A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 99: CHAPTER NINETY-NINE

ASHLEY

Mondays feel like this.

Too long. Too full. Too heavy.

The kind of day where even the scent of lavender can’t cut through the fatigue that settles into my bones. I’d just finished sealing the last of the custom blends I prepared for Scent Haven. Four sets—each unique, layered, potent in their own way. They’d asked for something that felt like “soft rebellion.” I gave them wild jasmine, smoked oud, and just a touch of blackcurrant. It worked.

Collaborating with them had been nothing but gain. Sales soared, my brand grew, and for once, everything felt stable. Too bad their exclusive on my line ends in two months. I should’ve been more bothered. But I wasn’t. Maybe I was ready for the next phase.

The shop was quiet now, the kind of quiet that lets you hear your own heartbeat. I wiped down the counter slowly, already dreaming of my bed, or maybe the bottle of red wine I’d left half-drunk the night before.

Then the bell jingled.

I frowned.

I’d locked up. I know I did.

My eyes lifted to the door—and there he was.

Kyle.

He leaned against the doorway like he belonged there. We hadn't seen each other since that day he came over and we had sex which we shared a vulnerable moment together. 

“Didn’t know we were doing late-night visits now,” I said, reaching for a cloth to keep my hands busy.

He offered a small smile, not smug. Just soft. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

I didn’t.

But I didn’t say that.

His eyes flicked to the table behind me, where the new blends sat—barely labeled, still warm. “You’ve been working.”

“I always work.”

“I could smell the bergamot from the door,” he said. “And is that pink pepper?”

I gave him a sideways glance. “Since when do you know notes?”

He chuckled, low and easy. “Since you. Always you.”

I didn’t respond. Didn’t need to.

He took a slow step inside, glancing at the bottles like he was half-impressed, half-nostalgic. “You used to work late on Sundays,” he said. “And you’d leave the window open. The scent would drift into the hallway, and I’d know exactly what kind of mood you were in.”

I smiled, just a little. “That was a long time ago.”

He nodded. “Still feels close.”

It did. More than I wanted to admit.A beat passed, stretching longer than it should have.

Then I said it, soft but clear. “Liam texted.”

The atmosphere shifted. Like someone turned the dial down on the warmth and up on the static.

Kyle straightened just slightly from where he leaned. “He did?” His voice was neutral, too neutral. That careful calm he used when he already knew the answer but wanted to see if I’d lie.

I nodded, setting the cloth down and folding it slowly. “Called, too. Said he wanted to apologize… and that he’d stay away for good.”

For a second, Kyle said nothing. Then, that familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not loud or gloating—just quiet, knowing.

“Of course he would,” he murmured, almost under his breath, like he wasn’t surprised at all.

My eyes narrowed. “Kyle…”

He blinked up at me with a faux-innocent expression. “What?”

I crossed my arms, tilting my head, suspicious. “Did you do something?”

He raised both hands like he was surrendering. “Nope. Didn’t lay a finger on him.”

My gaze sharpened. “That wasn’t what I asked.”

He paused. Then, with a small shrug and a lopsided smile, added, “We had a talk.”

“A talk?”

“Yeah. Men talk.” He said it with a shrug, like that explained everything. “Very civil.”

My lips pressed into a thin line. “You can’t just go around threatening people.”

He leaned back against the counter, his expression unreadable. “I didn’t threaten him,” he said smoothly. “I just made sure he understood some things. About boundaries. About consequences.”

I sighed, brushing a hand through my hair as I turned back to the rows of glass vials. He didn’t deny it. Not really. And I didn’t press, because a part of me—one I wasn’t proud of—felt a strange comfort knowing Kyle had intervened.

Even when I didn’t ask him to.

Especially then.

Then, casually, “Wanna get ice cream?”

I looked at him, caught off guard. “It’s past ten.”

He glanced at the clock like he just noticed. “Even better. No lines.”

I hesitated. My brain screamed no, but my body… well, my body remembered how stress tasted better with something cold and sweet.

I sighed, grabbing my hoodie off the back of the chair. “Fine. But only because I need sugar, not because I want your company.”

Kyle grinned like he’d already won. “Of course not. I’m just the designated bodyguard in case you get mugged for a cone.”

We stepped out into the cool night, streetlamps casting that golden hue over the sidewalk. It was quiet. Comfortable. For once, the space between us wasn’t heavy with unsaid things.

We were halfway down the block, arguing about toppings—he’s a strictly-no-sprinkles type, which is criminal—when it happened.

We were halfway down the block, arguing about toppings—he’s a strictly-no-sprinkles type, which is criminal—when it happened.

A squirrel launched itself from a nearby trash can like it had been waiting for a cue from the universe. One second we were walking, the next this demonic little furball flew out with the energy of someone who’d just been evicted.

Kyle let out a strangled noise that was somewhere between a yelp and a gasp—then full-on bolted.

I froze. “Was that a—”

“It touched me!” he shouted from a safe distance down the sidewalk, flailing like his shirt was suddenly on fire. “It touched my leg!”

I bent over, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. “You ran from a squirrel.”

“That was not a squirrel,” he said, eyes wide, hands on his knees like he’d just sprinted a marathon. “That was a mini forest goblin with nothing to lose.”

“It was the size of a sandwich.”

“It had rage in its eyes.”

Still laughing, I walked over, brushing nonexistent dust off his arm. “You okay, Rambo?”

He glared half-heartedly. “Don’t touch me. I’m still processing the trauma.”

“You screamed.”

“I reacted.”

“You screamed and then ran.”

He lifted a finger. “Survival instinct. Don’t shame me for having better reflexes.”

I was wheezing now, arms wrapped around my stomach. “You nearly pushed me into traffic!”

“Casualties happen in war.”

We stood there for a beat, both trying to catch our breath—me from laughing, him from fleeing woodland threats.

Then he muttered, “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Great. My legacy: CEO attacked by trash squirrel.”

I grinned. “And you still won’t eat sprinkles. Truly, the hill you’ve chosen to die on.”

We started walking again, and this time, his hand brushed mine. Just lightly. But he didn’t pull away. And I didn’t either.

Because if a rogue squirrel couldn’t ruin the night, maybe nothing else could.

We finally reached the ice cream shop, the neon sign casting a soft glow in the quiet night. The air smelled faintly of waffle cones, sugar, and something that felt like comfort. I shook off the last traces of laughter, though I could feel the smile still tugging at my lips. Kyle’s chuckles had already faded into the night air, but I could tell he was still fighting the grin that kept threatening to break free.