“Friday. I’ll send you the flight details.” She pauses at the door. “And Levi? Maybe talk to her about this before you decide. It might go better than you think.”
She leaves.
I stand in my beautiful kitchen, cup getting cold in my hand, and wonder if she’s right.
I find Delilah at Petals& Promises at closing time.
The evening light is slanting through the windows, turning everything golden—the buckets of flowers, the vintage cash register, the woman behind the counter wrapping stems in brown paper with the practiced efficiency of someone who’s done it a thousand times.
She looks up when the bell chimes. Her smile is immediate, warm, and something tight in my chest loosens just at the sight of it.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey.”
I cross the shop, stepping around bucketsof roses and baskets of greenery, until I’m close enough to pull her into my arms. She comes easily, wrapping her arms around my waist, her cheek pressed against my chest.
“You smell like flowers,” I say.
“Occupational hazard.” She pulls back, studying my face. “You look…stressed. What happened?”
“My manager showed up.”
“Here? In Twin Waves?”
“In my driveway. Wearing designer heels. She was not pleased.”
Delilah’s lips twitch. “I bet.”
I take her hand and lead her to the worn velvet settee in the corner—the one Eleanor keeps for brides having emotional moments during consultations. We sit, and I tell her about Diane, the meeting, the label’s pressure, and the choice I don’t want to make.
She listens without interrupting. When I finish, she’s silent for a moment.
“You should go,” she says.
There it is. The same words from last night, landing like a stone in my stomach.
“Delilah—”
“I mean it.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s onemeeting. A couple days. You can’t put your whole career on pause because of me.”
“I’m not putting it on pause because of you. I’m?—”
“Yes, you are.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “And I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything you’ve built.”
I stare at her, trying to read what’s behind the words. Is she pushing me away? Is this the beginning of another disappearing act?
“If I go,” I say carefully, “I’m coming back.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. Two days. Three at most. Then I’m back.”
“Levi.” She touches my face. “I heard you.”
“And you’ll be here? When I return?”
Something flickers across her face. Pain, maybe. Or fear.
