A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 51: CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

ASHLEY

I took a steady breath, fingers tightening around the folder in front of me. Across the sleek glass table, Claire studied me with the kind of patience that made it clear she was used to being the one in control.

“This is an incredible offer,” I began, keeping my voice even. “And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity. Haven Boutique is exactly the kind of space I envisioned for my perfumes. But…”

Claire’s brow lifted slightly, waiting.

“But I can’t agree to an exclusivity deal,” I finished, meeting her gaze head-on.

She didn’t look surprised. If anything, she looked intrigued. “Why not?”

I exhaled, choosing my words carefully. “Right now, I’m in the middle of launching my own store. It’s still under renovation, but when it opens, I need the freedom to sell my products there. If I sign an exclusive deal with Haven, I’d be limiting my ability to grow my brand beyond this partnership.”

Claire leaned back in her chair, tapping a manicured finger against the armrest. “You realize what we’re offering, don’t you? Visibility, credibility, financial backing—we’d be putting your perfumes in front of an audience that’s already willing to spend on high-end, artisan scents. That kind of exposure isn’t easy to get when you’re just starting out.”

I nodded. “I completely understand that. And I do want to work with Haven Boutique—I think we could be a great fit. But I’d like to propose something different.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“What if we did a limited-time partnership?” I suggested. “You’d have exclusive in-store rights to my perfumes for the first three months. That would give Haven Boutique the advantage of being the first retailer to carry my products, while still allowing me the flexibility to sell in my own store once it opens.”

Claire considered this, her expression unreadable. “Three months isn’t very long.”

“Long enough to generate buzz,” I countered. “And I’d be willing to offer additional incentives. For example, Haven Boutique could have first access to any seasonal or limited-edition scents I create.”

She tapped her finger again, clearly weighing the options. “So, you’re saying we’d have the first in-store collection, but not the only one long-term?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “This way, we both benefit—Haven gets something unique to offer its customers first, and I get the opportunity to build my brand without being locked into a long-term commitment that could limit my future growth.”

Claire let out a small, knowing smile. “I have to say, Ashley, I admire your confidence.”

I held her gaze. “I just know where I want my business to go.”

Silence stretched between us for a moment before she finally nodded. “I’ll need to run this by my team, but I like where this is heading. Give me a day or two, and I’ll get back to you.”

Relief spread through me, but I kept my posture poised. This wasn’t a yes—not yet—but it wasn’t a no either.

I stood, extending my hand. “That sounds good. Thank you, Claire.”

She shook it firmly, a hint of respect in her eyes. “No matter what happens, I think you have something special. And I respect that you’re fighting for it.”

As I stepped out of Haven Boutique and onto the busy New York sidewalk, I let out a slow breath. The hum of the city surrounded me—honking taxis, distant chatter, the rhythmic footsteps of people rushing to their next destination.

This was the right move.

Now, it was time to check in on the future I was building with my own hands.

I flagged down a cab and gave the driver my store’s address. As we weaved through the late aftern  Guyyy oon traffic, I glanced out the window, watching the city blur past. It still felt surreal sometimes—moving here, taking this risk, leaving behind everything I promised to leave behind for something new.

But this store… it was mine.

Seventeen minutes later.

I stepped out of the cab and onto the sidewalk in front of my soon-to-be boutique. The exterior still had scaffolding along the side, but the new signage I had ordered was leaning against the window, waiting to be mounted.

BLUME AND ESSENCE

Seeing the name in bold lettering sent a thrill through me. I wasn’t just selling online anymore. This was real. A place people could walk into, breathe in the scents I had spent years perfecting, and experience my work the way I had always imagined.

I pushed open the door, the chime overhead ringing out.

The scent of fresh paint and sawdust filled the air, mixing with the faintest trace of vanilla and bergamot—leftover from one of my sample candles still sitting on the counter.

Marco, my contractor was across the room, gesturing as he spoke to one of the workers installing shelves along the back wall. He turned when he heard me enter.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to check in on us,” he teased, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Thought you’d abandoned us to figure out your ‘perfect aesthetic’ on our own.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’d miss me too much.”

He smirked. “Debatable. But you are just in time. We’re about to install the pendant lights you picked.”

I glanced around, taking in everything. The walls had been repainted—a soft, creamy white that gave the space a warm, inviting feel. The shelving was halfway up, a rich oak that added depth against the light walls. The front counter had been installed, its sleek marble top catching the last rays of afternoon sun streaming through the windows.

It was all coming together. Slowly, but surely.

I ran my fingers over the countertop, picturing the final result—candles neatly arranged, perfume bottles catching the light, fresh flowers by the register.

“I can’t believe it’s actually happening,” I murmured, half to myself.

I traced my fingers over the smooth marble countertop, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Marco straightened, as if just remembering something. “Oh, speaking of the store’s aesthetic—some guy dropped off a package earlier. Said it was for you.”

I frowned. “A package?”

“Yeah. Some vintage brass trays. Said they’d fit your ‘clean but warm’ vibe or whatever you keep going on about.”

I blinked, confused. “Wait… I didn’t order any vintage trays.”

Marco shrugged. “Well, he sure as hell acted like he knew exactly what you wanted.”

A strange unease crawled up my spine.

“Who was it?”

Marco’s lips curled into an amused smirk. “Tall, dark hair, annoyingly charming. Thought he was your husband.” He winked. “And honestly, if he’s not, then damn, Ash, you’ve got some admirers.”

My stomach clenched.

No.

It couldn’t be.

“Marco,” I said slowly, my voice tighter now. “What exactly did he look like?”

He opened his mouth to answer—then paused, eyes flickering behind me.

“Well, you can see for yourself,” he muttered. “Because talking about him? He’s right behind you.”

Every muscle in my body locked up.

I didn’t want to turn around. I shouldn’t turn around.

But I did.

And there he was.

Kyle.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Kyle stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching me with that same unreadable expression I’d spent years trying to decipher.

I hated that my body reacted before my brain could catch up—the involuntary hitch of my breath, the way my pulse jumped.

He looked good.

Annoyingly, frustratingly good.

His dark hair was a little messier than It was when we last met but it suited him. His sharp jawline, the way his tailored coat fit just right—he was still the same Kyle who could walk into any room and command attention without trying.

And now, he was standing in my store like he belonged here.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. “What are you doing here?”

Kyle tilted his head slightly. “Nice to see you too, Ash.”

I ignored the way my stomach flipped at the way he said my name. I hated that he still had that effect on me.

“Seriously, Kyle,” I said, folding my arms. “Why are you here?”

His gaze flicked to the counter, where Marco was now pretending to check something on his clipboard but was clearly eavesdropping.

Kyle sighed, then reached into his coat and pulled out a small card, placing it on the marble surface between us.

“I heard about your store,” he said. “Figured you’d need a few finishing touches. So I sent those over.” He nodded toward the package in the corner. “They’re from a shop I know in Brooklyn. Thought they might fit your aesthetic.”

I blinked at him. “You thought?”

He smirked. “I have good taste.”

I scoffed. “That’s debatable.”

Kyle chuckled, and damn it, it was exactly the same—low and smooth, like he was enjoying some inside joke at my expense.

I wanted to be unaffected. To roll my eyes and send him on his way.

But the truth was, my heart was still pounding.

And he knew it.

Marco finally looked up from his fake clipboard inspection, raising a brow at me. “So… I take it this isn’t your husband?”

Kyle’s smirk deepened. “No. But I was once.”

Marco’s eyes widened slightly, but to his credit, he just whistled under his breath and muttered, “Well, this just got interesting.” Then, deciding to be anywhere but here, he grabbed his tape measure and strode off toward the back of the store.

Coward.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to meet Kyle’s gaze. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to.”

I stared at him, searching for some kind of angle. Some reason why he was doing this.

And then it hit me.

“How did you know my store is here?”