Page 13 of Ghost Of You

In that moment, time ceases to exist. We are wrapped in our own little universe, a sanctuary forged by love, magic, and the fluttering wings of countless butterflies.

Chapter six

Present

As soon as I walk in, Willa’s smile greets me like a warm beacon, though today it seems to falter at the edges. I place my usual order, trying to catch a glimpse of the old Willa, the one whose laughter was always a comforting backdrop to our conversations.

The store feels different now. Wedding catalogues line the walls, a new venture Willa embraced with the launch of her website. Each page turned by eager couples, each appointment scheduled, is a testament to her hard work. She’s hired a cadre of new staff to manage the swelling crowds, but amidst the bustle, there’s a certain melancholy that clings to the air.

I glance back at the counter, where Willa is holding a bouquet of blue roses—Laelia’s favorite. The flowers are vivid against the drab counter, a splash of colour in a scene that feels increasingly gray. I smile at her, trying to chase away the heaviness I feel. Willa’s smile in return is soft, almost fragile, as she places the bouquet carefully aside.

“They’re beautiful,” I say, nodding towards the flowers. “Laelia’s going to love them.”

Willa’s eyes linger on the bouquet, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of something wet shimmering in her eyes. She blinks rapidly, shaking her head as if to dispel the sadness that has momentarily breached her composure. She forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “She sure will,” she says quietly. “I was planning to visit her later, but there’s been an issue with a delivery. Would you mind taking these to her instead?”

She hands me a second bouquet, this one a riotous explosion of rainbow-colored roses. It’s a striking contrast to the somber mood, and I can already picture how Laelia’s face will light up when she sees them.

“Of course,” I say, accepting the flowers with a grateful nod. “She’ll love these too.”

“She will,” Willa repeats, her voice nearly a whisper. “And don’t worry about paying for them. They’re on me, Killian. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you, Willa. I really appreciate it. And when I go to Lola’s tomorrow, I’ll bring you your favorite—blueberry muffin.”

Willa’s eyes flicker with a hint of genuine delight, though it’s quickly overshadowed by the sadness that still lingers. “Oh, don’t bother with me. But I won’t say no to a blueberry muffin from Lola’s.”

I chuckle softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Anyway, I should head out. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Willa gives me a sad, almost resigned smile. “Don’t keep our girl waiting,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper as I take the flowers and turn to leave. The doorbell chimes as I step out, and I glance back to see Willa standing behind the counter, her smile now replaced by a distant, wistful gaze.

As I walk away, the weight of her sorrow follows me, a quiet reminder that not all wounds are visible, and sometimes the brightest flowers can be overshadowed by the deepest sadness.

As I make my way down the driveway, the sight of our house fills me with a sense of accomplishment and nostalgia. I can’t help but reflect on how far we’ve come from those early days—when she was still living with her dad and I was stuck in that cramped, run-down apartment. Now, we’ve built a life together in what feels like a dream house. It’s everything we hoped for: a spacious home with a large kitchen, a charming white picket fence, and a sprawling garden where our family can grow.

As I approach the front door, a sudden sharp pain in my left ankle makes me wince. Looking down, I see the cause of my discomfort: our mischievous cat, Meatball, who seems to have a knack for getting in the way. “You’re such a troublemaker,” I mutter, as he winds around my legs, clearly angling for his next meal.

I push open the door and call out, “Laelia!” as I walk down the hallway towards the kitchen, Meatball trailing closely behind me. In the kitchen, I head to the cupboard under the sink, retrieve two vases, and fill them with water. After adding the flower food, I carefully unwrap and trim the flowers, arranging them in the vases. I leave them on the counter for Laelia to place wherever she prefers.

Turning my attention back to Meatball, I notice he’s sitting in front of his empty food bowl, looking up at me with an almost pleading expression. It’s unusual for Laelia to forget to feed him—she’s usually meticulous about it. “Laelia?” I call out again, glancing towards the kitchen door, but there’s no answer. Meatball lets out a plaintive meow, as if he understands the urgency of the situation.

Why am I talking to the cat like he’s going to give me answers?

I open one of the cupboards, grab a sachet of cat food and a tub of biscuits, and head back to Meatball, who starts meowing enthusiastically as soon as he sees the food. You’d think we never feed him, given his reaction. As I pour the biscuits into his bowl, he devours them as though he’s been starving for days. Now that I think about it, he does look a bit thinner than usual. Maybe Laelia has been cutting back on his food—he’s always been a bit of a glutton.

With Meatball contentedly munching away, I put the remaining food back in the cupboard and exit the kitchen. “Laelia?” I call out once more, feeling a twinge of concern. I move into the living room, scanning for any sign of her, but it’s empty. I head for the stairs and begin ascending, calling out her name again, “Laelia?”

I reach our bedroom and check the en-suite bathroom, but she’s nowhere to be found. My worry grows with each empty room I check. Where could she be?

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, I pull out my phone and tap out a message:

Where are you, beautiful? xx

I watch the screen, expecting a swift reply, but none comes through. It’s unusual; she’s always quick to respond. Something feels off.

Glancing up, I’m startled to see her standing in the doorway. She’s wearing my Mason Hill band t-shirt, which swallows her frame but somehow looks effortlessly stylish.

“I was shouting for you,” I say, trying to mask my surprise.

Without a word, she crosses the room and straddles me. I instinctively wrap my arms around her, while she drapes her arms loosely around my neck.

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