Chapter 17 Ben
Ben
I should be over this by now.
It’s been days since Lila pushed me away. Days since she shut me out and shut me the fuck down.
I’m still pissed.
Because no matter how much I try to focus on the goddamn project, on the business, on anything else, I can’t stop thinking about her.
The way she unravelled beneath me.
The way she begged for more.
The way she looked at me afterward, like I was a mistake she was desperate to erase.
I grit my teeth, gripping the pen in my hand so hard I half expect it to snap.
“You want to run that by me again?” James asks, one brow arched, tone laced with disbelief and a healthy dose of sarcasm.
I don’t bother looking up from the contract. “Increase the offer.”
Silence.
Then a low whistle. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with Ben Ashcroft?”
I keep my eyes on the page. “You heard me.”
James leans forward, tapping the table with his pen. “We’re already offering over market. You planning to buy her a castle too, or just the whole goddamn street?”
I glance up, slowly. “Did I ask for your opinion, or just your signature?”
He grins, unfazed. “Relax, I’m just saying, bit out of character, that’s all. I checked her company out, you know, Bloom & Brew. Solid setup. Good branding and yeah… she’s hot as hell.”
Something sharp flares in my chest.
James doesn’t notice it at first, or maybe he does, the bastard because he keeps going. “Didn’t peg you as the type to let a pretty face scramble your business sense. Unless this is one of those situations where your cock’s doing the talking.”
The chair scrapes hard as I shove back from the table.
His grin slips. “Whoa! Alright, easy. I was kidding.”
I stare him down, jaw tight. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
A beat of silence.
Then James blinks. “Jesus. You’re serious.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
He sits back, still watching me carefully. “Alright… noted.”
I rake a hand through my hair, jaw clenched, the burn in my chest refusing to go out. “It’s a business move.”
“Sure,” James says lightly, but I can hear the shift in his voice, something more thoughtful, more cautious now. “Just making sure you’re still the one steering the ship.”
“I just want it done.”
He nods slowly, tapping the pen against the table again. “Fine. I’ll push it through.”
“Good.”
James leans back, arching a brow. “But if you start buying her flowers and quoting poetry, I’m staging an intervention.”
I glare at him.
He grins again. “See? Now that’s the Ben I know.”
But even he knows it’s not.
Not anymore.
This is the best move. Get the deal sorted. Get the hell out of here.
Just like before.
I grab my phone, checking my emails. Not a single one from her.
Not that I expected anything, Lila made herself clear. I haven’t stepped foot in the cafe since. Not even walked past. Not even had a decent coffee. Maybe that’s what’s really pissing me off. Not the rejection. Not the guilt.
Just caffeine withdrawal.
Right.
I scrub a hand down my face, rolling my neck, trying to shake the tension sitting like lead in my chest. I need to stop thinking about this. Need to focus.
But before I go, before I leave this town for good, there’s one thing left to do.
I glance at my watch, push back from the desk, and grab my coat.
Because it’s been too many years.
It’s time.
*****
The graveyard is quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that seeps into your bones, filling the spaces between your ribs with something you don’t want to name.
The early signs of spring are everywhere.
Snowdrops scattered across the grass, delicate and unbothered by the weight of the past. The sunlight filters through the yew trees, long golden streaks cutting across mossy headstones, casting soft, shifting shadows.
The air is crisp, carrying that damp, earthy scent of old stone and fresh growth.
It doesn’t belong here.
Spring. Renewal.
Not in a place built on endings.
I shove my hands into my coat pockets, my jaw locking as I take the last few steps toward the grave.
Too many years. Too many excuses.
It was never the right time. Never convenient. Never necessary.
But it was all bullshit, wasn’t it?
The headstone is the same as it always was, plain, worn at the edges, the carved letters softened by time. My mother never wanted anything fancy. Never liked to make a fuss. Just the basics, Ben, she’d say. No need to be dramatic.
I exhale sharply through my nose.
If only she could see me now, standing here like a fucking idiot, years too late, with nothing to say.
I drag a hand through my hair, fingers tightening at the back of my neck.
“Hey, mum.”
The words feel wrong. Stupid. Too small for the weight in my chest.
I glance down, and that’s when I see it.
Flowers.
Fresh ones.
Not the sad, store-bought kind, but real, careful arrangements. Small bundles of wildflowers and soft white snowdrops, wrapped in twine, placed neatly at the base of the headstone. Nestled among them, sweet peas.
I stare at them, my pulse slowing, the air around me shifting.
Someone’s been here.
Someone’s been coming here.
A lump forms in my throat, heavy and unexpected, my chest tightening as I kneel, brushing my fingers over the delicate petals.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
I turn.
Mr Hamilton stands a few feet away, hands in his coat pockets, his weathered face unreadable. The last time I saw him, I was seventeen. A kid drowning in grief, visiting this place like it was the only thing keeping me tethered.
I straighten, nodding once. “Mr Hamilton.”
He studies me for a long beat, then exhales. “Been a while.”
I nod again, not trusting myself to speak.
He steps closer, his eyes flicking down to the flowers. “Figured you’d want to know.”
I frown. “Know what?”
He tilts his head. “Who’s been bringing them.”
I already know.
My throat tightens. “Lila–”
Mr Hamilton doesn’t blink. “Every holiday, like clockwork.”
I inhale sharply through my nose, turning away, dragging a hand over my mouth. Lila.
All these years. She never stopped.
She never stopped caring, even when I did.
I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest, the weight of everything suddenly crushing.
Mr Hamilton watches me carefully. “She never said much. Just left the flowers, stood there for a few minutes, and went on her way.”
I clench my jaw, trying to breathe past the tightness in my chest.
His voice lowers. “But the way she looked at that headstone?” He shakes his head. “She never stopped missing you, son.”
My stomach turns, something raw scraping against my ribs.
I should have fucking known.
I look back at the flowers.
Sweat peas. Mum’s favourites. Mum was allergic to most flowers, pollen gave her headaches, made her eyes water. But sweet peas? They were safe. No heavy scent, no sneezing fits. She always said they were the only flowers she’d ever let me bring inside as a kid.
I swallow hard.
Lila would remember that.
Of course she would.
She paid attention to things most people overlooked. The little details. The things that mattered.
Even the things I’d let myself forget.
A goddamn punch to the gut and in that moment, I know.
I can’t leave.
Not like this.
Not again.
Because I finally get it.
She didn’t push me away because she hated me. She pushed me away because she was scared. Scared I’d leave again. Scared I’d destroy her all over again. She kept coming here, she remembered. My hands fist at my sides, my heart pounding harder, my pulse roaring in my ears.
I need to fix this.
I need to fix everything.
Hamilton exhales, stepping back. “Whatever happened between you two…” He nods toward the flowers. “You still have time.”
I clench my jaw, my fists tight at my sides. For a moment, I look at Mr Hamilton, not as the caretaker from my childhood, but as a kid again, hoping someone will tell me it’s not too late. That I haven’t missed my chance.
His gaze holds mine, steady and knowing. Like he already believes I can fix this, even if I’m not sure myself.
But I don’t wait.
I turn and walk away, purpose surging through me.
Because Lila Ng is mine.
This time, I’m not fucking leaving without her.