I remembered when these sachets were all the rage—hand-sewing one for one's loved one was the trend back then.
I had poured my heart into making one for him, filling it with my favorite lemongrass scent.
But when I had given it to Oliver, he had wrinkled his nose and tossed it aside.
"It's ugly and smells bad. Don't give me this stuff again," Oliver had said.
That day, I had cried for a long time, nursing my pricked fingers from the countless times the needle had jabbed me.
But now, it didn't matter anymore.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang.
I opened the door to find Lillian's bright, cheerful face smiling back at me.
Lillian beamed at me, saying, "Scarlett, I'm here to help Mr. Pettyfer with his jacket.
"So, how was the cioppino and milkshake last night? Did you like them?"
The satisfaction in Lillian's smile was blatant. I turned to hand her the jacket, my expression blank, but my gaze caught the dark hickey on her neck.
Paired with her overly shy grin, it was both beautiful and tempting.
Clearly, things had heated up between them last night.
"Not great," I replied, putting on a disinterested facade.
"Really? I thought it was quite tasty!" Lillian chimed, twirling on her heels to leave.