The Last Wish of Sasha Cade

“Good.” Mrs. Cade gathers our trash into a neat pile in the center of the table. “This new boy … would Sasha approve of him?”

I swallow. Maybe this is why Sasha never sent the MAYBE_DELETE video. This thing with Elijah and me — it’s too new, too raw. Too steeped in history and blood and loss. I can’t keep him in my life and live this lie forever.

I also can’t tell Sasha’s parents about the brother they never knew she had. “Yeah,” I say after a moment. “I think Sasha would love him.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Our sparkly black roses have been exchanged for a cornucopia of Thanksgiving floral arrangements. Literally. I nearly strain my back moving a box of cornucopia horns from the storage room up to the front, where Izzy has me sorting them out by size. There’s something hearty and contented about our fall selection. Maroon and orange flowers with yellow sunflowers fill our stockroom, kicking aside the traditional red roses, if only for one month of the year.

If you ask me, red roses are kind of snobby since they’re so popular. The more you see them, the more you prefer an exotic arrangement of multicolored petals. Izzy shows me how to make one of the cornucopia arrangements with sunflowers, a sprinkling of orange and auburn roses, and some plastic squash and apples thrown in.

We also have really cute plastic pumpkins filled with flowers. Though my love for our creepy Halloween vases ran deep, Thanksgiving might be my favorite season in the floral world.

It’s only the third of November, and already we’re filling up order forms with our most popular fall harvest arrangement. Izzy insists on giving me a bottle of essential oil that smells like orange, ginger and cinnamon, swearing it will give me happiness that will endure the season.

Unless she can bottle up Elijah, she’s wasting her time. He is what made me happy, back before the fight. I rub the oil on my wrists anyway, because a girl can always use extra happiness (and bonus points with her boss).

“Raquel!” Izzy singsongs from the front of the shop. “You have a visitor, my dear!”

Frowning, I set down the box of plastic pumpkins and check my phone. No new messages. It’s probably Mom, coming to buy more flower arrangements we don’t need. Now that I work here, she’s developed a habit of stopping by.

Izzy makes moony eyes at me when I walk into the front of the shop. Crinkling my brow, I look past her to see what’s got her all swoony.

Elijah.

His windblown hair is swept over to the side. He’s holding a bag from the burger shop down the strip, his motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm.

That helmet can only mean one thing, right?

“Hey,” he says, one dimple forming. “You hungry?”

My mouth opens, but I am too startled to speak. I’m still wearing the leggings and oversized PCHS shirt I wore to school and my makeup is twelve hours old. Not exactly how I want him to see me.

“Of course she’s hungry,” Izzy says, shooing me with her hand. “Take as long as you need, kiddo.”

“Are you sure?” I glance at our table full of order sheets.

She pulls a scrunchie off her wrist and wrangles back her mess of hair. “I’ve worked alone way longer than I’ve worked with you. I’ll be fine.”

We walk down the historic shopping strip a little way until it ends in a small park that overlooks the lake. “You got your bike back,” I say, taking one of the sodas he offers me.

“Yep.”

The next part is tricky. “So … why are you here? Are you back to work, too?”

We sit on a bench and he hands me a cheeseburger and fries. He has this playful grin on his face, like he’s as weak as I am when I am around him. It’s pathetic, but despite everything, I think we could just sit in a room together, staring and smiling, and be happy.

“I got the day off unexpectedly.” He shoves two fries into his mouth at once. “The, uh …” he says, scratching his forehead. “The cops were there. I guess they raided the place? I don’t know, but when I showed up, Monty’s wife told me to leave.”

“That seems like a big deal. Why aren’t you freaking out?”

He looks up from his burger. “It’s probably not a big deal. This kind of thing happens a lot. They never get caught. They’re good at what they do.”

I nod, staring at my food. Even if it’s not a big deal, it’s still a big deal. The police don’t just raid a place for no reason. Sasha would want him out of this job even more than I do.

His fingers slide across my shoulders. “Why the long face, beautiful?”

I love his honeyed voice, the way he talks, the way he’ll slip in a compliment like it’s nothing.