Chapter 13
Hayden
I didn’t sleep.
Not for a lack of trying. I went through the motions.
Lights off, sheets pulled tight, Seby balled at the foot of the bed, but my mind refused to cooperate.
Instead, it replayed one moment over and over, the needle catching on one groove: Levi’s lips on mine.
As if memory wanted to make sure I understood what it meant to be alive.
I’ve kissed plenty of people before. Demi-gods, mortals, everything in between. The act wasn’t new. But this felt…different.
I can still feel the weight of it now, even as I sit at the kitchen table, my usual breakfast of toast, eggs, and black coffee in front of me, untouched. Seby is curled in my lap, his tail flicking lazily against my knee, oblivious to my existential crisis.
I scratch behind his ears, staring blankly.
The kiss didn’t undo me. Being wanted did. What it could mean if I let it. I shake the thought off, trying to redirect my focus to the mundane comfort of my routine, but it doesn’t help.
And neither does work, it would appear.
Irene’s off today. Some rare appointment she takes once a year to remind me that yes, even she has a life outside of keeping me from drowning in administrative chaos.
I default to the prep room, gloves on, standing over Mr. DeLuca, a man I never met in life but with whom I shared his first moments after death. I’m useless for what comes next, but I can still…be here.
“Well,” I mutter, adjusting his collar with unnecessary precision. “I’d ask how you’re faring, but I think we both know the answer.”
Silence, of course. Though not empty…it carries the residue of a life just ended, lingering in the room with me.
I sigh, leaning slightly against the counter. “I kissed someone.” The words hang there, absurd in their simplicity. I kissed someone. Like I’m narrating a diary entry instead of confessing to a corpse.
Seby would’ve shown more judgment if he were here, but Mr. DeLuca keeps his opinions to himself. I glance down at him. “He’s…” I pause, trying to find the right words. None come, so I settle for, “Annoyingly bright. Quite verbose.” My lips tug. “I like him.”
The fluorescent lights hum overhead, filling the silence where Mr. DeLuca’s advice would go if he had any.
By early afternoon, my to-do list has been completed.
My phone buzzes. I expect an appointment reminder or an email inquiry about a memorial service. Or maybe a message from Irene checking in to ensure I haven’t burned the place down. But it’s none of that.
A photo. Levi, sun-drenched and indecently cheerful, freckles scattered across his nose like constellations. Behind him, flowers in every shade imaginable. The caption reads Hard at work, clearly.
I stare at it longer than necessary. I should ignore it. There’s work I could do, paperwork to pretend to file. Instead, I’ve got my keys in hand before I’ve even fully decided to leave.
I’ve learned Stonevale’s farmers market doesn’t believe in things like “weekends.” It runs whenever the town feels like gathering.
And for a weekday, the town square is packed anyway.
Most of Stonevale’s businesses close early to mingle in a patchwork of tents and stalls, each bursting with local produce, handmade goods, and the kind of community cheer I tend to avoid.
But not today.
Maybe it’s the weather, the hum of a street performer. Or maybe it’s just Levi, smiling at strangers, existing the way he does. Unapologetically turned up, like he’s never once thought to dim himself.
I spot him before he sees me.
His booth is a riot of color. Blooms spilling over the edges, their petals catching the daylight vibrantly.
He’s talking animatedly to a customer, his hands moving wildly as he explains plant care with that infectious smile.
The one that feels like it’s meant for everyone yet still manages to hit me square in the chest.
When his gaze finally lands on me, his whole face lights up.
I brace for impact.
“Hayden!”
He rounds the booth before I can mentally prepare, pulling me into a hug without hesitation. I stand there, stiff, because truly, what the hell do I do with my hands? I force myself to relax, before he pulls away, grinning like I’ve just made his day by existing in his proximity.
“You’re…here!”
“I was in the area.” Even my lies sound like confessions around him.
Levi’s eyes flick toward city hall across the square, that maddening perceptive glint in them. “Aka your favorite place in Stonevale?” I shrug, pretending not to hear the question, and thankfully, he continues, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I thought you didn’t like crowds.”
“I don’t.” I glance around pointedly. “This confirms it.”
He laughs, nudging me playfully. “Well, you’ve either had a personality transplant, or you missed me.”
“Third option: I needed fresh air.”
“Mm-hm, sure,” he says, not buying it.
Before I can come up with a better deflection, a young woman pops up from behind the booth, her clipboard in hand like she’s conducting a high-stakes mission.
“Hayden, right?” She’s all smiles, clearly thrilled to rope me into whatever plan she’s masterminding.
“You should sponsor a flower bed. A donation gets your name on a plaque and my eternal gratitude.” She’s armed with facts, stats, and a pitch that could charm a brick wall.
“We’re raising funds for irrigation upgrades,” she adds proudly, like this isn’t her first time strong-arming donors for Levi’s cause.
Levi rolls his eyes fondly. “And this is my incredibly passionate intern, Naomi.”
I glance at Naomi, then back to Levi, who’s turned to help another inquiring customer. Without overthinking it, which seems to be a theme for me lately, I pull out my wallet.
Two, I mouth, reaching for my credit card.
Her eyes light up as she extends the card reader she had at the ready.
By the time Levi turns back, I’m pretending to inspect a pot of succulents.
“You sponsored one?” he asks, surprised.
I shrug. “Seemed like a good cause.”
His hand finds my sleeve. “Thank you.”
I’m still adjusting to the fact that I’m standing in the middle of Stonevale’s bustling farmers market when two familiar faces appear.
Dominic and Elijah, Levi’s friends. I’d practically sprinted out of their Valentine’s bash so I’m sure that’s left a lasting impression.
They approach the booth in step, sunglasses shielding their eyes, composed in the way of people who’ve always been comfortable in a crowd.
“It’s almost time,” Dominic announces. Dramatically.
Levi perks up instantly, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “Already?” He checks his watch, then turns to me. “You’re in luck. Today’s the town’s annual soup cook-off.”
I blink, like I’m supposed to know what that is. “The…what now?”
“The Stonevale Souper Bowl,” Elijah adds like this is sacred knowledge. “Biggest event of the season. Rivals that one sporting event, honestly.”
Levi nudges Elijah with his elbow. “Let’s manage expectations here…but I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.” He glances at Naomi, who’s still manning the flower booth, clipboard tucked under her arm. “You good to hold down the fort for a little bit?”
She waves him off like he’s insulting her competence. “I’ve got this.”
“You people really host a soup competition in the middle of the workday?” I ask.
Levi grins. “Stonevale believes in priorities, sir. Soup first, capitalism second.”
And just like that, I’m swept into something I neither signed up for nor fully understand.
· · ·
I don’t know how it happened.
One minute I’m walking beside Levi, the next I’m standing in the brightly lit chaos of Stonevale High’s gymnasium, surrounded by folding tables, slow cookers, and the inescapable scent of simmering broth.
Knife in hand, a pile of carrots waiting to be decimated. Finally, a system.
“How did I get here?” I mutter to no one in particular.
Levi leans over, tossing a handful of herbs into a giant pot without a care in the world. “You volunteered.”
“That’s a bold take on what actually happened.”
He shrugs, unbothered, his sleeves rolled up and strong forearms on full display. “Same thing.”
I focus on the carrots, chopping with meticulous precision. Each piece is uniform, perfectly diced like the vegetables might judge me if I get it wrong. Levi is the opposite. No measurements, just vibes. Stirring, gesturing, talking to everyone, and somehow not burning anything.
It’s…admittedly sexy. Which is, frankly, inconvenient for soup. Because order keeps me functional but Levi’s brand of chaos makes me feel alive. It’s only fitting he’d provide both.
I’m mid-chop when my gaze drifts across the gym and freezes.
Irene.
My Irene. The woman who schedules my life, runs my funeral home, and occasionally reminds me that paperwork is not, in fact, optional.
She’s here. Apron on. Name embroidered.
I set the knife down and make my way over, dodging stray toddlers and overly eager soup enthusiasts.
“Irene?” I say, half expecting her to vanish like an apparition. She doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps stirring her pot with laser focus. “What are you doing here?”
Without looking up, she replies, “Maintaining precedent.”
I blink. “I thought you had the day off.”
“And?” She finally spares me a glance, arching an eyebrow. “This is what I do with it.”
“Competitive soup-making?”
“Correct.” She returns to her stirring, unbothered. I watch her for a beat, trying to reconcile the woman who reminds me to sign invoices with the one aggressively seasoning a pot of what I assume is some form of liquid gold.
“Is this…a hobby?” I ask cautiously.
She sighs, setting her spoon down with the patience of someone indulging a fussy child. “It’s not a hobby, Hayden. It’s a legacy.”
I stare. “A legacy.”
She gestures vaguely around the room. “I’ve been champion eight years running.”