Page 24 of For My Finale
Blossom thought about this for a few seconds. It was the quiet time of the evening when all the world seemed perfectly at home with itself. “Try things,” she said finally. “Try… three different jobs. See what sticks. Get some experience, and a better idea of what you like and don’t like.”
“That is a ridiculous idea,” said Lilah, eyeing her.
“More or less ridiculous than lying on your lawn screaming at the sky?” asked Blossom. She leaned in and grinned. “I dare you to get three different jobs.”
Lilah narrowed her green eyes. “And what do I get if I do?”
For a terrifying second, the only thing that Blossom could think of was a kiss. Get the jobs, I’ll kiss you. How tempting an offer was that? Her stomach flipped over. She was being stupid, just as stupid as Lilah was being. She reached out and grabbed the first other thought that she could find. “Do it and I’ll… clean your sink.”
Lilah stared at her. “My sink.”
“Fine, fine,” said Blossom, holding up her hands. “Your cottage.”
“Try three different jobs and you’ll clean my whole cottage?” Lilah said. She nodded. “Yeah, alright, Sunshine, you’re on.”
She reached out and without thinking, Blossom took her hand to shake.
And… whoa.
Blossom’s breath caught. Her skin tingled where their hands met. Lilah’s fingers were warm and long, her skin was soft andsmooth, her handshake was far too firm for someone going through a crisis. Blossom couldn’t help looking into her eyes, and for a second there, she saw Lilah’s expression flicker. Like maybe she’d felt something too.
Then, in a flash, Lilah snatched her hand away.
Blossom wiped her hands on her jeans and stood up, unsure of herself now, feeling a little chill in the evening air. “Um, okay, I’ll, um, I’ll ask around and see if there are any jobs or volunteer positions going.”
Lilah nodded once, then scrambled to her feet, brushing grass off her jeans. “Good.”
“Okay, well, goodnight, I suppose.” Blossom had a sudden need to flee.
Lilah opened her mouth and bellowed one last scream to the sky so that Blossom’s ears rang. “Just for good measure,” she said. “’Night.”
Blossom practically ran back to her cottage. Once inside, she pressed her back against the door, heart hammering in her chest.
What was that?
She had no idea.
What she did know, is that whatever had just happened, there was no way in hell that she was over that little teenage crush.
Chapter Ten
During her career, Lilah had faced film critics, audiences with a grudge, insufferable co-stars, and once even a stunt double that had set her hair on fire. But nothing, absolutely none of this, could have prepared her for what she was about to do.
Okay, so she was out of the house. Okay, so she was actually doing something, which, she had to admit, felt pretty good. But, and here was the thing, leaving it up to someone else to choose what she was doing meant that, well, she didn’t have a whole lot of control.
Blossom Baker couldn’t be blamed for not knowing her well enough to know that standing in front of a herd of tourists at the Bankton Heritage Museum was a bad idea. In fact, Lilah had to say it had probably seemed like the perfect job. She had lines to learn about the exhibits, she had to play a role in front of her… guidees? Was that a word? But, and here was the thing, this was Lilah’s idea of hell.
She surveyed the tourists and then the so-called artifacts surrounding her. There was a stuffed badger with one eye, a taxidermied deer that had obviously been stuffed by someone who’d never actually seen a deer before, a collection of farm tools, and a rather familiar-looking clay pot that she was pretty sure she’d seen in the window of the local garden center just a week ago.
Still, she was here now, and she might as well give it a go. As Blossom had said, she should get an idea of what she liked to do, and she supposed she could work backwards and get to the point by finding out what she didn’t like to do.
And people were looking at her.
Which always brought out her more… confident side. Some might say her more contrary side.
“So,” she began, looking over her small audience. Half of them were staring at her in wide-eyed awe, whispering among themselves, no doubt discussing whether she could really be Lilah Paxton or not. The other half looked slightly disgruntled, like they’d just paid for a service that they were unlikely to receive. Which, she supposed, they probably had.
Mostly because the guided tour that she’d been given to learn had been so boring that she’d fallen asleep on the couch with it and had decided that she could do better herself. She’d always found improv exciting.
