We lapse into silence. But something about him still lingers. The way he looked when he said her name. The ease of it. Like he belongs to this town in a way I never have.
I came here to fix a mistake. And found Levi Wilder instead…a complication disguised as sunlight.
Which is annoying.
At best.
I grab the invoice and turn to leave. Behind me, Levi is already back to trimming stems, humming softly, hair falling languidly over his eyes as if nothing about this conversation got under his skin. The bell jingles again when I pull the door shut behind me, but this time it feels like it’s mocking me. Damn sunflowers. Damnlife.
• • •
I hang mycoat on the rack, the soft thud of it almost too loud in the empty room, and sit down behind the desk, reaching for the invoices from earlier. My shadows swirl lazily at the edges of the room, as if settling back into place. I can’t shake the thoughts of Levi.Life’s messy and vibrant. I try to shove them aside and focus on the task at hand.
But then the sharp, insistent ding of the service bell echoes from the front desk, immediately followed by the pointed sound of someone clearing their throat.
I glance irritably at the clock. Apparently, Irene isn’t here to save me this time.
Fine. I stand up with a quiet sigh and step reluctantly into the front room.
That’s when I notice her. She’s standing at the counter, fidgeting with a crumpled flyer, the edges bent and soft from beinghandled too many times. There’s something about her that feels familiar, raw. Her shoulders are tense, and her eyes, red rimmed and glossy from holding back tears, tell me everything I need to know.
A husband, maybe? Or a sibling. Her grief is so heavy, I can almost taste it. It hangs on her like a cloud, suffocating and thick. There’s something ancient in her pain, something I’ve seen etched into a thousand faces, but it still twists in my chest every time.
“Can I help you?” I ask, my voice quiet, professional. I don’t let my empathy slip into my tone, though I can already feel it pulling at me. She looks up, startled, as if she wasn’t expecting someone to actually be here.
“I…um…” Her voice catches for a second, and she struggles to maintain her composure. “I was looking for information about pre-arrangements. For…when the time comes.”
I nod knowingly. She’s here to take the first step toward something that feels impossible to face.
“Pre-planning services. It’s simple.” I slide the forms over to her. “Just fill these out, and we’ll take it from there.”
The pen slips from her fingers. I stoop; our hands brush. Hers is cold and shaking. One of my shadows lifts as if to listen and then settles, slow.
“Take your time,” I say, and whatever professional detachment I keep in reserve thins at the edges.
I watch her complete the forms, her eyes never once meeting mine. She’s trying so hard to keep it together.
When she’s done, I nod as she slides the forms to me. “You’re doing all the right things.”
The woman exhales, the slightest bit of relief settling in her shoulders. I can’t make her pain go away. But I can give her a little peace, a little space to breathe.
“Thank you,” she whispers and turns to leave. The door clicks shut and my shadows retreat with her, as if to honor her sorrow.
I sit at my desk again. The woman is gone, but her sorrow lingers. Somewhere in the back of my mind, Levi’s voice whispers again, bright and blasphemous.Life’s messy and vibrant.
He says it like life will always remember him. Like he’s never known what it’s like to be forgotten. Maybe that’s why he unsettles me. Because when he looked at me, it felt like that wasn’t something he’d be capable of.
2
Levi
My mother taughtme that soil has layers. The good stuff sits on top, dark and a little dangerous, but what matters is how it holds together underneath. Life’s a lot like that, too.
That’s what I’m thinking about while I sift through a fresh delivery of loam in Full Bloom’s back room. It’s rich and damp, practically begging to grow. I love the smell. Practical and honest, like a fresh start if nurtured.
“So,” comes a voice behind me, thick with sarcasm. “You sure this dirt isn’t your soulmate?”
I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. Ezra. My soil supplier slash casual hookup slash reminder that comfortable isn’t always exciting. Safe, easy, ridiculously good-looking, with just enough tattoos to hint at a trouble that’s nonexistent. The human equivalent to vanilla ice cream.
