. It’s precisely what I would’ve chosen. Three days.”

“With one condition,” he added.

“Oh?”

“I will be your guest for those three days.”