But the thing about the dead is that theyknowwhen you can see them.
And this one?
He’s looking straight at me.
I tighten my grip around the coffee cups in my hands.
Something about the way the ghost looks at me like he’saskingfor something,pleading, makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to acknowledge. Levi’s flush creeps back up his neck as Emily unravels, and I can’t just stand there watching him hold the weight alone.
I sigh, setting the coffees down on the windowsill next to me before I step fully inside and speak.
“Emily,” I say quietly. “Did your father have a favorite flower?”
She startles, eyes snapping to mine as if she’d forgotten I was here in her rush. “Uh…what?”
Levi looks equally confused, his brow furrowed.
I nod toward the bouquet on the counter. “If you want it to feelright, maybe it needs something personal. Something that reminds you of him.”
Emily’s mouth parts slightly, taken aback. “I…my dad,” she whispers, her voice catching in her throat. “He passed a few weeks ago. He was supposed to walk me down the aisle. He was supposed to be here.” The tears start, slow at first and then all at once.
Levi’s entire demeanor shifts. The slight frustration melts away. “Oh, Emily…”
She shakes her head quickly. “It’s fine. I just…I don’t know.I guess I wanted him to be a part of it somehow, and the bouquet, it’s beautiful. It just feels…empty.”
In her father’s jacket pocket, a single pale daisy, trembling like it’s waiting to be noticed. I shouldn’t intervene further. Before I can stop myself, the word slips out: “Daisies.”
Emily blinks at me. “What…?”
I clear my throat. “Your father. Did he like daisies?”
Her eyes widen. “Oh my god. He planted them every summer.”
Levi’s forearm pebbles with goosebumps; his eyes flick between us, then to the bouquet. His fingers brush over the petals, thoughtful, before he reaches for a small pair of shears.
“We can add them,” he says finally. “Just a few woven in.”
He moves without hesitation, plucking daisies from a nearby bucket. His touch is delicate but certain, checking symmetry, turning them, nodding as if they’ve passed some unspoken test.
Then, with a quiet kind of reverence, he begins tucking them into the bouquet.
Emily watches, her misty eyes following every movement. And I, surprisingly, am watching, too.
There’s something intentional about the way Levi works. He doesn’t just place flowers, he transforms them, weaving them in so they look like they’ve always belonged there. He murmurs something under his breath as he adjusts the last one, nothing I catch, just a small note to himself in quiet satisfaction.
Levi’s smile falters for just a second. He glances at me, at Emily’s tear-streaked face, at the bouquet now threaded with daisies. There’s a hint of something…curiosity, maybe. Or doubt. I look away before he can ask.
“There,” he finally says, stepping back to inspect his work. “What do you think?”
Emily exhales, a hand to her chest. “It’s…perfect.”
Levi smiles, soft and warm, before ushering her to the registerto finalize the details, and I stand rooted, unmoving, something heavy settling in my chest. I’ve seen a great many things. But watching Levi take something unfinished and make it whole again feels…
Well, it feels like something worth paying attention to. I should look away. Should give him some privacy. But I can’t. There’s something honest about the way he moves, like he believes in beauty for beauty’s sake.
Like the act of making something better is always worth the effort.
Eventually, the door swings shut behind Emily, leaving an unexpected hush. Levi exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Well, that was…something.”
