The man's appearance blocked the cold wind blowing on her.
Daisy Ginger slowly lifted her head, her pale face gazing upon him.
She looked at him and then slowly lowered her head again, as if she didn't care who he was at all.
The man slowly raised his hand, but before his fingers could touch her thin back, Daisy coldly snapped, "Don't touch me."
His fingertips paused for a moment, then he slightly bent over and straightened up, lifting her horizontally from the bench.
The sensation of weightlessness made Daisy instinctively hold the urn tighter in her arms. The man remained expressionless, silently carrying her out of the funeral home.
Daisy was silently placed into the car.
She curled up, leaning against the car door, clutching the urn, ignoring the man in the driver's seat beside her.
The air carried a familiar scent, belonging to the pheromones of this man.
