Page 15 of For My Finale

L ilah walked briskly down the winding village path, clutching her phone tightly to her ear while keeping a wary eye on her surroundings.

It was dusk, which seemed like a dangerous time.

The sun was bleeding out in soft pinks and purples over the horizon, and everything was quiet. Too quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

Every rustle in the hedgerow made her shoulders tighten, every distant moo sent a shiver of paranoia down her spine. Billy the bull had traumatized her. She probably had some kind of Bull PTSD. She wasn’t about to let another farm animal sneak up on her.

“I’m begging you, darling, come back,” Margot’s voice purred in her ear, exasperation wrapped in silky persuasion. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“No,” said Lilah firmly, stepping around what she was ninety percent sure was just a large rock and not, say, a rogue badger waiting to pounce. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Margot. I’m not coming back.”

“You don’t have to commit, just test the waters. A couple of meetings, a couple of red carpets, maybe a tasteful staged paparazzi photo or two, a late night interview.”

“No.”

Margot sighed theatrically. “Is it money? Do you need more? A bigger house? A retreat? I don’t know, some sort of spiritual rehabilitation?”

Lilah snorted. “I’ve got more money than I know what to do with, and I don’t need rehab.” She thought about this for a second. “Yet.” She was developing a taste for the English beer in the pub. Arty pulled a good pint.

“Fine, right, well, is this some sort of Madonna-Guy Ritchie thing, then?” Margot asked.

“What?”

“You know, the whole ‘Hollywood star flees to the countryside to reinvent themselves and get a fake English accent and it all ends in a messy divorce’,” Margot said. “Because if that’s what this is, I can certainly work with it.”

Lilah rolled her eyes and picked up her pace, wondering how fast Billy could run. “It’s not that.”

“So you’re not in a relationship? Not keeping one hidden or anything?”

She could see the end of the path now, the light breaking through where she would meet the main village street. “Absolutely not.”

Margot huffed. “So there’s no one?”

“No,” Lilah said, as she rushed through the gap in the hedge and emerged out onto the street. Her eyes immediately landed on Blossom.

She was standing by the back of a delivery van, carefully unloading boxes of cakes.

She was still wearing shorts, and an oversized button-down, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hair falling in curls around her face.

The setting sun bathed her in golden light like she was some sort of angel or something and for a moment… Lilah just stared.

Blossom’s brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully lifted a tray, biting her lip as she adjusted her grip. The sight sent a strange, warm sensation curling in Lilah’s stomach. Something unfamiliar and yet, oddly, not unwelcome.

She swallowed.

It was like she’d spent so long feeling empty, hollowed out by her career and the expectations that came with it, that she hadn’t even noticed how much space had been left inside her.

But now, standing here, watching Blossom handle cakes like they were precious artifacts, Lilah felt something shift. A slow, quiet filling up.

“There’s no one then?” Margot demanded again.

Lilah barely registered the question. Her fingers curled around the edge of her phone, holding onto the firm metal, her gaze was locked on Blossom, the way she moved, the way she smiled to herself, the way she pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear with the back of her wrist.

And for just an instant, she truly considered answering the question honestly.

Then a car crept by and reality came back and Lilah cleared her throat, forcing her voice into something cool and detached. “I’m absolutely certain.”

Margot made an unimpressed noise. “Lilah, darling, you’re an exceptional actress, I simply never know when to believe you.”

Lilah ignored her, watching Blossom laugh as Arty came past and hefted a box from her arms.

“Gotta go,” Lilah said, hanging up before Margot could protest. She stuffed her phone into her pocket, squared her shoulders, and forced herself to keep walking toward the village hall, keeping her face impassive.

Totally ignoring the way her heart had started beating just a little too fast.

She was probably still stressed about bulls, she told herself. But not even she believed that one.

???

Blossom sat on a creaky old wooden chair.

The village hall always smelled of dust and sweat.

Probably because the primary school down the street used it for PE.

She could distinctly remember running around in here wearing shorts and a little t-shirt, not caring whether she won a game, just wanting to play .

She waited until the rehearsal was in full flow, Gloria loudly declaring one of her many monologues before she turned to Ives. She kept her voice as low as she could.

“Listen,” she said. “It’s about the cafe.”

Ives’s eyebrows raised. “We’re going to get into that now?

I was giving you at least another week of keeping your head buried in the sand.

What happened to ignoring the problem until it magically went away?

Or just pretending to everyone, including your very best friend in the whole world, that everything was fine? ”

“Alright, alright,” Blossom said, suitably admonished. “I get it. I’m sorry. But you know what I’m like. If it helps, I truly do believe that things turn out for the best.”

Ives grunted.

“Anyway, I’m working on a business plan and I’m going to go and see the bank about a loan, just to tide things over while I come up with something better.”

“Mmmhmm,” said Ives, looking impressed. Then she narrowed her eyes. “And where exactly is this sudden burst of motivation and self-confidence coming from?”

Blossom hesitated. She could deflect, she supposed. But she knew Ives too well to think she’d get away with that. And Bankton was a small town, gossip traveled fast. “Lilah,” she admitted eventually. “She, um, gave me a talking to. Some advice.”

“Bloss, please tell me you’re not still crushing on the woman,” Ives groaned.

“I’m not crushing on Lilah Paxton.”

“Really? You mean that?”

“Yes,” Blossom said firmly. “I’m a grown adult, not a love-lorn teenager.”

But at that exact moment, as though summoned by Blossom’s act of denial, Lilah turned from across the hall and met her gaze.

Their eyes locked, and it was weirdly like everything and everyone else in the room just disappeared. A slow warmth spread through Blossom’s chest, and her skin tingled like a live wire. It was stupid. It was ridiculous. It was completely undeniable.

And she’d lied to Ives. Again.

Her mouth opened, she turned, she was just on the verge of admitting everything, of telling Ives that actually, yes, she had feelings for Lilah.

Feelings that were more real than those she’d had as a teenager.

Grown-up feelings even. That Lilah got under her skin, made her heart race, irritated her and…

And then Gloria happened.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gloria announced loudly, throwing her arms in the air. “But I simply cannot perform under these conditions!”

Lilah turned back to the stage, her look of amusement shifting into irritation. “What now?”

Gloria pressed her hands to her chest. “It’s the accent. His accent.” She pointed at Arty, who was looking faintly bored. “He simply can’t get it right, he’s ruining everything.”

“Like yours is so on point,” Lilah said.

The room went silent. Gloria gasped, hands moving to clutch her heart as though Lilah had physically wounded her. “Excuse me?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Oh, come on,” Lilah sighed. “You sound like a Cockney trying to impersonate Scarlett O’Hara after drinking a bottle of gin.”

There was a collective inhale. Blossom closed her eyes.

“Well,” Gloria said, lips pursed. “If you think you can do better, Miss Hollywood, then by all means, grace us with your superior talents.”

“Fine,” Lilah said, folding her arms. She took a deep breath and then, with alarming ease, slipped into a smooth, honeyed southern drawl. “Whoever you are, I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers,” she purred.

And it was sexy, sure, but sad and filled with emotion all at the same time, just the way the line was supposed to be, Blanche’s delusions shining through, and Blossom thought she might actually swoon.

Gloria, on the other hand, looked like she might explode. “Oh, you just think you’re so special, don’t you?” she spat.

“I mean…” Lilah shrugged, returning to her normal voice. “Objectively, yes.”

Which was about when the rehearsal fully descended into chaos.

Gloria started yelling. Lilah smirked and leaned into it, clearly enjoying herself far too much and matching Gloria barb for barb. Arty tried to step in and mediate, which lead to Daisy bouncing onto the stage and getting involved.

Within seconds, people were arguing about everything from accents to stage directions to the ethics of having a celebrity involved in a small-town production.

And, as always, it was up to Blossom to sort it all out.

“Okay, okay,” she shouted, standing up on her chair, praying it would hold her, and clapping her hands. “That’s enough! Let’s all take a breath before this turns into a full-scale war.”

There was some grumbling at this, but the chatter quietened. Blossom shot a look at Lilah, who raised her hands in innocent surrender before taking a step back. Gloria huffed on stage, but didn’t argue further.

“It’s time for tea,” Blossom said, climbing down from her chair.

People began moving toward the tea table, and Blossom let out a slow exhale. She was exhausted. And annoyed.

Because while she could, right now, fully admit just to herself that she really did have some feelings for Lilah, she was wondering if Lilah could actually have any feelings for her?

The question of Lilah being a rich, famous movie star aside, Blossom had the feeling that she might just be another person constantly cleaning up Lilah’s messes.

She sighed, rubbing at her temples. One thing was absolutely certain. Her life had been a lot simpler before Lilah Paxton banged on her front door.