Page 22 of For My Finale
“Daze, I swear…” Blossom said, voice strangled.
But Lilah was laughing, not in a cruel way, a nice laugh, gentle and kind. “She’s not the only one. Literally thousands have people have fallen in love with me. Most of them are sensible enough to grow out of it.”
It was the perfect response. It saved Blossom from disappearing into the ground, and brushed the moment off like it was nothing. Blossom found that she could actually breathe again.
Lilah set down her tea. “I should go,” she said.
And she went, striding out of the hall, chin high, coat flaring behind her.
Blossom glared at a very horrified looking Daisy, then exhaled, feeling like she’d just survived some sort of natural disaster.
Then she caught sight of Lilah through the window, walking down the quiet, empty street.
She looked lonely.
Blossom bit her lip. Maybe she hadn’t been the best neighbor. Maybe she should try a little harder. Maybe Lilah wasn’t quite the monster that she could appear to be.
That was a lot of maybes.
Chapter Nine
Blossom sat at her tiny kitchen table, staring at the scattered pile of bills like they might catch fire if she glared hard enough. Evening was creeping in, and the light was smooth and orange, casting a warm, golden glow over everything.
She should be sipping tea, relaxing, unwinding. Instead, her stomach was twisted into a knot tighter than the apron strings she wore every day at work. Well, maybe not for much longer. She wondered what she’d do with her apron when… when the inevitable happened.
She was keeping her head above water. For now. There was just enough money coming in to cover the bills and to treat herself to a bar of chocolate every now and again. And that was fine. She hadn’t grown up in luxury, didn’t expect it, and was happy to work hard for what she had.
The problem was, she might not have any of it for much longer. The second that Coffee-To-Go opened, she’d be sunk. She just wouldn’t be able to take the competition. And the thought of losing The Bankton Bean, the heart of her little world, sent a sharp pang through her chest.
She needed a miracle. Or, failing that, some sort of genius business plan. A loyalty scheme? Free biscuits with every coffee? Themed latte art? She sighed, none of those were going to rake in the cash. Maybe she should start an Insta account, post picturesof the coffee and stuff. People seemed to like that, right?
She picked up her phone and was debating downloading the app when a blood-curdling scream split the air.
Blossom’s heart stopped. She froze. She must have imagined it. Must have. But then it came again, loud and raw and filled with utter despair. She shot upright, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. Someone was dying. No, someone was being murdered.
Another scream echoed through the evening.
Her hands were sweating. She had to do something. Glancing around, she picked up the big cast-iron frying pan from on top of the stove, took a deep, solid breath, and bolted for the door. She yanked it open so hard it almost flew off its hinges as another ragged scream sounded. She sprinted around the corner of the cottage, steeling herself for the worst, thinking she was going to see true awfulness, real atrocity.
Instead, she rounded the corner and skidded to a halt.
Lilah was sprawled out on the grass, arms wide, staring up at the darkening sky.
Screaming.
Blossom felt her heart settle back into a more normal rhythm as she took in the scene. Lilah’s red hair was splayed around her head, fanning around her like she was a fallen angel. A designer sweater was covered in grass, her tight jeans loose around her ankles and bare feet. She looked like some kind of Victorian widow overcome with grief.
Blossom cleared her throat.
Lilah sighed heavily and opened one eye. “You weren’t supposed to be home.”
Blossom blinked. “I live here.”
“I figured you were out. No lights on.”
“It’s still light outside,” Blossom pointed out.
Lilah opened her other eye now. “What’s the pan for?”
