The soft hum of music drifted through the cabin of Lance's car as they wound their way through winding roads, tall trees bowing in the dusk breeze. Lily sat with her fingers lightly drumming her thighs, eyes trained on the night-draped scenery outside. A mellow piano tune played in the background—something wordless, wistful, and slow, like it understood the quiet between them.
"You always play music like this?" she asked, glancing over.
Lance smiled without taking his eyes off the road. "Only when I have a passenger I want to impress."
She laughed softly, the sound warming the car more than the heater did. "So, I'm a rare passenger?"
"The rarest," he said.
By the time they reached Cedarwood Resort, the stars had begun peppering the sky. The gravel crunched beneath the tires as Lance parked. The building stood nestled among tall cedar trees, glowing warmly with soft yellow lights and lanterns that danced in the breeze. A gentle scent of pine and blooming jasmine lingered in the air.
Inside, the receptionist—a woman in her mid-forties with kind eyes and a smart burgundy uniform—looked up and lit up at the sight of Lance.
"Dr. Davis," she greeted with a knowing smile, "back again?"
He returned her smile, polite and warm. "Hi, Jenna. I called ahead. Reservation for the terrace."
Jenna glanced at Lily briefly, her smile deepening, then looked back to Lance. "It's ready. And… the special request you made? Done."
"Thank you."
As they walked down the softly lit hallway, Lily leaned in, curiosity brimming. "So… do you come here a lot?"
Lance nodded, eyes ahead, voice quiet. "Sometimes when the hospital feels too heavy, I come out here to breathe. This place… it's calming."
Lily hummed in agreement, the scent of cedar and old wood settling around them. "I can see that. It's like the world slows down a bit."
They stepped out onto the terrace, and Lily stopped in her tracks.
The space was awash in soft candlelight and the gentle flicker of lanterns hanging from wooden beams. But it was the flowers that made her breath catch.
Lilies. Dozens of them. Cascading in delicate arrangements across the railing, blooming in vases on stands, tucked into corners with deliberate grace. White, soft pink, and a few in rare pale gold.
She turned to Lance slowly, a strange mix of awe and disbelief in her eyes. "You did this?"
He looked at her, his voice a shade quieter than before. "They reminded me of someone."
Lily blinked, her throat tightening, unsure if it was the gesture or the way he said it that stirred something behind her ribs.
"Hope it's not too much," he added, rubbing the back of his neck.
"No," she said, almost breathless. "It's… perfect."
Lance watched her as she stepped forward, her eyes wide with wonder, the golden terrace lights painting her features in warm amber hues. Her hair moved gently in the evening breeze, and for a moment, she looked almost unreal—like something remembered from a dream, or perhaps… from lifetimes past.
She moved slowly among the flowers, her fingers brushing the petals like she was afraid they'd vanish if she touched them too hard. There was something almost reverent in the way she looked at them, like she saw more than just blossoms. Like she saw meaning.
Lance didn't speak. He didn't want to break the moment. He just… watched.
How fitting she looked among the lilies.
Her silhouette framed by blooms that bore her name, the soft curves of her coat trailing behind her like a story unfurling. The surreal beauty of it twisted in his chest—not because it was grand or dramatic, but because it was her. Here. Breathing. Smiling.
Alive.
She turned slightly, her eyes catching his. "What?"
Lance blinked; suddenly aware he'd been staring too long. A smile curled at the corner of his mouth. "Nothing," he said, his voice quiet. "You just… fit here."
Lily raised a brow, playful but touched. "With all the flowers that share my name?"
He chuckled. "Maybe. Or maybe they were always meant to surround you."
She looked down, smiling at the floor, and for a beat, the only sound was the flicker of the lanterns and the wind whispering through the cedars.
The terrace stretched out in soft, golden quiet—elegant, intimate, and utterly still. No other tables, no clatter of cutlery, no distant hum of chatter. Just theirs. One table, draped in cream linen and lit with a single lantern, stood beneath a wooden pergola laced with white lilies and ivy. Candles flickered low at its center, casting gentle shadows that swayed like whispered memories.
She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. "this feels magical?"
He shrugged a little, hands in his pockets. "I asked for privacy. The rest sort of happened when they heard who it was for."
Lily gave a breathless laugh, eyes sparkling. "You know, you're dangerously good at this."
"At what?"
"Taking shots at my heart."
Lance's throat tightened at that. He didn't answer—just stepped forward and offered his hand.
"Shall we?"
She placed her fingers in his, her touch light but warm, and they walked together toward the lone table. It felt like stepping into a pause in time, the world stilled around them, held at bay by soft music rising faintly from hidden speakers—slow, orchestral, like something out of an old film.
As they sat, Lily rested her hands in her lap, still glancing around like she couldn't quite believe it was real. "You really come here when things get hard?"
He nodded. "When the hospital feels like too much—when cases pile up, or I lose someone I shouldn't have—I come here to remember that the world isn't always sterile and harsh. That it can still be… beautiful. Quiet."
She looked out past the terrace rail, toward the dark silhouette of trees and distant lights. "I get that. Sometimes I write because I need to believe there's still something soft left in the world."
His gaze lingered on her profile—thoughtful, calm, alive. He'd waited lifetimes for this. And now here she was, in the soft glow of candlelight, sitting among lilies like she belonged nowhere else.
Dinner arrived on silver platters, carried by two staff members who moved with reverent quiet. They placed down the plates with gentle hands and soft smiles—grilled sea bass with lemon butter for Lily, rosemary lamb chops for Lance, both dishes accompanied by herbed vegetables and wild rice pilaf. A small basket of warm bread rolls sat between them, alongside a vintage bottle of white wine chilled just enough to mist the glass.
Lily leaned back slightly; eyebrows raised. "This is very grown-up of you."
Lance smirked. "I told you—doctors eat real food when we're not inhaling protein bars in break rooms."
She laughed lightly, lifting her wine glass. "To protein bars."
He clinked his glass against hers. "And the people we pretend to be outside the hospital."
They ate slowly, the silence between them soft and easy. The golden light shimmered in her hair, casting a quiet halo around her. Lance watched her as she savored her meal, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, how her eyes flickered with amusement at some private thought.
After a pause, he asked gently, "What was your childhood like?"
She blinked at him, startled by the question, but not displeased. Her lips twitched into a smile. "Hmm. Loud. Warm. Sticky from melted popsicles."
He chuckled. "That sounds promising."
Lily set her fork down and leaned her elbows on the table, fingers laced. "It was… beautiful, really. My mom used to take me and my brother to the park every Saturday. We'd spend hours chasing butterflies, and he'd always sneak grasshoppers into my pockets."
"Savage," Lance murmured with a smile.
She laughed. "I still can't look at them without flinching. But it was always like that—muddy shoes, scraped knees, my mom trying to bribe us with pastries just to sit still for a photo."
"You talk about them like they're still with you."
She nodded softly. "In the ways that count, I guess." Her smile faltered slightly. "Weekend camping trips were my favorite. Dad would drive and play these ridiculous road trip playlists. My mom packed way too many snacks, and Ethan—my brother—would try to roast everything over the fire, even marshmallows we hadn't unwrapped yet."
Lance's laugh was low and genuine. "That tracks."
"And my dad…" Her eyes grew distant, misty at the edges. "He used to leave us notes in our lunchboxes. Just little things—new vocabulary words for our creative writing homework, or quotes from books he loved. And he always brought home short novels for us to read together."
Lance rested his chin on his hand, utterly taken by the warmth in her voice. "No wonder you became a writer."
Something in her gaze shifted then—flickering like a candle caught in wind. "I almost didn't."
He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
She looked down at her plate, pushing her fork gently through the rice. "When I was seventeen, we were driving to my aunt's place for the holidays. A drunk driver ran a red light. My mom and Ethan+ were gone in seconds."
Silence wrapped around them like snowfall. Lance's heart clenched. "Lily…"
Her voice didn't break—but it dipped into a softer, hollowed place. "After that, everything changed. My dad—he was this passionate, vibrant man. A literature professor who used to quote Neruda while making pancakes. And then suddenly… he stopped living. Just became a ghost who taught classes and made tea. He never talked about them again. Not really."
She paused, her throat working. Lance didn't speak—he let the silence hold space for her grief.
"I started having nightmares not long after," she continued, eyes still on her plate. "Not just memories—these strange, vivid scenes that weren't mine, but felt real. And they always ended the same. With someone dying. With me not being able to stop it."
Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her glass. Lance reached out instinctively, steadying it.
She looked up, eyes glassy but composed. "So, I wrote. I rewrote every ending. I was eighteen when I finished my first manuscript. I didn't know if it was good, or even legible. I just gave it to my dad."
"What did he say?" Lance asked, barely above a whisper.
"He didn't say anything," she murmured, a soft smile ghosting her lips. "He read it in silence. I thought maybe he hated it. But six months later, he came home after work holding a printed copy of The Sound of Falling Stars. My first book. Real cover, ISBN, the works. And he asked, completely casually, 'What do you think of this one?'"
Lance stared at her, stunned. "He got it published?"
She nodded. "He'd secretly sent it out. Chose the publishing house himself. And then he took me there. To the publishing house. That's when I met Marla Renner. She didn't even say hello—just held my cheeks and said, 'You're the storm I've been waiting for. Let's make magic.'"
Lance laughed quietly. "Sounds like she is the party."
"She's been impossible ever since."
"You love her for it, don't you?"
Lily looked at him, eyes wet but glowing with something alive. "I do."
They sat in silence again, the music threading gently through the air. Lance watched her as she breathed in deeply, then exhaled as if lifting years of grief off her chest. There was nothing he could say to undo her pain—but he could witness it. Hold it. Be there.
"You're incredible," he said softly. "You know that?"
Lily gave a shaky laugh and wiped her eyes with her napkin. "You're just saying that because I didn't run from the grasshopper story."
"No," he said, smiling. "I'm saying that because even after everything—you still found a way to create something beautiful. You chose hope."
She looked at him again, quieter this time. "I don't always feel like I did."
"But you did," he said firmly. "And you're still doing it."
The candle between them flickered again, as if it too was holding its breath.
As Lily's voice softened with the last threads of her story, her eyes glimmering with memory and grief, Lance found himself quietly watching her. Not with the weight of centuries past or the ache of lives once lost—but simply, purely, in this moment.
The wind tugged at a loose strand of her hair, and she tucked it behind her ear absently, her gaze distant and warm, lost in thought. The candlelight flickered, painting shadows on her cheeks, and her smile—tremulous, gentle—lingered even through the tears.
And Lance realized something that caught him completely off guard.
He had always assumed—believed, even—that he would love her because of all they had lost. All the lifetimes where she slipped through his fingers, all the moments they never got to live. He thought that was where his heart would always rest—with the ache, with the ghosts of their unfinished story.
But here, under the night sky, surrounded by the scent of lilies and the hush of a private world carved just for them, he saw her. Not as the girl from dreams or memories. Not as a symbol of fate or reincarnation.
But as Lily. This Lily.
Resilient and radiant. A storyteller made of sorrow and strength. Someone who carried her scars with grace and still chose beauty, chose hope, again and again.
And the strange, surreal thing was… he was falling in love with her now. Not because he remembered her.
But because he saw her.
Really saw her.
And somehow, impossibly, it was more than he'd ever imagined.
Lily looked up then, catching his gaze mid-thought. Her expression was soft, almost curious. "You've been listening to me all evening," she said, a playful edge in her voice. "But what about you, Dr. Lance?"
He blinked, drawn out of his reverie.
She leaned in slightly, elbow resting on the table, her fingers curled around her glass. "What was your childhood like?" she asked, eyes twinkling. "And—how old are you, really?"
Lance leaned forward, resting his arms casually on the table, and lowered his voice like he was about to reveal state secrets.
"Don't tell anyone about this," he whispered conspiratorially, "but I'm actually a 580-year-old vampire. I've watched civilizations rise and fall, walked through burning cities, seen empires crumble. My true age is only visible under moonlight."
He gave her a slow, dramatic wink.
Lily let out a laugh—half-skeptical, half-charmed—as he leaned back with a boyish smirk.
"But," he added more gently, "if you want the real story, I'll make a deal with you."
She raised an eyebrow, amused. "A deal?"
He nodded, gesturing subtly toward the waitstaff approaching from the terrace entrance. "I'll tell you everything after you've had a taste of Cedarwood Resort's most secretive dessert. It's not even on the menu."
As if on cue, a waiter arrived with a silver-domed plate. With a flourish, he lifted the lid to reveal lavender honey crème brûlée—its surface perfectly caramelized, a tiny edible flower resting at the centre like a secret waiting to be discovered.
Lance met Lily's eyes with a quiet smile. "Trust me—it's worth it."
Lily took a bite of her dessert, her eyes widening as she savoured the delicate, velvety sweetness. "This... this is amazing." she asked, leaning slightly forward, clearly impressed by the dessert.
Lance grinned. "I told you it would be worth the wait."
Lily smiled, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I can see why you insisted. It's like nothing I've ever tasted before." She looked at Lance, her voice softening as she took another spoonful. "I can't believe how different tonight feels. I almost forgot we were at a restaurant. It's more like... an experience."
Lance watched her with a thoughtful expression, "It feels like time slows down here." he said.
Lily nodded, the faintest smile on her lips as she looked back at her dessert. "I'm glad you brought me here," she said quietly, savoring the sweetness of both the dessert and the moment.
After the small talks subsided and the dessert plates were cleared, the conversation turned more personal as the night deepened. The soft hum of music and the quiet rustling of the trees filled the space, leaving a comfortable silence for a moment. Lance, feeling the weight of their quiet connection, decided to share a bit more about himself.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice becoming softer and more thoughtful. "You know, Lily," he began, "I come from a pretty normal family. My parents are both retired doctors. Not because of age—my mom had my sister late in life, at 45. She's twelve now. I asked them to retire after I got the Centre up and running, told them to take some time to rest, travel if they wanted to, or just focus on raising my sister. They deserved it."
Lily leaned in a little, captivated by the way Lance spoke so candidly about his family. She could tell there was love there, a deep affection for his parents and sister. "That's... sweet," she said, her voice warm. "It sounds like you really value family."
Lance nodded. "I do. They're a huge part of who I am. My parents worked hard to give me and my sister everything we needed. So, when I was able to give them some time for themselves, it felt like the right thing to do."
Lily smiled, imagining the bond he must have with his family. "And what about you? How did you get into medicine?"
Lance's expression turned contemplative as he glanced out at the distant view. "Well, growing up, I was always inspired by my parents. I watched them help so many people, and I knew from a young age that I wanted to do the same. At 19, I had an experience that made it clear to me that becoming a doctor was the right path. It just clicked. I realized how much I wanted to be in a position where I could help people in a real, tangible way."
Lily nodded slowly; her eyes focused on him. "I can see that. You're really passionate about it."
"Yeah," Lance replied, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I've always been. At 23, I decided to focus on both neurosurgery and gastroenterology. It was a huge decision, but I wanted to cover both the brain and the digestive system. They're so interconnected, you know?"
Lily's interest piqued. "I never thought about it that way. But I guess everything is connected, isn't it?"
Lance nodded. "Exactly, I even spent a year in Yunnan, learning Chinese traditional medicine. It's fascinating. There's so much wisdom in how they treat the body holistically. I try to incorporate some of that knowledge into my work whenever I can."
Lily's eyes widened with admiration. "You spent a whole year there? That's incredible. And now I get why your tonic worked so well. It's not just your medical knowledge; it's your deep understanding of how everything works together."
Lance chuckled. "Yeah, I guess it's a mix of science and tradition."
"Do you speak Chinese?" Lily asked, genuinely curious.
"Fluently," Lance replied with a grin. "I spent enough time there to pick it up."
Lily smiled, impressed. "Wow. I always wanted to learn Italian, but I got bored after a while."
Lance's eyes lit up, his smile widening. "Well, I can teach you Italian, if you'd like."
Lily blinked in surprise. "Wait... you speak Italian too?" she asked, her voice filled with disbelief. She had no idea.
Lance chuckled, his gaze softening. "Yes, I do. I've learned a lot over the years. I'd be happy to teach you, if you're still interested."
Lily's expression turned even more curious, and she leaned in slightly, her eyes wide. "What don't you know? You're like this walking encyclopedia of knowledge, I'm starting to believe you really are a vampire, like you said earlier."
Lance smiled and leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with playful humor. "I'm actually 31, though," he said, the words slipping out with a wink. "Not quite the vampire age."
Lily laughed, her gaze never leaving him. "31? You don't look it at all."
Lance grinned. "Well, I guess I'm just really good at staying young."
Lily shook her head in disbelief. "I swear, I don't know what to believe anymore. But you're right about one thing—there's definitely more to you than meets the eye."