Chapter Three Lily
CHAPTER THREE
Lily
W hen I get home after my walk from hell—seriously, I question if my pride was worth the extra cardio—I take a cold shower before heading to our garage.
My mom encouraged me to convert it into a small work area last year, although I don’t know how much longer I can keep using it. I’ve outgrown the space, and our neighbor’s band practicing their set list in the garage across the street gives me a headache.
Somehow I tune out the negative thoughts and electric-guitar sounds, focusing instead on the beautiful, all-white bridal bouquet with tulips, snapdragons, and calla lilies I designed for a Lake Aurora bride.
Once my back starts to hurt from being hunched over for too long, I keep myself busy by folding the mountain of dark clothes on my bed.
In the middle of organizing my closet, I send a cardboard box toppling off the top shelf. Colorful clothes fly past me and land in a scattered mess at my feet, a mix of fabrics ranging from frilly and impractical to vibrant and eye-catching.
Ruffles and bows galore, satin skirts in every shade of the rainbow, neon athletic clothes that can be spotted a mile away in the dark, and shoes with hand-painted flowers and butterflies.
My heart painfully clenches as I shove everything back into the box and return it to the shelf before checking my vibrating phone.
I open the Kids’ Table group chat I have with my sister, Dahlia, her boyfriend, Julian, and his cousin, Rafa, who shared a photo of him, Nico, and Ellie, Nico’s nanny, snorkeling in Hawaii.
Nico’s dark hair is sticking up in all directions, similar to his father’s, while Ellie looks like a blonde mermaid.
It’s the smiles on everyone’s faces that make my chest ache in the best kind of way. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen Rafa or Nico look so happy, especially not together, so I comment on how cute they look before sending an SOS message.
ME
Can anyone help me jump-start my car?
RAFA
Again?
JULIAN
Isn’t this the second time in a month?
ME
Yes, but it’s my car this time. Not the company van.
RAFA
In that case, no.
ME
You’re not even in Lake Wisteria right now!
RAFA
I’m speaking on behalf of Julian and myself.
ME
Julian is a strong, independent man who can think for himself.
RAFA
Well, he *thinks* your car is shit, but he’s too nice to say it.
ME
That’s rude.
JULIAN
Maybe, but he’s not exactly wrong…
JULIAN
Your car IS a road hazard.
ME
For who?!
RAFA
Anyone who might be driving behind you.
ME
Unlike some of us who have been in an accident recently, I’m a good driver.
JULIAN
That might be true, but your bumper does fall off if the tape gets too hot.
ME
You know what? Forget I asked for help.
Julian sends me a private message, apologizing for taking his joke too far before offering to pick me up in twenty minutes. I only agree because I can’t survive another walk across town in this weather, although my pride stings a bit at him calling my car shit.
Julian drives around in his dad’s old truck, so I expected him to understand my inability to let mine go, but I guess my Corolla doesn’t have the same appeal as the vintage truck he restored.
Dahlia, who never responded to the group chat, waltzes into my room. “I’ve got some new ideas for the expansion!”
My stomach drops, and my smile along with it, when I see the thick binder in her arms. It’s full of design ideas for Rose & Thorn’s spin-off business—a venture I dreamt up with her a few years ago.
She jumps into big sister mode as soon as she notices the look on my face. “What’s wrong?”
Everything , I want to answer, but the thought of talking to her about the condemnation notice feels impossible, and not because of the NDA.
The pressed-flower business has been on my vision board for three years, ever since I created an art piece for a client who wanted to preserve the bridal bouquet I made her, but it finally became an achievable goal once Rose & Thorn’s sweet, elderly neighbor offered to sell me her shop last month.
Now, thanks to Mayor Ludlow, there won’t be a store on Lavender Lane to buy anymore.
At least not for me .
After spending a year scouting locations around town and being outbid on multiple properties I loved, I can predict that finding a new one won’t be easy. Rental spaces are impossible to come by, and any available properties to purchase are way too expensive to justify the cost.
Hence my predicament.
I take a seat on the corner of my bed. “I’m stressed.”
“About the car?” So she did see our messages.
I nod.
She places the binder on top of my desk before leaning against it. “If you want, we can go visit some dealerships together this weekend. It could be fun to take a few out for a joyride…”
“I don’t want a new car.”
“No, but you need it.”
My gaze drops to the carpet.
She talks when I don’t. “If it’s about money—”
“It’s not, and even if it was, it’s your money, not mine.” I make a good salary managing Rose & Thorn, and I live at my mom’s house, where I only need to chip in for groceries and utilities, so I save most of my income.
“I want to help you.”
“I appreciate it, really, but I love my car.”
She grimaces. “But you know Dad would want you to have a new one if he was still here.”
But he’s not , I want to say.
Similar to Rose & Thorn, the car he bought Dahlia and me is one of the last memories I have of him, so replacing it isn’t an option, even if it’s firing on its last cylinder.
She shakes her head. “Getting a new car doesn’t erase his memory.”
Her comment hits way too close to home, and I look away because I don’t trust myself not to cry.
My sister stands and pulls me into a hug. She’s slightly shorter than me, so her dark hair tickles my nose.
Her arms tighten around me. “I only bring it up because you deserve a car you can rely on.”
“But they don’t make them like they used to anymore.”
“Are you twenty-eight or eighty-two?”
I push her away with a laugh. “Now enough about my car.”
“Fine.” Dahlia heads back to the desk to grab the binder. “Let’s talk about the Pressed Petal.”
“I never agreed on an official name.”
“We’ll keep workshopping it.” She flips the binder open to the first page.
My eyes mist as I check out the mock-ups she created of a showroom full of pressed-flower art pieces. Her design brings the gallery idea I had to another level, telling a visual story of how I turn wedding bouquets I design into works of art for newlyweds.
“It’s…wow.” I clear my tight throat and flip to see the next page, which is a mock-up of the hidden work studio located on the other side of the sales floor-slash-gallery.
Dahlia’s voice cuts through my fantasy turned unachievable dream.
“I still need to figure out what floor and paint samples you like best and what kind of wood species Julian will use for all the custom frames he’ll make, but it’s starting to all come together.” She smiles, and I match it with a much weaker one.
It’s hard not to feel guilty about the entire project given how invested my family is in making it happen. I try to brush the feeling off, but doubt lingers in the darkest shadows of my mind, never letting me fully enjoy my sister’s hard work.
Tomorrow you’ll figure it out , I tell myself.
But today… Today, I can’t.
Julian shows up and invites Dahlia to tag along with us as we head to the Historic District. It’s not a long drive, but it quickly becomes an annoying one when I can’t go more than thirty seconds without being reminded of the mayoral race.
Many lawns are adorned with signs supporting either Lorenzo or Trevor Ludlow. Trevor’s signs outnumber Lorenzo’s, and he probably used his dad’s connections to hang a particularly large banner across the most popular street in the Historic District.
To be honest, I don’t like either candidate for different reasons, although Lorenzo has a lead over Trevor since the former isn’t trying to tear down my shop and all the history that comes with it.
After seeing one too many Vote Vittori signs, I decide to shut my eyes until Julian pulls to a stop.
“Did you forget where you parked?” Dahlia asks.
I sit up and look out the window. “No?”
I’m confused by the vacant spot where my car was parked earlier this afternoon.
“Don’t tell me your car got stolen.” She sounds a bit too excited at the idea.
“I doubt it,” Julian mutters.
“Hey!” I poke him in the shoulder. “I’ll have you know my car made it onto the Top Ten Most Stolen Cars list.”
“In the nineties?”
Dahlia giggles, earning a small smile from Julian. My heart responds with a twinge, followed by the usual sense of yearning.
I want to have a connection like theirs with someone else, but nothing I’ve done has yielded promising results.
I tried a running club (loved the cute outfits, hated the actual running part), I signed up for different dating apps (which I swore off after my experience with Laurence ), and I agreed to a few blind dates (not all of them sucked, but none of them ended with me meeting the love of my life either).
So here I am, a witness to everyone else’s love story after spending so long wishing for mine.
Dahlia breaks through my pity party and asks, “Should we file a report with the sheriff?”
“I guess?” I have no idea who would go through the effort of stealing my car given its current state, but maybe they wanted the parts.
Five minutes later, I follow Dahlia and Julian into the police station. A few people working the phones look up and wave, while two deputies seated at their desks stare at Dahlia and Julian like they might need their handcuffs.
“I hope you two aren’t here to cause trouble.” The sheriff sizes Julian up.
“No, sir.” Julian turns red, and I enjoy the sheepish look on his face too damn much. After he and Dahlia got arrested last year for public indecency, I’m surprised he agreed to walk inside here.
“We’re only here to report that Lily’s car was stolen,” my sister says with a grin, clearly enjoying the way Julian tries to make himself look smaller. Best of luck since the man is built like a linebacker.
The sheriff’s white brows crinkle in my direction. “Where did you last see it?”
“Outside Rose & Thorn.”
Using the radio strapped to his shoulder, the sheriff relays the information to his deputies before asking us a few more questions.
“You two aren’t playing a prank on her, are you?” Suspicion bleeds into his voice.
Dahlia and Julian both shake their heads, and the sheriff reports back to his team. The three of us talk about the latest episode of our favorite reality dating show while we wait for an update.
Finally the sheriff’s radio beeps with an incoming message from one of his deputies. He listens before looking up with raised brows. “Your car is at Manny’s shop?”
I blink twice. “How did it get there?”
The sheriff asks his deputy to get more information, and we all wait to figure out what the heck is going on. It takes the deputy a few agonizingly slow minutes, but he returns to let the sheriff know the car was being repaired at Lorenzo Vittori’s request.
Julian looks irritated at the mere mention of Lorenzo’s name, while Dahlia’s stare is shrouded in suspicion as she turns to look at me.
A few people whisper behind me, probably questioning why I would have anything to do with Lorenzo, and I don’t blame them. In their eyes, we’re like two puzzle pieces that don’t fit together.
I need to do some serious damage control—and fast—but I have no idea where to start.
Thankfully the sheriff breaks the tension by asking, “Would you like to press charges?”
“What?” I ask, completely taken aback by the question.
“Yes,” Julian answers for me.
Dahlia tugs on his shirt. “Julian.”
“He stole Lily’s car without her permission.”
I rub my temple. “He didn’t steal my car.”
“Technically, he did take it without your permission,” the sheriff clarifies.
“You’re not helping,” I mutter before speaking louder. “He was trying to do something nice for me.”
Three sets of eyebrows rise, and instantly my plan to pretend that I hardly know Lorenzo goes up in flames, and he has no one to blame but himself.