A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 36: CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ASHLEY

Fate smacked me in the face with a giant red sign. RETAIL SPACE FOR LEASE.

It was plastered across the window of a small storefront in West Village, tucked between a cozy café and a bustling restaurant.

I’d passed a dozen “For Lease” signs on my way back from yet another frustrating day of apartment hunting, but this one stopped me in my tracks. Maybe it was the quiet charm of the street, the giant windows letting in streams of natural light, or the exposed brick walls I glimpsed inside. Or maybe it was the gnawing restlessness inside me—the standstill that followed my mother’s death, the weight of relocating back to New York fullly and the desperate need to do something. To rebuild.

I had spent the last two years in Germany running Blume & Essence, my artisanal perfume and scent bar. 

Hand-blended fragrances, custom scent consultations, delicate floral-infused oils—every bottle held a story. 

And now, here I was, back in New York, trying to figure out my next step.

Maybe this was it.

Before doubt could creep in, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number on the sign, leaving a voicemail with my contact information.

"I'm available any day," I said, then winced. Did that sound too eager? Like I was just sitting around waiting for a call? "Uh, I mean—any day between noon and six," I amended quickly. That sounded better. More professional. "I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you."

I hung up, my fingers gripping the phone a little too tightly. My palms were clammy. My heart pounded.

This was it. My first real step toward independence.

Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I turned to the storefront again. The possibilities unfurled in my mind like the notes of a well-balanced fragrance—layered, rich, waiting to be blended into something extraordinary.

I could see it so clearly. Warm, ambient lighting casting a soft glow over shelves lined with elegant glass bottles, each one holding a handcrafted scent. A scent bar where customers could mix and personalize fragrances—something uniquely theirs, something that told a story. A quiet hum of conversation. The thrill of discovery.

A new beginning.

The excitement sent a rush through me, but it was chased by a sharp edge of fear. What if it didn’t work out? 

I squared my shoulders, brushing the thoughts aside. I had come too far to let doubt win.

With one last lingering glance at the shop, I turned and headed home, the city pulsing around me with its familiar energy. This time, it felt different. Less daunting. More like an opportunity waiting to be seized.

By the time I reached my apartment, my exhaustion was catching up with me. I dropped my bag by the door, kicking off my shoes, when a soft meow greeted me.

Mochi trotted over, blinking up at me with her usual air of entitled curiosity.

“Hey, princess,” I murmured, bending to scratch behind her ears. She purred instantly, rubbing against my palm. “Big day today. I might have just found us a future.”She blinked once, unimpressed, before promptly sauntering off to her food bowl.

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "Glad one of us isn’t stressed."

Grabbing a bottle of water, I sank onto the couch, my mind still buzzing.

A shrill ring from my phone jolted me. I glanced at the screen—Ethan.

A small smile tugged at my lips. We hadn’t really talked since I told him about my mom’s passing.

“Hi, Ash,” his voice came through, deep and familiar. “How have you been?”

"Good. And well, I'm back in New York... I won't be leaving for a while," I exhaled, as if I were only now coming to terms with it myself.

"Oh wow," he replied, his voice lighter. "That's great. Guess that means I'll be seeing you more often."

"Yeah… try not to be too excited," I teased.

He chuckled. "Alright, since we're talking about seeing each other—are you okay? Can I come visit? We haven’t really talked since your mom’s death. How are you holding up?"

My smile wavered slightly.

"Ashley?" Ethan prompted when I remained silent. "You okay?"

"Yes, I—" My words cut off abruptly as my gaze landed on something across the room.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

“I have to call you back,” I said, my eyes widening. “I’m fine, but something… something just came up.”

Correction: a hundred somethings.

My breath hitched as I took in the sight before me.

The small table by the window was covered in neatly arranged gifts. Boxes wrapped in deep navy and gold ribbon, fresh bouquets of lilies and roses overflowing from vases, stacks of books with their spines perfectly aligned. A set of delicate perfume bottles sat in a row, their labels turned outward as if they were meant to be displayed.

This hadn’t been here before.

Slowly, I stood from the couch, my pulse ticking faster. Had someone broken in? No, there was no sign of forced entry. And yet—

I approached cautiously, fingers brushing over one of the boxes. It was heavy, cool to the touch. The card resting on top bore my name in careful, precise handwriting.

Mochi jumped onto the table, sniffing curiously at the flowers before batting at a ribbon.

I swallowed.I stepped closer, my fingers brushing over the smooth velvet of the box. The scent of fresh roses and jasmine curled around me, delicate yet unmistakable. But beneath the floral sweetness was something else—something familiar.

Perfume.

My breath hitched. My heart slammed hard against my ribs, a visceral reaction before my mind even fully registered why.

I knew this scent.

And I knew exactly who was behind it.

A shiver crept down my spine as my trembling fingers reached for the small card nestled between the flowers. I hesitated, my mind racing ahead of me, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

I knew this scent.

I knew it because I had created it.

Warm amber, soft vanilla, and the whisper of jasmine. The very first blend I had ever crafted—a scent designed for someone who had once meant everything.

Someone who had shattered me.

Kyle.

My stomach twisted, a deep, sickening knot coiling inside me as I picked up the card. My thumb ran over the crisp edge before I finally forced myself to flip it open.

> Ashley,

I know I have no right to ask for anything. Not your time, not your attention, and certainly not your forgiveness. But I also know that letting you walk away again without trying would be the biggest mistake of my life.

This is not an apology wrapped in expensive gifts.

It isn’t supposed to make up for cheating on you. For abandoning you.

This is me, showing up in the only way I know how.

You once told me that scents hold memories, emotions. I can only hope this one reminds you of the good ones.

—Kyle

A shaky breath left me as I stared at the words, my grip on the card tightening.

I glanced at the gifts again—the flowers, the books, the carefully chosen perfume bottles. Things only someone who had once known me intimately would remember.

Kyle.

I squeezed my eyes shut, as if I could block out the wave of memories threatening to drown me.

For a moment, I let the nostalgia wash over me. The way he used to watch me mix oils, fascinated by the process, tracing lazy circles on my wrist as I worked. The way he’d inhale deeply whenever I tested a new scent on his skin, claiming he could always tell when something was mine.

But nostalgia was a liar.

It painted over the cracks, softened the edges of things that should have stayed sharp. It made you remember the warmth while burying the cold.

It let you relive the laughter but erased the pain that followed.

And Kyle—Kyle had been…

My fingers curled around the card, crumpling it slightly.

Our anniversary.

The cheating.

My lost baby.

The pain hit me in the chest, sudden and brutal, like a wound being torn open all over again.

I had promised myself I wouldn’t think about it. That I wouldn’t let it haunt me. But sometimes, it still crept in—uninvited, unrelenting.

The night I found out. The way my whole world had cracked apart beneath me. The way I had sat in the dark, hands on my stomach, whispering apologies to someone who would never hear them.

I had buried it. Forced myself to move on.

And yet, here it was. Resurfacing with the scent of warm amber, soft vanilla, and jasmine.

I swallowed hard, forcing the past back into the shadows where it belonged.

Kyle had been there for me when my mother died. He had held me up when I was drowning in grief, when the world felt too heavy to stand beneath.

But. But no matter what, no matter how much time had passed, I couldn’t let it go.

Some wounds don’t heal. Some betrayals cut too deep.

This wasn’t an olive branch.

This was a test.

And I wasn’t about to fail it.