Chapter 6

It was their first year of marriage, and Willa had just managed to kill yet another succulent. She grumbled, "These things are impossible to keep alive! I swear, I'll never be able to do it!"

Luke looked up from his sketches. "Give me one to try."

"You?" Willa scoffed. "You can't even keep a cactus alive."

"Wanna bet?" Luke said, locking eyes with her. "If I can keep it alive, then you..."

"Then what?"

Luke thought for a second. "Then you have to admit I'm very impressive."

She'd collapsed onto the sofa laughing at his childish wager. She'd given him a pot and promptly forgotten all about it.

"You remembered," Willa said softly.

"Yeah," Luke replied. "I should go."

He turned to leave.

"Luke," Willa called out.

He turned around.

"That sketch," Willa said, holding the pot, her fingertips tracing the rough ceramic edge. "Was it really just doodling?"

The hallway was quiet, only the distant strains of karaoke drifting from somewhere. Luke stood at the edge of light and shadow, his expression unreadable.

"No," he finally said.

Then he was gone, his footsteps fading down the stairwell.

Willa closed the door and slid down against it to the floor. The succulent in her arms felt solid, its leaves glowing a healthy green in the lamplight.

She suddenly remembered their first wedding anniversary. She'd asked him what gift he wanted. Luke, rushing to meet a final project deadline, had said without looking up, "Just be quiet for a while."

She sat beside him, sulking, watching him sketch. After half an hour, she noticed he'd messed up a number and couldn't help blurting it out.

Luke double-checked, and sure enough, she'd caught it. He looked up at her, surprise and something she couldn't quite name flickering in his eyes.

"How did you spot that?" he asked.

"I don't know. It just felt... off," she admitted. "Like a guy who's handsome but has a crooked nose."

Luke laughed. Not the usual polite smile, but a big, genuine grin that showed his teeth. It was the first time Willa had ever seen him smile like that.

"Thanks," he said, then went back to his sketching.

That was when things were best between them—she understood his quiet ways, and he never minded her chatter.

How things had changed so much was beyond her.

Willa placed the succulent on the nightstand and lay back down. Her phone screen was still lit. Finally, she typed: [Got the succulent. Nice sketch. I like the balcony.]

She hit send.

Almost instantly, the phone buzzed: [Mm.]

Just one word.

Willa stared at that single "Mm," and suddenly, she laughed. But as she laughed, tears started to fall.

He was still that man of few words.

But somehow, she still liked that man of few words.

After returning from the resort, Willa set the Graptopetalum on her windowsill, where it officially took up residence.

Each morning, the first thing she did was to check on it, give it a little water, shift its position to chase the sun. Dawn called it "Love me, love my dog," but Willa insisted it was simply "respecting life."

Work at the publishing house went on as usual. The publication of City Serendipity was going smoothly. The author, Jane Lee, was a gentle woman in her early thirties, always speaking softly. Willa had met her twice—once to sign the contract, and once to talk about the cover design.

"Willa, thank you so much," Jane said, holding her hand during their second meeting. "This book means a lot to me."

"It's a wonderful story. You wrote it beautifully," Willa said sincerely.

Jane smiled, but it seemed strained. "Actually... parts of this story come from my own experiences."

Willa paused. She'd reviewed the manuscript carefully. It was about a woman losing and then rediscovering herself within a marriage. If this really was Jane's story, then what?

"My husband doesn't really back me up when it comes to writing," Jane said, her head down as she stirred her coffee. "He thinks it's pointless. So... yeah, we've had some issues because of that."

Willa remembered Luke mentioning that Jane's husband owned a construction company, and that Luke's firm was one of their main competitors. She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Where did you get all those business details for your book?"

"I overheard my husband when he was on calls or having meetings at home," Jane replied. "I didn't really think about it when I was writing—I just felt those scenes were authentic. Is that a problem?"

"No, it's nothing," Willa said, shaking her head. "Just curious."

But deep down, she couldn't shake a faint sense of unease.

*****

Friday afternoon, Willa left work early to buy a new pot for the succulent—it was doing so well, she wanted to give it a prettier home. She chose a pale blue ceramic pot with wavy edges.

Just as she was paying, her phone rang.

It was an unfamiliar number, but the last few digits looked oddly familiar. Willa answered, "Hello?"