Chapter 2

The flower shop was located by the old bus depot, with a sign reading, “Willow & Branch.”

I arrived to find Willow bent over, shifting a heavy water container onto a cart.

Without looking up, Willow nudged the tip of her shoe against the wheel to keep it steady.

“Excuse me. You might want to stand back a bit, so you don’t get wet.”

I took hold of the container from the other side and hoisted it off the ground, and only then did Willow get a good look at my face.

“Here for the job?”

I nodded.

“Just so you know, you get paid for today even if it’s just a trial run.”

She pointed at the cardboard box in the corner.

“Keep the glass bottles away from the clippers so they don’t break. We are having sandwiches for lunch. Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

Because I took too long to answer, Willow repeated her question.

“No.”

In my 100th lifetime, Willow asked the same question.

That day, I was there with Peyton to pick out her gown, but she left me stranded outside the mall.

Peyton had to take Damian to a new art exhibition. Since his easel took up space in the car, there was no room for me.

I walked for miles. As it started to pour, I happened to pass by this very flower shop.

Willow pulled up a chair for me, not even asking how I got my clothes so dirty.

I opened my wallet to buy something from her shop.

She pressed my hand over hers.

“You don’t need to buy anything just to sit here for a bit.”

I didn’t even get a chance to take a bite of the sandwich.

Oakleigh called, saying that Damian had an allergic reaction. I was summoned back to the estate to explain every purchase I’d made.

Fearing the accusation if I was late, I ran out into the rain.

Three days later, I died beneath the bridge.

In my final moments, the memory that surfaced was the sandwich still wrapped in paper.

“Do you know how to fix this?”

Willow set down a wooden stand in front of me, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Crouching to examine where it was broken, I asked her where the toolbox was.

“Check the top drawer. Don’t worry if you can’t fix it. Just don’t get hurt.”

Rufus used to repair old clocks, wobbly chairs, and busted door locks.

When I got home from school, I would sit right beside him, handing him the screws.

Some crafts simply stayed with me, even after living a hundred lives.

In the time Willow took to wrap two flower bunches, the broken stand was rock solid again.

She gave the stand a couple of shakes, her eyes sparkling.

“That saves me the repair bill. I’ll pay you extra for fixing it.”

I told her not to worry about it, but Willow whipped out a notepad and added a line to it.

“You get paid for the work you do. If I didn’t, I’d feel bad asking you to come fix things next time.”

I watched her log the numbers, not knowing what to do with my hands.

No one ever stopped to ask what my time was worth when I did work for the Killingtons.

All they ever asked was why others could do more.

At lunchtime, Willow carried her plate over to the front of the store to soak up the sunshine.

I sat in the other chair, slowly savoring each bite of the sandwich.

“Now that the bus depot relocated, they're tearing down these shops. I scoped out a new spot at the regional wholesale floral center.”

She counted on her fingers, running through the rent math out loud.

“It’s a small place, but the location will save me a lot on transporting inventory.

“The downside is that I won’t get any regulars. I’ll need to build my customer base from scratch.”

“Are you making the move solo?”

“Yeah. I’m terrified of going under, but I owe myself a shot.”

Willow slid a drink toward my side.

“What about you? Is this just a temporary gig for you, or are you looking for something permanent?”

“If you’re open to hiring me, I want to stay on and move with the business.”

She stopped chomping her food and studied my face.

“The pay won’t be great. After I get the place set up, I might only be able to afford you part-time.”

“I can take side gigs fixing things.”

“Where are you going to stay?”

“I’ll find something on my own.”

After much thought, Willow extended her arm.

“Let’s give it a month and see where this takes us. I can’t promise to keep you on long-term, and you’re free to walk if something better comes along.”

I shook her hand, feeling the tiny scratches across her palm.

She had warm hands.

Willow didn’t offer me a home or promise to treat me right forever.

She respected me as someone capable of making my own decisions.

That afternoon, I paid the deposit for the white lilies.

Willow read the message on the card, her hands pausing over the payment.

“Who are the flowers for?”

“For someone who’s finally ready to leave home.”

“Are you sure leaving is what you really want?”

“Absolutely.”

She ripped off the festive, lace-patterned card and replaced it with a simple blank note.

“In that case, drop the congratulations. You’re the one hurting. You don’t have to put on a happy face for them.”

I took the pen and wrote out a new line.

“Don’t bother saving a seat for Wesley ever again.”

That evening, Oakleigh texted me a video clip.

The recording showed Rufus calling out to me, telling me to get down so I didn’t block the light.

The roll of tape slipped from my hand and hit the floor.

Oakleigh’s text arrived soon after.

“Come back for the family dinner this weekend, and the tape player along with the toolbox will be yours.”