Page 28 of For My Finale

L ilah stepped out of the car, and the moment her foot hit the pavement, the cameras started flashing. Voices clamored over one another, shouting her name, shouting questions.

“Lilah, what’s the project?”

“Are you back for good?”

“Lilah, over here!”

She smiled, because that’s what she did. Because that was the role she’d perfected long ago. With a flick of her hair and a knowing glance at the closest camera, she lifted her chin and walked forward, her heels clicking against the stone steps of the hotel.

Security flanked her, clearing a path, and she glided through the entrance like she’d never left this world behind. Just as the doors framed her, she turned and flashed a dazzling smile.

“Is it the Leyland project, Lilah?” asked someone from the front of the crowd.

She raised an eyebrow, tapped the side of her nose, and said, “You know I never reveal my secrets.”

There was a chuckle from the journalists and she stayed still just long enough for everyone to get a good shot, and then she turned and left, the doors sliding shut behind her .

The lobby smelled of polished wood and expensive perfume. The concierge greeted her by name, and within moments, she was in the elevator, watching the numbers rise.

It was all so smooth, so easy. Like slipping into a familiar costume. Lilah Paxton, the actress, the star. Not Lilah, the woman who knew how Blossom liked her tea, who could burn pasta, who did her own grocery shopping and stole kisses behind the cafe counter.

Lilah looked at herself in the mirror elevator doors.

She even looked different. Harder, cooler, more angular.

The elevator doors slid open, and Lilah stepped into the hallway, heels sinking into deep, plush carpeting. When she reached her suite, she pushed the door open and… nothing. She didn’t really know what she’d been expecting.

The silence was stark and empty. The lights were dim, the air still. The suite was extravagant, as was to be expected. There were tall windows, thick carpets, bulky furniture. A bottle of champagne sat waiting in a silver ice bucket, the bed looked like she might need a stepladder to get onto it.

And it all felt so hollow.

She dropped her purse by the door, walked over to the window, and stared out at the London street below. She could see the city moving, cars weaving through the streets, people bustling about their lives. Their normal lives.

She’d wanted this, hadn’t she? This was what she was supposed to do. What she was meant for. So why did she feel like she’d cut off a leg and left it behind? Left something vital behind. Like the ability to breathe properly.

She exhaled, rubbing her hands over her face before letting them drop.

Her phone was already lighting up with messages.

Margot. Producers. A director she hadn’t spoken to in years suddenly wanting to grab coffee.

And the press, of course. Tame journalists, those just taking a chance, everyone had already heard that Lilah Paxton was back.

All those people that she needed to keep the hell away from Blossom Baker .

She could lose herself in this world again, no problem. She wasn’t kidding herself. It was strange being back, unpleasant even, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t do this. It would take no effort at all.

But as she looked out at the city, all she could think about was a small village, a cafe, a woman who had never asked her for anything, never demanded a thing, who had wanted nothing. Except that Lilah stayed.

And she had walked away.

It hurt deep inside her bones and Lilah really, really wished that she could cry. But the tears wouldn’t come. The hotel room was empty, every room from now on would be empty, because no room would have Blossom in it. It was that simple.

???

The morning customers had come and gone, but Blossom had barely noticed.

The familiar rhythm of the cafe, the hiss of steaming milk, the clatter of cups, the murmur of conversation, all felt so hollow.

She went through the motions, smiling at customers, making coffee, plating pastries, but the warmth that usually came with it all was missing. Her life felt so empty.

She’d barely slept the night before, tossing and turning and thinking about Lilah. About the way she’d stood in Blossom’s kitchen, the determined set of her jaw as she said she was leaving. And Blossom had let her go.

She hadn’t tried to stop her, hadn’t begged her to stay. It wasn’t because she hadn’t wanted to. It was because she’d known that it wouldn’t make any difference. Lilah had decided.

Blossom was no fool. She knew that Lilah was trying to protect her from the kind of life she lived, she knew that Lilah still thought that someone here had leaked her story to the press.

But there was more. Lilah hadn’t found the meaning that she was looking for here. And without that, she’d never stay.

The bell above the door jingled, snapping her out of her daze. Arty walked in, rubbing his hands together and surveying her with a keen eye as he approached the counter. He knew. Everyone would know by this point.

“Alright there, Blossom?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said automatically, even though they both knew it was a lie.

Arty hummed to himself, then decided not to pursue the line of conversation.

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“I came by to talk about the bookshelves. You said you wanted the back wall and far wall covered with built-ins, so I figured I’d stop in and take some measurements, see what we’re working with. ”

Blossom blinked at him, her mind struggling to process his words. “Right. Bookshelves.” She frowned. “I don’t know, Arty. Maybe later.”

Arty studied her for a long moment before setting his paper down.

He sighed. “Look, Bloss, I know it hurts,” he said, his voice a little softer.

“But famous people… they’re different. I should know, I spent enough time around them down in London.

They have to be different, to deal with it all.

The attention, the pressure. You can’t take all this so personally. ”

Blossom shook her head. “Lilah wasn’t like that.”

Arty sat down on a counter stool. “She left you, Bloss.”

“She did what she had to do,” said Blossom, her voice quiet but firm.

Arty didn’t look convinced. “Do you really believe that?”

Blossom opened her mouth, but no answer came out. Because she didn’t know. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe that Lilah had gone because she felt like she had no choice, not because she’d just chosen to go.

The bell over the door went off again, and Daisy walked in, her arms full of boxes of tissues and blocks of chocolate. “You poor thing,” she said, dumping everything down on the counter. “I thought you might need some emergency supplies.”

Blossom gave her a weak smile. “It’s a nice thought, Daze, but I’m not sure even that much chocolate is going to fix all this.”

“It can’t hurt,” said Daisy .

“Don’t think chocolate hurts anything,” said Arty, opening up a bar and breaking a piece off. “You should at least try, Bloss.”

“And have a cry,” Daisy said, handing her a box of tissues. “Crying helps. It’s cathartic.”

“I’m not sure that’s the way to go about things,” Blossom said.

“Has she been like this all morning?” Daisy said, looking over at Arty.

“Pretty much,” said Arty. “In denial probably.”

“Um, I am still here, you know,” said Blossom.

Before either Daisy or Arty could respond, the bell went off yet again, and this time Gloria swept in, as dramatic as ever. She threw her hands up in the air and collapsed onto a stool.

“Well, this is a disaster,” she declared. “An absolute catastrophe.”

Blossom groaned. This was the last thing she needed. “What now?”

Gloria gave her an incredulous look. “What now? Lilah’s gone, that’s what!”

“I know,” said Blossom. “But please don’t give me any more chocolate and I really don’t feel like crying right now.”

“Well you should,” Gloria said. “Because without Lilah here, who’s going to direct the play?”

Blossom blinked. She hadn’t thought about that. “Maybe we don’t do the play?” she suggested.

Gloria gasped as though Blossom had suggested setting fire to the entire village. “Don’t do the play? Are you quite mad?”

Daisy tapped her chin. “Actually, I think Gloria has a point. A lot of people have worked hard, it’s a morale booster for the village. We just need someone to step up and take over some of the directing.”

Gloria turned to Daisy. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Who do you suggest, then?” Arty asked curiously.

There was a moment of silence, then Gloria spun around and pointed a lengthy finger at Blossom. “Her.”

Blossom’s eyes widened. “Me?”

“You’ve been at every rehearsal,” Gloria said. “You know what Lilah wanted. You care about the village, you care about the play.”

“I can’t direct a play,” Blossom said, shaking her head.

“Why not?” asked Daisy.

“Well… because… because I’ve never done anything like that before. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Neither had Lilah,” Arty pointed out. “And she did a damn good job.”

Blossom crossed her arms. “That’s different.”

Gloria sighed dramatically. “It’s not. You can do this. Nearly everything has already been decided. We just need a strong hand at the helm for the final rehearsals. And if you don’t do this, then the whole thing falls apart.”

Blossom hesitated. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to step into Lilah’s shoes. Not when everything still felt so raw. But then Daisy gave her a look, one of those knowing looks that said she wasn’t going to let this go.

“It’ll help,” Daisy said gently. “It’ll take your mind off things.”

Blossom exhaled slowly. Maybe Daisy was right. Maybe having something to focus on, something that wasn’t Lilah, was what she needed.

“Fine,” she said at last. “I’ll do it.”

Gloria clapped her hands together. “Excellent. Rehearsal’s tomorrow. Don’t be late.”