Chapter 6 #2
He exhales softly, a cautious expression plastered all over his face like he’s bracing for something he’s heard one too many times.
“I know how people in this town talk,” he says, the light above the door shifting harsher shadows over his expression.
“The whispers and rumors about how I must prefer solitude. People think I enjoy being the town’s recluse, but it’s not always by choice.
” A humorless breath leaves him. “It was never about preference.”
I can see it clearly now: His solitude isn’t a quirk. It’s armor. Carefully forged and worn so long it looks like part of him. He’s built walls not to keep people out, but maybe to see who, if anyone, is willing to climb them.
Guilt claws at me. “Hayden, I’m sorry. I was teasing, and it didn’t land.”
His eyes soften a fraction, but he remains quiet, taking in my words. I debate taking another step forward, but considering how I feel like I’m already teetering dangerously on thin ice, I remain rooted in place.
“Tonight was great,” I continue, “not because you’re mysterious or whatever dumb thing I just said, but because I genuinely enjoyed your company.”
Hayden studies my face, searching like he’s looking for the catch. “Levi,” he begins, “it’s been a long time since someone wanted to get to know me.”
The strained honesty in his voice hits me deeply, lodging somewhere between my ribs. “Well, you’re in luck, because I do. I’m here because I want to be.”
He takes a slow breath but straightens suddenly, retreating behind his carefully maintained reserve. “I should go,” he decides, stepping back.
“Hayden, wait…” My heart sinks at the sudden withdrawal.
He shakes his head softly, eyes still gentle but resolute. “Good night, Levi.”
He climbs the stairs, polished shoes clicking against each step.
My heart beats faster as I watch him disappear through the front door, darkness swallowing him like a secret kept safe.
When the door shuts softly behind him, I’m left standing alone, the chilly night suddenly feeling enormous and impossibly quiet.
Hands in pockets, I replay every word. Hayden gave me a glimpse of something raw beneath his guard. Not mystery, but ache. I get the sense it’s something he doesn’t give away easily. And I know one thing: I won’t be another person who lets him fade quietly into the background.
I walk back through the silent streets, determined to find a way through his walls.
Brick by careful brick.
· · ·
Monday morning arrives unfairly fast.
I’m back in the shop, facing a towering stack of résumés, while Elijah, three espressos deep, radiates the kind of unsettling excitement usually reserved for villains mid-monologue.
I spent the weekend in agony, replaying every foot-in-mouth moment with Hayden, literally resisting the urge to show up at his door with an elaborate bouquet like flowers could fix what I’d stirred up.
Elijah, who is vibrating beside me, adjusts his tortoiseshell glasses and glances at his laptop. “Next candidate’s running late,” he announces. “Automatic deduction of points.”
He thrives on judging people, which is why I asked him to help hire an intern. Not just because he’s my best friend, whose opinion I trust implicitly, but as a college professor (and reigning HOA president, a title he wields like a diplomatic immunity), he’s made a career of assessing competence.
Or, lack thereof.
I roll my eyes and stretch out beneath the table.
We’ve been holed up in Full Bloom’s back room for two hours now, cycling through a mixed bag of hopeful applicants.
An intern is supposed to ease my burden, help me navigate spreadsheets, grants, volunteer schedules.
But so far, candidates have either wildly misunderstood the assignment or caused me to question if I’d rather suffer through it alone.
Some people romanticize being a small-business owner.
Those people have clearly never spent their midnights reordering potting soil and azaleas, drafting an expense report with one hand and eating cold takeout with the other.
Because operating a successful business in a town this size means wearing twelve hats all at once.
Florist, accountant, marketer, therapist…
and now, community project manager. The garden’s just one more spinning plate I simply can’t afford to drop.
I flop dramatically onto the table. “Tell me the truth. I’m going to regret this entire process, aren’t I?”
Elijah smirks, tapping his coffee. “Oh, absolutely. This is karma for serving me…whatever this is.”
“At least one of us is having fun.”
“Oh, I’m thriving,” he assures me, sipping again.
We lapse into silence, the low hum of the shop’s ancient heater filling the air.
Sandwiched between unfinished bridal bouquets and scattered seedlings, we’ve cobbled together a makeshift station: two folding chairs facing a third, a card table that’s clearly seen better days, and a single ivy plant looking perkier than I feel.
“You seem preoccupied,” Elijah says finally, interrupting my anxious rearrangement of the résumés for the third time.
I glance up, feigning innocence. “Do I?”
He makes a skeptical sound. “Levi, please. You just alphabetized résumés by middle initial.”
I sigh, slumping into my chair. “Fine, I’m a little preoccupied. Happy now?”
“Delighted,” Elijah responds, studying me over the rim of his coffee cup. He pauses, tapping his fingers on the cardboard sleeve. “Can I guess why?”
“Please don’t,” I groan, pressing my palms to my eyes. “I can practically hear your smugness already.”
He ignores me completely, leaning closer and lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Does it involve a certain tall, dark, devastatingly handsome funeral director you brought to trivia night?”
“Okay, first off, I did not bring him. He showed up voluntarily. Completely independently.”
“And yet,” he muses, “there he sat, right next to little old you. All evening.”
“And second,” I continue stubbornly, “even if I did like that—which I’m not admitting, for the record—I have plenty of other things to worry about right now.”
“Sure you do,” Elijah teases. “Are we picturing Hayden Harlow as ‘pin me to the door’ or ‘read me poetry and then ruin me’?”
I shake my head, biting back a reluctant smile. “Remind me again why we’re friends?”
“Because I offer unparalleled emotional support, expert judgment, and ruthless honesty,” he replies, sipping his coffee smugly. “All of which you clearly need right now while you’re dealing with Stonevale’s broodiest bachelor.”
I lean back, shoulders slumping. “Look, about that…” I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. “We might have to tone down the teasing about Hayden’s whole…mysterious loner thing.”
Elijah’s expression immediately shifts to curiosity. “Did something happen?”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “He mentioned feeling like Stonevale’s favorite joke. I think he’s sensitive, and I didn’t realize how much we might’ve been poking at something real.”
Elijah’s face softens. “Oh, honey. We didn’t mean…”
“I know,” I say quickly. “Me neither. But maybe we just ease off on the teasing until he feels more comfortable.”
He nods, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. “Say no more. We’ll dial it back and roast with consent, I promise.”
I pause, narrowing my eyes at him. “Now, how do we break this gently to Dominic? His snarky ass might short-circuit if we ask him to reel it in.”
Elijah chuckles. “Oh, he’ll pout, but he’ll manage. Probably. Maybe.” He winces slightly. “Actually? We might have to bribe him.”
I roll my eyes. “He really is a complicated one, huh?”
“And yet,” Elijah says, leaning back in his chair, “we keep him around. So…you’re into this guy, huh?”
“Hayden’s…just interesting.”
Elijah crosses his arms. “Interesting as in ‘life-ruining, bad-decision’ interesting or ‘I can’t stop replaying trivia night over and over’ interesting?”
“Neither,” I protest weakly. “He’s reserved. Decent. And you saw him at trivia. Infuriatingly knowledgeable.”
Elijah slaps his hands on the table, making me jump. “Ah, yes. Decent and knowledgeable. Truly tragic qualities in a man.”
I groan dramatically, but it does nothing to suppress my laughter.
Over the next two and a half hours, the interviews begin to blur together. One oversharer, one incessant phone-checker, one guy convinced it was a landscaping gig. But just as hope is about to flatline, Elijah perks up.
“Next up, Naomi Kapoor.”
A young woman strides in with an open smile, her thick, wavy hair gliding just past her shoulders. Her denim overshirt and cropped pants are professional yet youthful. Like she knows she belongs exactly here.
“Hi! Levi, Elijah…thanks so much for making time to meet me,” she says, offering a firm handshake.
“Glad you could make it, Naomi. Ready?”
She nods eagerly. “Absolutely.”
We settle into our seats. Me, nervous optimism; Elijah, neutral scrutiny; Naomi, confident poise.
“So,” I begin, scanning her résumé, “you’re a third-year business major at Stonevale College with a minor in environmental science. Interesting combo. Can I ask why you chose those fields?”
Her face lights up. “I’ve always loved plants. My grandmother had the most incredible garden. But I’m equally fascinated by business. Marketing, budgets, planning…the invisible threads that help things thrive.”
Elijah tilts his head. “Spreadsheets in your veins, huh?”
She laughs easily. “Something like that. I’ve handled budget proposals for campus sustainability programs, organized charity fundraisers…wrangled thirty-two volunteers for a zero-waste fair with only pizza and a free Canva trial. I’d love to bring those skills to a community project like yours.”
Elijah gives me a subtle but significant nod.
“Have you been following the community garden plans?” I ask.
Naomi brightens further. “Definitely. Your ‘Blossom in Winter’ fundraiser was genius. I shared it on campus and it generated genuine excitement. Students keep asking when they can volunteer.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. Her words validate the late nights, the crumpled drafts, the second-guessing. This project isn’t just another line on my anxious to-do list; it’s a love letter to Stonevale, a town that has given me everything, even when it took so much away.
“That’s…honestly great to hear,” I say. “Sometimes it feels like shouting into the void.”
“Oh, you’re not,” she assures me. “And if I can help streamline grant applications, schedule volunteers, or even help plan your next event…I’d be thrilled. This project perfectly bridges sustainability and community outreach. It’s exactly the kind of work I’m passionate about.”
Elijah leans in, intrigued. “You’re comfortable managing volunteers and contacting local businesses for sponsorships?”
“Absolutely. Plus, I’ve done some basic graphic design. Not professional level, but enough to get eyes on your events.”
I glance at Elijah, fighting back a grin. Naomi Kapoor is the missing puzzle piece. Organized, passionate, competent. “That’s fantastic.”
Elijah smiles at her, a rarity during this process. “And you wouldn’t mind working alongside this colorful weirdo?”
Naomi laughs. “Are you kidding? I’ve never met a colorful weirdo I didn’t like.”
Her enthusiasm is infectious, sunshine personified. We finish the interview effortlessly, discussing day-to-day expectations and answering her thoughtful questions.
Once Naomi exits, the door closing behind her, Elijah and I exhale.
“So,” I ask cautiously, “she was great, right?”
Elijah taps his pen. “Exceptional. If you don’t hire her, I’m staging an intervention.”
I laugh, relief flooding my chest. “Noted. I’ll send the offer tonight.”
He closes his laptop, leaning back. “Good. Now you can cross something major off your anxious little to-do list.”
“They’re meticulous notes,” I insist, faking offense.
“Anxious little notes,” he repeats lovingly.
I roll my eyes, standing and stretching. “Alright, let’s go. I’ve got an offer letter to write, and maybe I’ll casually remind Hayden trivia’s every Friday.”
He shakes his head fondly. “You’re unbearable.”
“Me? I’m just looking out for our trivia team’s best interests.”
Elijah snorts as we leave the cluttered office behind. But deep down, I know the truth. If I can draw Hayden Harlow back into our chaotic circle, maybe the mask slips.
And when it does, I want to be there to see him. Not the mystery. Him.