Chapter 7 #2
As if even they are wondering what will happen if I finally let someone in.
· · ·
It starts with a message.
Then another.
Before I realize it, I’m checking my phone more this week than I have in years.
We swapped Grindr for texting somewhere around dawn and the notifications aren’t anything profound.
Just Levi’s steady stream of chatter: goofy GIFs, too-long voice notes, occasional selfies with his signature charm.
Mortals forget you by dinner. Levi sends voice notes at midnight. The difference is startling.
Levi: How was your morning, mister?
Me: Productive.
Levi: Ah, another romantic rendezvous with city hall, I presume?
I stare at the screen longer than I should. He’s joking, but it’s disarming how easily he notices the patterns of my life. Most people look right through me; Levi looks and sees. It’s equal parts uncomfortable and addictive, being known in ways I never intended.
Me: You make handling affairs sound like a bad thing.
Levi: Please. You’re there more than the mayor.
The next message arrives an hour later.
Levi: Gin or vodka martinis?
Me: Gin. Vodka is for people afraid of flavor.
Levi: Knew I liked you. A vodka answer would’ve ended this flirtation immediately.
Flirtation. That word again, curling in my thoughts.
And another random burst of Levi’s consciousness.
Levi: Do you believe in ghosts?
I pause, blinking at my phone.
Me: Professionally. Should I ask why?
Levi: Because my apartment is haunted.
Me: Based on?
Levi: Keys vanish. Put them down…gone.
Me: Have you considered absentmindedness?
Levi: Okay, skeptic. Then explain the mysterious cold spot in my kitchen.
Me: Your refrigerator?
Levi: You are no fun.
Me: And you’re procrastinating.
Levi: You’re the one replying, mister. You’re literally fueling my distraction.
I smile despite myself. He’s right; I do keep responding.
Day by day, Levi reveals little details about himself that I store away carefully, because it’s the most forthcoming anyone has been with me in…
who knows how long, and that matters more than it should.
Like the way he insists on something sweet adjacent after dinner, often peanut butter straight from the jar.
Or his list of hypothetical cats: Opal, Agatha, and Britney. (I ignore the last.)
He makes playlists for everything: Driving at Night When You’re Feeling Epic, Songs to Water Your Plants To, even a This Is a Flirting Playlist. I discover he hates being late yet always somehow is, and that he sings unapologetically loud in his car.
He holds oddly fierce competitions over trivial matters like who can name the most state capitals or who can walk longest without stepping on sidewalk cracks.
He’s lived in Stonevale most of his life but feels a strange pull to leave, even though he says he never will.
Most significantly, I realize how much I enjoy talking to him. It’s more distracting than I’d like to admit.
Irene notices first.
I’m at my desk, staring at this week’s funeral schedule, my phone lying innocently beside me. My thoughts aren’t on work; they’re fixed on whether another message from Levi will appear.
Irene clears her throat from my doorway. “Something interesting happening on that phone?”
“No,” I reply swiftly, too swiftly.
She arches an eyebrow, stepping closer. “I’ve never seen you so invested in your screen. Who’s got your attention?”
I avoid her gaze. “No one.”
She folds her arms, grinning. “If you’re this…preoccupied, maybe letting them in isn’t the worst decision.”
I frown, about to respond when my phone vibrates.
Her smile broadens. “Don’t run from this, Hayden.” She leaves the room before I can argue further.
I sigh, grabbing my coat. “I’m stepping out.”
“In the middle of the morning?” Irene calls. “Tell Mr. Wilder hello for me.”
Ignoring her teasing, I head straight to Full Bloom after a quick caffeine detour, two coffees in hand and a flimsy excuse at the ready.
I pause at the shop entrance, aware of how absurd this is.
Me, voluntarily stepping into noise and color, no appointment or agenda.
But I’m here anyway because…I want to be.
Through the window, Levi arranges a bouquet. Sleeves rolled, hair tousled like he’s surrendered mid–attempt at neatness. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, remnants of a blurry late-night message he’d sent: a photo of endless paperwork and a caption, Will sleep ever find me?
Apparently not, if the way he’s suppressing a yawn is any indication.
I hover just inside the entrance, debating if it’s smart to be here at all.
Then, the door swings open behind me, and a woman rushes in like she’s escaping a burning building and the only item saved was the bouquet she’s clutching.
“Oh my god, my wedding’s ruined.”
Levi startles, dropping the ribbon he was holding. “Shit, Emily. What—”
“The bouquet!” she cries. “Levi, you have to help me. It’s hideous.”
I instinctively take a step back, hoping to avoid whatever…this is.
Levi looks wounded and a flush creeps up his neck to his ears. “Emily, you chose the bouquet. We went over it. Multiple times.”
“Well, yeah, now that I’ve seen it in person, I hate it,” she groans. Her pale cheeks are flushed, her movements agitated. “It looks like every other bouquet. I need it to be…” She flails. “Romantic.”
I watch as Levi rubs at his temples. “Can you be a little more specific for me? Because ‘romantic’ is awfully subjective. Do you want more texture? Different colors? Bigger blooms?” Levi eyes the bouquet, his gears clearly turning, and I’m grateful he hasn’t seen me yet because watching him work is fascinating.
“More feeling!” she exclaims. “I want it to look like it means something.”
I shift, feeling like I should be anywhere but here. Feeling and wishing.
The temperature ticks down, the air thinning the way it always does before they appear.
A flicker.
A shape hovers behind her: an older man in a brown jacket, posture stiff and expression unreadable like he’s not quite sure where he belongs in this moment.
It would be easy to ignore this commotion. To step back and let Levi deal with this on his own.
To pretend I don’t see the man—Emily’s father, I’m guessing—linger behind her, as if waiting for something.
But the thing about the dead is that they know when you can see them.
And this one?
He’s looking straight at me.
I tighten my grip around the coffee cups in my hands.
Something about the way the ghost looks at me like he’s asking for something, pleading, makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to acknowledge. Levi’s flush creeps back up his neck as Emily unravels, and I can’t just stand there watching him hold the weight alone.
I sigh, setting the coffees down on the windowsill next to me before I step fully inside and speak.
“Emily,” I say quietly. “Did your father have a favorite flower?”
She startles, eyes snapping to mine as if she’d forgotten I was here in her rush. “Uh…what?”
Levi looks equally confused, his brow furrowed.
I nod toward the bouquet on the counter. “If you want it to feel right, maybe it needs something personal. Something that reminds you of him.”
Emily’s mouth parts slightly, taken aback. “I…my dad,” she whispers, her voice catching in her throat. “He passed a few weeks ago. He was supposed to walk me down the aisle. He was supposed to be here.” The tears start, slow at first and then all at once.
Levi’s entire demeanor shifts. The slight frustration melts away. “Oh, Emily…”
She shakes her head quickly. “It’s fine. I just…I don’t know. I guess I wanted him to be a part of it somehow, and the bouquet, it’s beautiful. It just feels…empty.”
In her father’s jacket pocket, a single pale daisy, trembling like it’s waiting to be noticed. I shouldn’t intervene further. Before I can stop myself, the word slips out: “Daisies.”
Emily blinks at me. “What…?”
I clear my throat. “Your father. Did he like daisies?”
Her eyes widen. “Oh my god. He planted them every summer.”
Levi’s forearm pebbles with goosebumps; his eyes flick between us, then to the bouquet. His fingers brush over the petals, thoughtful, before he reaches for a small pair of shears.
“We can add them,” he says finally. “Just a few woven in.”
He moves without hesitation, plucking daisies from a nearby bucket. His touch is delicate but certain, checking symmetry, turning them, nodding as if they’ve passed some unspoken test.
Then, with a quiet kind of reverence, he begins tucking them into the bouquet.
Emily watches, her misty eyes following every movement. And I, surprisingly, am watching, too.
There’s something intentional about the way Levi works.
He doesn’t just place flowers, he transforms them, weaving them in so they look like they’ve always belonged there.
He murmurs something under his breath as he adjusts the last one, nothing I catch, just a small note to himself in quiet satisfaction.
Levi’s smile falters for just a second. He glances at me, at Emily’s tear-streaked face, at the bouquet now threaded with daisies. There’s a hint of something…curiosity, maybe. Or doubt. I look away before he can ask.
“There,” he finally says, stepping back to inspect his work. “What do you think?”
Emily exhales, a hand to her chest. “It’s…perfect.”
Levi smiles, soft and warm, before ushering her to the register to finalize the details, and I stand rooted, unmoving, something heavy settling in my chest. I’ve seen a great many things. But watching Levi take something unfinished and make it whole again feels…
Well, it feels like something worth paying attention to. I should look away. Should give him some privacy. But I can’t. There’s something honest about the way he moves, like he believes in beauty for beauty’s sake.
Like the act of making something better is always worth the effort.
Eventually, the door swings shut behind Emily, leaving an unexpected hush. Levi exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Well, that was…something.”
I nod, watching him carefully.
He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “That was…weirdly specific, Hayden. How did you know that?”
“Pattern recognition,” I deflect, sipping coffee. “Luck, if you prefer.”
Levi’s eyes narrow, filing the moment away under “odd” before tilting his head toward the second cup. “Is that for me?”
I hesitate, just for a second, then pass it to him. “You said you didn’t sleep much.”
His expression shifts, touched, before he grins and reaches for it. His fingers brush against mine, a spike of much-needed warmth.
“Is this your version of foreplay?” he muses, groaning as the caffeine hits. “Showing up with coffee like some romantic antihero?”
I huff, shaking my head. “You’re a handful.”
He winks. “But that’s why you’re here.”
He’s not wrong.
Levi sips, watching me over the rim like he’s trying to see me. Really see me.
And, in what feels like a first, I don’t mind being seen.