Page 22 of Tempest’s Torment

"Just don't forget you've got a lunch break in..." She checks the clock. "Forty-five minutes."

I roll my eyes. "I remember."

"Mmm." She walks away.

I watch her go before turning back to the bench. I know that the smile is still on my face, and I think it’s going to take a while for it to vanish.

I end up at the park for lunch. It's busier than I expected, but it’s only a few minutes’ walk from the florist.

Parents keep half an eye on their kids as they climb over the play equipment while talking to one another, office workers eat lunch on benches before hurrying back to work, and a man throws a tennis ball for his dog, who tears after it like it's the greatest thing that's ever happened.

I pick a bench with a clear view of the path and unwrap my sandwich—yet another one of my habits that I picked up since losing Lucy.

The dog tears after the ball again, almost knocking itself over in the process. I smile. He’s a cute dog and so full of energy. The owner catches me watching. "He never gets tired."

I smile as I continue to watch the dog. "I can see that."

He throws the ball again, and follows after the dog. I eat the rest of my lunch and continue to people watch.

When I arrive back to work, there’s a bouquet on the counter waiting for me. It’s a large bouquet filled with yellow sunflowers, there’s no card or note. There’s also no markings to say which store it came from, just the flowers sitting on the counter in a rubber band like someone left them in a hurry.

Cara’s serving a customer at the far end; she catches my eye, nods at the flowers, and holds up two fingers for me to hold on, so I wait.

"Someone dropped them in," she says when the customer leaves. "A young lad, couldn't have been more than twenty, he said they were for the woman who works here with the dark hair." She smiles. "I told him that was you; he went red and rushed out the door."

She expects me to laugh, but I don’t, instead, my stomach drops and bile rises in my throat. "Did he say who they were from?"

"No card. I asked, he said he was just dropping them off." She tilts her head. "Secret admirer?"

Sunflowers.

Lucy's favorite. She bought them every Saturday from the market on the corner of our street, sitting them in a jam jar on the kitchen windowsill because she swore they made mornings better.

They did.

"Lilah?" Cara's voice cuts through the memories. "You alright?"

"Fine." The lie comes easier than it should. "I'll just... put these in the back." I don't wait for an answer as I carry the bouquet into the workroom, duck into the little bathroom, and lock the door behind me.

I sit on the closed toilet lid. My hands won't stop shaking.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. In. Hold. Out.

I stare at the flowers resting across my knees. Nobody in Boston knows Lucy loved sunflowers. I've never told Cara or Louise. I’ve never talked about Connecticut, or Evan, or the cabin, or the road where the bikers found me. That part of my life stayed behind the day I drove into Boston with two bags in the back of my car and Omen's promise that I’ll be safe.

So why sunflowers?

It could be coincidence, it probably is, but coincidence has never sat well with me. Evan left white lilies on Lucy's grave, not because she loved them, but because she hated them. That was the point. It was a reminder that he knew exactly how to hurt people.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I'm in Boston, I'm at work, the door’s locked, nothing's happened. I repeat it until my breathing evens out.

Then I stand, splash cold water over my face, and look at my reflection; my eyes are a little red, but nothing I can't blame on tiredness. It’s good enough. I unlock the door and walk back into the shop.

The bouquet's gone by the time we close, the space empty where I left it.

"I threw them out," Cara says, slipping on her coat. "Didn't see much point keeping them."

I nod, gratitude filling my heart. "Thanks."