Page 67 of For My Finale
Last night, Lilah had just… left. She’d made sure that Blossom had got home safely and then said she was tired. Blossom had let her go. She’d wanted to say something, to reach out, but what could she have said? Lilah was a private person, much more so than she would have expected for someone who’d spent most of her life in front of a camera. If she wanted to talk, Blossom knew she’d come to talk. So she hadn’t pushed. Maybe that had been a mistake.
She turned away from the window, leaning against the kitchen counter, biting her lip. The press finding Lilah was a big deal. A huge deal. She’d seen the fear in Lilah’s eyes, seen the way that Lilah had tried to shield her from what was going on. But now, hours later, she still didn’t know what to do about it. How to fix it.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Her stomach clenched. It could only be Lilah. And even before she opened the door, she knew. She knew that something in the air had shifted, tightened, as if the world was bracing itself for what had to happen next.
Lilah stood on the doorstep.
Blossom’s heart sank at the look on her face, the look of someone who had already decided. The look of someone on their way out. Still, she forced a smile. “Hi.”
“Hey.” Lilah’s voice was soft. Too soft. Blossom could barely hear her.
“Come in.” Blossom stepped aside, and Lilah hesitated for just a fraction of a second before walking past her. The scent of her, all flowers and musk, curled around Blossom as she shut the door.
Lilah stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands in her pockets, gaze flickering over the wooden cabinets, the stained table, the plate of unfinished toast on the counter. Blossom folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe, waiting.
“There’s no easy way to say this,” Lilah finally said, still not looking at her. “So I’m just going to say it. I’m leaving.”
Even though Blossom had known it was coming, she still felt the words in her bones, felt them in her very soul. Knowing didn’t soften the blow. It landed firm and true, knocking the air out of her lungs.
Lilah kept going, as if she had rehearsed it, which she probably had. “I can’t live a normal life, Blossom. I thought I could. I really wanted to. But I can’t. And it’s not fair to drag you into something like that.”
Blossom swallowed. “Is that really true?”
Lilah’s jaw tensed. “Yes.” She took a breath. “I’ve been offered a film. With Martin Leyland.”
The words slammed a wall down between them.
Blossom studied Lilah’s face, looking for cracks, looking for something to tell her that this wasn’t happening, that it wasn’t true, that it wasn’t what Lilah wanted to happen. But Lilah was a master of performance, and right now, Blossom honestly couldn’t tell what she wanted and what she didn’t.
“I’ve been an idiot,” Lilah went on, raking a hand through her hair. “Messing around, not living a real life, not doing anything. It’s been a fantasy, Blossom. A beautiful one. But now I have to get back to real life.”
Blossom’s fingers curled into her palms. She wanted to scream at her, to shake her, to tell her that this was all real, that everything they’d shared had been real. But Lilah had already decided what she was going to do. She wasn’t going to beg. Besides, who was she to ask Lilah Paxton to stay anywhere?
She had her life to live, too. She had to fight to keep her cafe alive, fight to carve out a place for herself here. She wasn’t going to waste time begging someone to stay when they’d already decided to go.
So she nodded once, even though her throat was burning. “Okay.”
Lilah’s eyes darted up to hers, as if startled by her acceptance. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Blossom said again, forcing a tight smile. “I get it. You have a life to get back to.”
For a second, just a second, something flickered in Lilah’s expression. Regret? Doubt? But it was gone too quickly to catch. Lilah stepped forward, hesitated, then lifted a hand as if she was going to touch Blossom’s arm. But at the last moment, she pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
Blossom nodded again, afraid that if she spoke, her voice would break, everything would break, she’d shatter into piecesall over her kitchen floor. She turned slightly, as if to busy herself with something on the counter, giving Lilah an out.
And Lilah took it.
She heard the front door open and then close again.
Blossom exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the counter so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
She had to let her go.
The house felt too quiet, too still. The air was thick with things unsaid. She stared at the empty space where Lilah had been standing.
