Chapter Two
Lila
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the funeral?” I ask, glancing down at the clock face of my phone. It dawns on me that he might be here to pick up flowers for his deceased father, but that doesn’t ring true with the man I know. Or the man I used to know, I guess.
He chuckles softly, a bitter edge to the laughter. “I figured I’d be fashionably late. You know how the old man hated when I’d make a scene.”
I almost feel bad for him.
He shifts his weight, putting both elbows on the counter and leaning closer to me, his scent - something crisp and clean like fresh mountain air after a snowfall - fills my lungs.
He lowers his voice as if we are sharing secrets.
But I’m fooled; I’m not someone he can share secrets with. Hell, he couldn’t even tell me he was leaving all those years ago. I’m not special to him, and I probably never was. “I doubt anyone would even notice if I didn't show up,” he says, his gaze distant for a moment before all his attention focuses on me.
“I came here because this place holds a piece of the past that I can't seem to let go of.”
On the surface, his words seem sweet, flirty even, but I know better. Deep down, beneath the layers of charm and wit, I can sense the pain still swirling within him, a pain that had drawn me to him when I was a teenager who thought her love could fix all.
He’d taught me better.
As I think about the past, my heart aches with a mixture of longing and resentment. His sweet words still somehow hold the power to unravel me with just those few carefully chosen words. His piercing gaze and familiar voice still feel like home, and I can feel the walls I built around my heart beginning to crumble in his presence. I can’t do that. I can’t let him in. Not again.
I’d learned that lesson the hard way - through pain and heartbreak.
Staying guarded is the only way to survive Fredrick.
I clear my throat, trying to push down all the emotions threatening to surface and derail my life. “What do you mean by that?” I ask, confronting him and calling him out on this toxic behavior.
I mean, did he really think he could walk back in here a decade later and everything would go back to the way it was before he left?
He pauses for a moment, as if debating some internal ideas. Then, with a sigh, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a faded photograph. I recognize it before he unfolds the image; it’s a picture of us, taken years ago in front of this very flower shop. We were both smiling, our faces filled with genuine happiness and youthful affection for one another.
“You know, we’re in the digital age. No need to keep physical pictures anymore,” I say.
His gaze softens as he looks down at the photograph in his hand, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face before he composes himself and meets my gaze. “What makes you think I don’t have digital copies?” he asks in a lighthearted voice before the seriousness creeps back in. “This picture reminds me of a time when everything felt right in the world. When I still believed I had it all figured out.” He lets out a mirthless chuckle.
I know better than to feel bad for him.
He’d made his decisions as an adult and now he had to face the consequences. That wasn’t on me or anyone else.
I study him, trying to figure him out. Somehow the stress and the years have barely touched him. He still has that ruggedly handsome look I always found so appealing with his thick, brown hair and reddish-brown eyes. Part of me craves what we’d shared when we were young, but the smart part of me knows that path holds only pain.
I’d never make that mistake again.
In spite of knowing better, a part of me softens toward him, old wounds reopening despite my best efforts to keep them sealed shut. I can't afford to let my guard down again, not when the damage from his vanishing act still lingers, raw, unhealed, and threatening to weep.
“I’m not holding onto the past, Fredrick,” I say softly, truly feeling bad for him as his gaze meets mine once more. “I’m sorry you still are. But we both need to move on.”
His expression tightens. “That’s all you had to say.” With those words, he turns to leave.
I watch him go, the familiar ache in my chest threatening to overpower me. This moment reminds me that it is always like this with Fredrick - a whirlwind of emotions that leaves me reeling in his wake and feeling nothing but pain.
But this time, things will be different. This time, I won't let myself get caught up in the storm of his sudden reappearance in my life.
As he disappears through the door, the jingle of the bell signaling his departure, I take a deep breath and force myself to focus on the task at hand. But the sunflowers seem a little less brighter somehow. Still, the arrangements and orders needed to be finalized, and I can't afford to be distracted by thoughts of a past that was better left buried.
Fredrick may have come back into my life unexpectedly, but I won't allow him to disrupt the fragile peace I have worked so hard to build in his absence.
This flower shop is my sanctuary, my refuge from the chaos of the outside world and the people in my life. And I won't let anyone, not even him, shatter the contentment I fought so hard to maintain.
A moment later, the bell dings again, warning me that someone has walked in. I glance up into Fredrick’s eyes, a sense of impending doom settling within my belly.
“One more thing,” he says, his tone gritty and dark. “I need flowers.”
I nod. “How can I help?”
“I need a wisteria arch.”
I tilt my head, wondering why anyone would get something like that for a funeral. But I’m not sure I want to tell him his idea is inappropriate. A wisteria arch is more in line with a wedding than a funeral. I must have hesitated too long, because his eyes narrow and he settles back onto his heels, and his arms cross his chest.
“I can do that, but not at the last second like this,” I say.
He arches an eyebrow. “Last second? Oh, I don’t need it now.”
Well, that leaves the funeral. So, what does he need a wisteria arch for? And does he remember they are my favorite flower? I know how I can find out the answer to at least one of those questions. “Okay. What would you like me to put on the card?”
A sinister smile spreads across his face. “Oh, no card needed. This is for a wedding.”
An icy chill settles into my bones. “A wedding?” I want to ask who is getting married, and he must see the questions echoing in my eyes, because he nods his head.
“Yes, a wedding. My wedding.” He sounds so pleased, but all I can think about is how much it hurts to once again be left out of the loop. I didn’t know he was engaged. Had I misunderstood the whole point of his visit?
I force a smile to my frozen face, my heart sinking at the news of his upcoming wedding. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks - Fredrick isn't back to rekindle our past flame or apologize for running away without so much as a goodbye all those years ago.
He is here to rub the news about his new beginning in my face; a new beginning that doesn't include me. As much as I try to suppress the hurt, it bubbles up inside me, threatening to spill over.
Then I remind myself that this is for the best. If he marries someone else, he’ll have no reason to come back here to me.
So, why does that thought hurt?
“Congratulations,” I say, hoping my bright voice doesn’t sound too forced or false. The air feels heavy around us, thick with unspoken words and tension that leaves my lungs burning and starved for oxygen.
I can’t believe he’d done all of this; showed up here, made me think about the past, only to turn around and tell me he has someone else in his life. What a cruel game.
His smug smile wavers slightly, as if he senses that I’m not actually happy for him, but that I’m mad at his childish, awful behavior.
“Thank you.” His voice holds no hint of remorse. Instead, he sounds like everything is going to plan. “I don’t have the date yet, but I’d like the reservation on the books, and I’ll have a solid date in a few days.”
Well, that is certainly an odd way to do things. Everything about this moment feels like a set-up, but I’m not about to accuse him of something that ugly.
Instead, I plaster on a fake smile, nodding and jotting down the information he provides with a somehow steady hand. “Of course, just let me know, and I’ll make sure to have everything ready for you,” I say, my voice coming out much colder than I intend.
I don’t want him to know that deep down, I am seething with a mix of hurt and anger at his audacity. How dare he waltz back into my life and drop this bombshell on me? Why would he want me of all people to handle any aspect of his wedding?
To hurt me, of course.
There is no other logical explanation. But in that moment, I promise myself I’ll never let him see how much his words cut through me.
He seems to hesitate before turning as if to leave. Then he swivels back toward me, his eyebrows knitting together.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, his gaze piercing right through me as I swallow hard and nod, hoping he won’t see through the lie. A bitter taste settles on my tongue as we stare one another down for a moment, neither of us willing to just say the words on our minds.
Finally, he shrugs his shoulders. “If you say so.” With that, he turns to go, the bell chiming once more as he leaves me alone in the quiet of my flower shop.
Running my hands up my chilled arms from elbows to shoulders, I scan the comforting sights of this place I’ve worked so hard to build up since May had to stop working so many hours. But now the space feels tainted, overrun by a ghost of a past love I thought would leave me alone for good.
I’m glad his future doesn’t include me. I don’t think I could survive another round of the whiplash he gives me every time we see one another.
As I take a moment to collect myself, I refuse to acknowledge or name the emotions boiling within me. They don’t deserve recognition. Or maybe he doesn’t. I’m not sure which, but I’m mad. Big mad.
With an exhale and a whole lot of determination crowding my mind, I set my jaw and focus on the sunflowers. No matter what games he wants to play, I’m too busy to take part in them. After all, he can’t ruin my life if I don’t let him.
END OF THE SAMPLE!