3. Lilah
CHAPTER THREE
lilah
The smell hits me before my brain catches up. "Shit." Smoke curls up from the toaster, and I stab the cancel button and pull the bagel free. One side's black, the other isn't much better. I stare at it for a second before dropping it into the trash.
I've never burnt breakfast before.
The kettle starts whistling. I pour the coffee and lean against the kitchen counter, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
I barely slept after the nightmare. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lucy.
Every time I started drifting off, I'd hear a noise from somewhere in the building and my heart would be racing before I was fully awake.
The apartment across the hall door clicks shut. I don't even realize I've moved toward the window until I'm standing in front of it.
Tempest steps out of the building a few moments later.
I'd noticed his road name stitched above the pocket of his leather cut months ago, even if we'd barely spoken before yesterday.
He twirls his keys around one finger as he heads toward the motorcycle parked at the curb.
He pulls on his helmet, swings a leg over the bike, and the engine rumbles to life a second later.
I watch until he disappears around the corner. My coffee has gone cold. I blink and look down at the mug in my hand.
What am I doing? I don't make a habit of watching my neighbors; I don't even know his last name.
The only thing I know about him is that he steps back when I need space.
That shouldn't matter, but it does, and I hate that it does.
With a sigh, I pour the cold coffee down the sink, make another bagel, actually paying attention to it this time, and finish getting ready for work.
I grab my keys and my bag before heading out. The hallway's empty. I lock the apartment, test the handle once, then head downstairs. I alternate between walking and driving to work. Today, I need groceries after my shift, so the car wins.
The parking lot is already filling up. I unlock my car, glance into the back seat before climbing in, then lock the doors behind me.
Another habit, one I don't think I'll ever break. I pull out into the morning traffic, the radio filling the silence with voices I don't really listen to.
Most mornings, I use the drive to clear my head; today, it only gives my thoughts somewhere to wander.
I keep thinking about my neighbor, not because he's handsome—he’s beyond handsome—or because he’s the first man I've spoken to in years.
But because he noticed that I froze on the apartment steps and that I needed space, which he gave me without asking for an explanation. He just... stepped back.
The light ahead turns red, and I stop behind a line of cars and tap my fingers against the steering wheel.
My mind whirling, maybe it didn't mean anything, maybe that's just who he is.
The light changes and I drive the rest of the way to the florist wondering why I can't stop thinking about the man that lives next door to me.
I park outside the florist and by the time I switch off the engine, I've almost convinced myself I won't think about him again.
Cara is already in the back when I arrive, stripping leaves from a bucket of eucalyptus. She looks up over the top of her glasses as I hang my coat and pull on my apron. "You look terrible," she says softly, her eyes gazing over me as she assesses me.
"Good morning to you too," I reply a little sassily.
"How much did you sleep?"
I shrug. "Enough."
She gives me a look of disbelief, but thankfully, doesn’t press the matter. “There's fresh coffee on."
I give her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
I pour myself a coffee and get started on the morning orders.
Buckets of fresh flowers line the workbench.
I sort through the ranunculus first, stripping the leaves from the bottom of each stem before cutting them to length.
A few are already starting to turn, so I set them aside for the compost bin and keep going.
"Louise called in," Cara says from the other end of the bench. "She's running a little late."
"I can cover the front."
"I know you can," she tells me as I reach for another stem. "You're taking a lunch break today."
I shake my head. "I'm fine."
"I didn't say you weren't." I glance up at her words and see that Cara's looking at me over the top of her glasses. "I said you're taking a lunch break."
"Cara..."
"Lilah," she imitates, and I sigh. "You've worked through lunch three times this week. At noon, you're leaving this shop, finding yourself something to eat, and staying gone for an hour."
"That's crazy."
She tsks at me, shaking her head. "It's called a lunch break, it’s mandatory, Louise said so herself."
"I don't need an hour."
Cara doesn't even look up. "You're getting one."
I sigh. "There's a delivery at one."
"I'll do it."
"The wedding order—"
"It'll still be here when you get back." She snips another stem, calm as anything. "Noon, Lilah."
I know that tone; I've heard it enough over the last past two years to know arguing is a waste of breath. "Fine."
"I'll believe that when I see you walking out the door."
A laugh slips out before I can stop it, and I see Cara’s little smile as she goes back to work.
The bell above the door jingles a few minutes later, and a woman in navy scrubs steps inside, her hair tied up in a messy knot on the top of her head; she’s got a sweet smile on her lips as she steps close to the counter.
"I'm looking for flowers," she says. "One of the nurses is retiring tomorrow."
I return her smile. Helping people pick out flowers is one of my favorite things to do. "Any favorites?"
"Sunflowers, she talks about them constantly."
I nod and get to work, and she tells me stories about the nurse that’s retiring. The woman sounds extremely fond of her. "She sounds well loved."
"She is."
I finish the bouquet, tie everything together, and then wrap the bouquet in brown paper. The nurse's face softens the second she sees it. "Oh... that's beautiful."
"I hope she likes it."
She nods, her eyes filling with tears. "She's going to cry."
I smile as I hand it over. "I'll take that as a good sign."
I watch her carry the bouquet out of the shop before turning back to the workbench. I throw the stripped leaves into the bin and pull the next order across the bench.
Louise rushes through the door, cheeks pink from hurrying. "I'm so sorry. Traffic was a nightmare."
"You're only fifteen minutes late," I tell her.
She still looks guilty while Cara waves her hand. "Go put your bag away before you apologize again." Louise disappears into the back room with a sheepish smile.
The phone rings later that morning, and Cara answers it from the back, Louise continues working the front while I finish today's orders, ready for delivery.
"Petals, how can I help?" I hear Cara’s soft voice. "She did? Oh, that's so lovely, I'll let her know. Of course, please hold on."
She appears in the doorway. "It's for you."
I frown, nobody calls me at work. Hell nobody calls me ever. "Who is it?" "The man said his name is Hades, he says his wife wants to thank you for the birthday flowers."
Something loosens slightly in my chest. I quickly wipe my hands and move toward the back and take the phone. "Hello?"
"Hey." The voice is deep and rough. "Sorry to bother you at work, I'm Hades. My wife, Evangeline, had a birthday Friday; apparently the man I sent to buy her flowers did a far better job than I could've managed myself."
I release a little laugh. "I'm glad she liked them."
"Liked them?" He rumbles out a laugh. "She rearranged the whole kitchen table around them. Our eight-year-old asked if she could have flowers for her room too. I now owe you a second order, apparently."
I smile widely, his family sounds amazing. "Bring her in, and she can pick whatever she likes."
"I'll tell her that. She'll hold you to it, fair warning. Sophie doesn't forget things. Anyway. Thank you, genuinely, you made her day."
"That's the job."
"Well. You're good at it." He hangs up, and I stand there for a second with the phone in my hand. I can’t help but think that was one of the best compliments I have ever received.
I set the receiver back in its cradle and go back to my workbench.
"Everything alright?" Cara asks.
"Yeah,” I say softly as I straighten a ribbon on the bouquet that’s ready for delivery. "The customer was happy."
"I gathered that."
"He just... called to say thank you because his wife loved the flowers."
"It’s the best feeling knowing we picked correctly and made someone happy,” she says.
She’s right; it is the best feeling. "He also said his daughter wants flowers in her bedroom now."
Cara smiles. "That's adorable."
"It is." She studies me for a second. "What?"
"Nothing."
I grind my teeth. God, I hate when she does that. "Cara."
She shrugs. "I like seeing you happy, that’s all."
My heart clenches. God, when was the last time I felt this happy?
"I'm not unhappy," I lie.
The sad smile she gives me tells me that she doesn’t believe me. "I didn't say you were." She reaches over, straightens the name badge on my apron, and pats my shoulder.
"Just don't forget you've got a lunch break in..." She checks the clock. "Forty-five minutes."
I roll my eyes. "I remember."
"Mmm." She walks away.
I watch her go before turning back to the bench. I know that the smile is still on my face, and I think it’s going to take a while for it to vanish.
I end up at the park for lunch. It's busier than I expected, but it’s only a few minutes’ walk from the florist.
Parents keep half an eye on their kids as they climb over the play equipment while talking to one another, office workers eat lunch on benches before hurrying back to work, and a man throws a tennis ball for his dog, who tears after it like it's the greatest thing that's ever happened.
I pick a bench with a clear view of the path and unwrap my sandwich—yet another one of my habits that I picked up since losing Lucy.
The dog tears after the ball again, almost knocking itself over in the process. I smile. He’s a cute dog and so full of energy. The owner catches me watching. "He never gets tired."
I smile as I continue to watch the dog. "I can see that."
He throws the ball again, and follows after the dog. I eat the rest of my lunch and continue to people watch.
When I arrive back to work, there’s a bouquet on the counter waiting for me.
It’s a large bouquet filled with yellow sunflowers, there’s no card or note.
There’s also no markings to say which store it came from, just the flowers sitting on the counter in a rubber band like someone left them in a hurry.
Cara’s serving a customer at the far end; she catches my eye, nods at the flowers, and holds up two fingers for me to hold on, so I wait.
"Someone dropped them in," she says when the customer leaves. "A young lad, couldn't have been more than twenty, he said they were for the woman who works here with the dark hair." She smiles. "I told him that was you; he went red and rushed out the door."
She expects me to laugh, but I don’t, instead, my stomach drops and bile rises in my throat. "Did he say who they were from?"
"No card. I asked, he said he was just dropping them off." She tilts her head. "Secret admirer?"
Sunflowers.
Lucy's favorite. She bought them every Saturday from the market on the corner of our street, sitting them in a jam jar on the kitchen windowsill because she swore they made mornings better.
They did.
"Lilah?" Cara's voice cuts through the memories. "You alright?"
"Fine." The lie comes easier than it should. "I'll just... put these in the back." I don't wait for an answer as I carry the bouquet into the workroom, duck into the little bathroom, and lock the door behind me.
I sit on the closed toilet lid. My hands won't stop shaking.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. In. Hold. Out.
I stare at the flowers resting across my knees.
Nobody in Boston knows Lucy loved sunflowers.
I've never told Cara or Louise. I’ve never talked about Connecticut, or Evan, or the cabin, or the road where the bikers found me.
That part of my life stayed behind the day I drove into Boston with two bags in the back of my car and Omen's promise that I’ll be safe.
So why sunflowers?
It could be coincidence, it probably is, but coincidence has never sat well with me. Evan left white lilies on Lucy's grave, not because she loved them, but because she hated them. That was the point. It was a reminder that he knew exactly how to hurt people.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I'm in Boston, I'm at work, the door’s locked, nothing's happened. I repeat it until my breathing evens out.
Then I stand, splash cold water over my face, and look at my reflection; my eyes are a little red, but nothing I can't blame on tiredness. It’s good enough. I unlock the door and walk back into the shop.
The bouquet's gone by the time we close, the space empty where I left it.
"I threw them out," Cara says, slipping on her coat. "Didn't see much point keeping them."
I nod, gratitude filling my heart. "Thanks."
She doesn't ask if I'm okay, so I don't have to pretend that I am.
The drive home takes a little over ten minutes, traffic crawls through two sets of lights before finally easing.
The grocery store comes and goes without me even thinking about stopping.
I only remember it when I'm pulling into my apartment building's parking lot.
Great. I'll have to go tomorrow. By the time I park, the knot in my chest has loosened enough that I can almost convince myself that it was just a coincidence. They're just flowers.
I switch off the engine and grab my bag. When I step out of the car, I spot Tempest. He's sitting on the front steps with a coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, looking completely at ease. He glances up as I close the car door. "Evening."
"Hey." I lock the car and head toward the building, but something catches my eye. Across the street, there’s a black SUV sitting at the curb, and every muscle in my body goes tight.
The windows are dark, too dark, so that I can't see who's inside.
I stop in my tracks, and the brake lights flare before the SUV pulls away from the curb. It reaches the corner and disappears.
"Lilah?" Tempest's voice pulls me back. "You okay?"
I drag my eyes away from the empty street. "Yeah."
He studies me for a second, then gives a small nod. "Night."
"Night." I unlock my apartment and step inside, the lock clicks behind me, and I stand there for a long moment, keys still clutched in my hand.
The flowers, the SUV outside the florist, and now the SUV outside my building. Maybe they're connected… maybe they aren't.
For three years, I've trusted myself to know the difference between fear and instinct, but tonight... I'm not sure anymore.