Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Lila
T he evening before the festival brings a steady stream of last-minute shoppers to Petals & Posies. I'm wrapping a bouquet of daisies when Sarah Miller and Betty Watson bustle in, shaking rain from their umbrellas.
"Just dreadful weather for setup," Betty announces, as if I haven't been watching the spring drizzle all afternoon. "At least the forecast is clear for tomorrow."
I manage a noncommittal smile, focusing on the ribbon I'm tying. They hover near the counter, and I can feel the weight of whatever gossip they're bursting to share.
"Did you hear about Graham?" Sarah finally asks, her voice pitched low like she's sharing state secrets. "Margaret saw him with a realtor today. Looking at property listings. And it wasn’t anything here."
The ribbon slips in my suddenly numb fingers. I retie it, careful to keep my voice steady. "Is that so?"
"Makes sense," Betty nods sagely. "Can't live with his father forever. Though I would've thought he'd look in town. Guess he’s ready to leave Juniper Falls already."
Property listings. Looking to move. Again. The words echo in my head, drowning out whatever else they're saying. I'd been right to pull back, right not to let myself hope.
"Poor Joe," Sarah sighs. "Just when he was getting used to having help around the house."
I finish the bouquet with mechanical precision, barely registering when they leave with their purchase. The shop feels too small suddenly, the walls pressing in with memories. Graham bringing me wildflowers after baseball practice. Planning our futures between deliveries. Making promises we were too young to keep.
The brass bell above the door chimes again. "We're closing—" I start to say, but it's just Tessa, arms full of festival paperwork.
"Final checks," she says brightly, then stops. "Lila? What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I turn away, pretending to organize the ribbon drawer. "Tired, I guess. Festival prep."
"Uh-huh." She sets the papers down and comes around the counter. "Want to try that again? Because you look like you've seen a ghost."
"Graham's looking at property listings." The words spill out before I can stop them. "He's planning to leave again. Just like everyone said he would."
"Oh, Lila." Tessa's voice is gentle. "Did he tell you that?"
"He doesn't have to." I slam the ribbon drawer harder than necessary. "First sign of putting down roots and he's already planning his escape. Like last time."
"Are you sure that's what this means?"
"What else could it mean?" I blink hard, refusing to let the tears fall. "I'm such a fool. I actually started to think..." I trail off, remembering the way he carved our initials in that dogwood tree, how real it had felt in that moment.
"Started to think what?"
"That this time would be different." I grab a cloth and start wiping down the already clean counter. "That when he said he never stopped thinking about me, he meant it."
"Lila—"
"I have to finish setting up for tomorrow." I gesture at the neat rows of arrangements waiting to be delivered to the festival grounds. "The weather's supposed to clear by morning."
Tessa looks like she wants to say more, but something in my face must stop her. "Okay. But I’m here if you need to talk"
I nod, not trusting my voice. When she's gone, I walk to the shop window, staring out at the rain-slicked street. The festival banners hang limp and wet, but beyond them, I can make out the garden Graham and I created together. Already, the first blooms are starting to open, promises of beauty to come.
Some promises , I think bitterly, are made to be broken .
I find Graham in our secret garden, adjusting the fairy lights we strung yesterday. The rain has stopped, leaving everything fresh and gleaming in the fading light. For a moment, I almost lose my nerve. He looks so at home here, so much a part of this place we've created together.
"The forecast looks good for tomorrow," he says without turning around. He always could sense when I was near. "Should be perfect weather for the festival."
"When were you planning to tell me?"
He turns then, frowning at something in my voice. "Tell you what?"
"That you're leaving." The words taste bitter. "Again."
"Li—"
"No." I hold up a hand, needing to get this out before I lose my courage. "I get it. Really. I was convenient. Something familiar while you figured out your next move."
"That's not?—"
"You know what the worst part is?" My voice cracks, and I hate myself for it. "I actually started to believe you might stay this time. That all those things you said about never moving on, about wanting to make things right... I thought maybe they were true."
Graham takes a step toward me. "They are true."
"Don't." I back away. "I heard about the realtor. The whole town's talking about it. About how you're looking to move on. Again."
Understanding dawns on his face. "Lila, you've got it wrong?—"
"Do I?" All the hurt I've been holding back bubbles up. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly the same as last time. You show up, make me feel like maybe we have a chance, then start planning your escape."
"That's not what's happening." He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "If you'd let me explain?—"
"What's to explain? You're terrified of staying in one place, of actually dealing with your father, of facing up to the mess you left behind." The words pour out, sharp as thorns. "I'm nothing but your safety net. Something to hold onto while you figure out your next adventure."
"You think this is easy for me?" His voice rises to match mine. "Coming back here, seeing what I walked away from? Do you know how scared I am of messing this up again?"
"Then don't mess it up! Just stay." The last word comes out as a whisper.
"I'm trying!" He gestures at the garden around us. "Everything I've done here, every flower I've planted, every path I've laid—it's all been about proving I can stay. That I want to stay."
"Until you don't." I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the mild evening. "Until it gets too hard or too real or too much like the life you ran away from."
Graham's face goes still. "You really think that's all I'm capable of? Running?"
"I think it's all you've ever shown me."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words and broken promises. A string of fairy lights flickers overhead, casting shadows that dance across his face.
"You're right," he says finally, his voice quiet. "I ran once. Made the biggest mistake of my life. But you're wrong about why I'm here now."
"Graham—"
"No, you've said your piece. Now you get to listen." His eyes lock with mine. "I came back for my father, yes. But I stayed for you. For us. For this town and everything I was too young and stupid to appreciate before."
"Pretty words." I hate how my voice shakes. "But words are easy."
"Then I guess there's nothing left to say." He turns away, shoulders rigid. "The garden's ready for tomorrow. You won't have to deal with me after the festival's over."
I watch him walk away, each step feeling like another goodbye. The fairy lights blur through my tears, and I realize I'm standing in the exact spot where he carved our initials just days ago.