Eight Years Later I No Longer Love You Chapter 10
“Ms. Hayes, could I order another magnolia night light tomorrow?”
I was handing a freshly sealed box to a UPS courier when I looked up to see half of a young woman’s face peeking through the gate.
She had a bundle of freshly bought lisianthus in her arms. Her skirt swayed in the lake breeze.
“You can. But you’ll have to wait three days.”
I wiped the pollen off my hands and flipped open the order notebook beside me.
“The flowers are drying slowly right now. If you’re in a hurry, there are two finished ones on the shelf over there.”
The girl came in, her eyes lighting up at the walls of dried flower frames and glass dome lamps.
“I’m not in a hurry. I want one you made yourself. People online say your flowers smell like moonlight.”
Mrs. Doyle laughed out loud from beyond the yard.
“That’s a new one. Since when does moonlight have a taste?”
The girl touched the tip of her nose, embarrassed.
“It’s just, they feel nice. Not loud in the daytime. Not cold at night.”
I finished writing up the order and tore off her copy.
“Come back in three days. I’ll put a little forget-me-not in your lamp for you.”
She nodded, and paused at the gate to look back.
“Ms. Hayes, will you always keep your studio here?”
I turned the succulent on the windowsill so it could catch more sun.
“I think so. For now, at least, there’s nowhere else I want to be.”
She smiled and ran off down the lane. The wind pushed the gate open a crack, and the mist off Lake Tahoe drifted in along the cobblestones.
The white roses on the table had dried just right. When my fingertip brushed a petal, it was so light it seemed to carry a small warmth of its own.
…
That evening, once I’d finished for the day, I sat under the lilac tree, redoing copper wire.
Mrs. Doyle brought over a small bowl of clam chowder and sat down beside me to watch me twist the wire into the glass dome.
“You’re doing so much better than when you first showed up.”
“Was I not okay when I first got here?”
“You were okay. You were just too light. A strong breeze could’ve carried you off.”
I bent to snip an extra piece of wire. The dried lilac inside the glass dome glowed under the light, like a small patch of sunset had fallen inside.
“A breeze can’t move me anymore.”
Mrs. Doyle laughed and nudged the bowl closer.
“That’s good. Eat first. Flowers won’t run away.”
I turned off the glue gun and set the magnolia night light on the shelf. My phone screen lit up. A notification from the Etsy dashboard.
【Today’s orders are full.】
…
Seattle.
After the meeting wrapped, Adrian stayed behind alone to review the new campaign data.
Marcus knocked and came in.
“Adrian, another late one?”
“From today on, new rule. No one stays past hours. Clock out on time and go home to your family.”
Marcus paused, then smiled and nodded.
“Got it. I’ll pass it on.”
Once the door shut, the office was left with only the soft hum of the computer fan. A trending video notification popped up in the bottom corner of the screen.
【Handmade Flower Cottage · Moonlight Lamps by Lake Tahoe】
Adrian was about to close the tab. His finger stopped on the mouse.
In the video, a white-walled, gray-roofed cottage was bathed in afternoon light. Under a lilac tree, a wooden table. A woman in a pale dress bent over her flowers, a small daisy tucked into her hair. Her profile was calm. Her hands moved with quiet expertise.
The lens swept across a stoneware vase, across the succulent on the windowsill, across the wicker rocking chair.
He watched for a long time.
Someone in the comments asked, “Why does she always make moonlight lamps?”
The vlogger’s voice came through the phone.
“She said she used to miss out on too many moons. Now she’s making them back, one at a time.”
Adrian set the phone back down on the desk.
He didn’t like it. He didn’t save it.
When Marcus came back for a file and saw him still staring at the dark screen, he asked quietly.
“Adrian, want me to reach out to that studio? Weren’t we planning a collab merch box?”
“No.”
Adrian closed the campaign plan and got up to shut the window.
“Leave her alone.”
Marcus didn’t ask again.
Adrian walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. The lights of the city came on floor by floor. In the distance, an electronic billboard was still cycling through footage of the game’s shooting star meadow. On the bench beside the treehouse, those three letters. Players still went there to take photos. Almost always in pairs.
That was the regret he had come to eight years too late.
And that was where it would have to stay.
…
When the Lake Tahoe wind blew through the little yard, I had just lit the last flower lamp.
The warm yellow light fell between the lilac and the white roses. Beyond the garden wall, someone rode by on a bicycle, the bell ringing clear. The moon was just slipping out from behind a cloud.
Mrs. Doyle called from next door.
“Willow, come see the moon. I made lavender shortbread cookies today.”
I pulled the gate softly shut and answered her, smiling.
“Coming.”
The old dream had ended.
And the rest of our lives would go on, quietly, apart.