Episode 19) Flame of the meadow

Flame of the Meadow is a heartfelt three-part Midnight’s Shadow romance by Lila Sterling. When Lila Sterling returns to Meadowview to save her grandmother’s beekeeping apiary from a developer’s grasp, a reunion with her lost love, Owen Vale, reignites buried sparks. As they craft honey products and battle for their town’s heart, unearthed letters and a vibrant fair weave their past into a hopeful future. Will their love and community endure? Join us for a story of second chances, legacy, and love, set amid the hives and honey of Meadowview’s apiary. Subscribe and share with #MidnightsShadow.

• second-chance romance
• small-town love story
• Harlequin romance
• candle-making romance
• emotional audiobook
• family legacy romance
• romantic drama podcast
• artisan love story
• Valebrook romance
• Nora Finch romance
• Elias Thorn story
• Lila Sterling romance
• Midnight’s Shadow podcast
• community romance
• heartfelt fiction

Thank you for joining us under the starlit glow of Midnight’s Shadow. We hope this tale of heartfelt connections, written by Lila Sterling, warmed your heart and stirred your dreams. If you loved wandering the flower-draped ridges or riverside paths of our stories, share your thoughts with us on social media using #MidnightsShadow, or leave a review on your favorite podcast platform. Subscribe now to never miss a chapter of love, trust, and triumph. Until next time, let the shadows of midnight guide you to new stories of the heart. Sweet dreams.
“relationships,” “second-chance love,” “small-town stories,” “emotional drama,” “fiction podcast,” “love stories,” “serialized fiction,” “romantic drama.”

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Flame of the Meadow by Lela Sterling, Chapter one, The
bee Keeper's Return. The train rolled into Meadow View as
dawn painted the sky with hues of honey and rows.
Leela Sterling stepped onto the platform, her scarf catching the
warm breeze, scented with wild flowers and bees wax. At

(00:20):
thirty three, she hadn't returned in nine years, not since
she'd left for Seattle to pursue a career in botanical illustration.
A lawyer's letter had called her back Sterling's Apiary, her
grandmother's bee keeping haven, was buckling under unpaid debts, and
a developer, Marcus Finch, planned to turn it into a
vineyard resort. Leela intended to assess the apiary, sell it,

(00:43):
and return to her city life, but the sight of
the apiary's weathered barn, glowing softly in the morning light,
stirred a pang of memory. This was where her grandmother, Hazel,
had taught her to tend hives, her hands guiding Leela's
to harvest honey, weaving stone of resilience. Leela pushed open
the barn's door, the hinges creaking softly. Inside, shelves held

(01:07):
jars of honey, golden clover, amber, wild flower, ruby, buckwheat,
their glow catching the light. The air hummed with the
faint buzz of bees, but dust coated the frames, and
a hive box was cracked. Leela traced a finger over
a clover jar, memory's flooding back, Hazel's warm chuckle, the
hum of bees, the sticky sweetness of fresh honey. Now
with hazel gone, the apiary felt like a fatting ember.

(01:30):
Leela sterling a voice called low and steady, like the
drone of a hive. She turned to see a man
by a hive, checking frames and a bee keeper suit.
His dark hair was flecked with pollen and his flannel
shirt was smudged with wax. Her breath caught Owen Veil,
her first love, who'd vanished from her life at twenty four.
Without a word, Owen, she said, her voice tight, what

(01:53):
are you doing here? Chapter two? The broken comb. Owen
set the hive, framed down, his hazel eyes meeting hers,
calm but shadowed. Your grandmother kept me on his manager
after you left, he said, brushing wax from his hands.
I've been keeping the apiary running. Leela's jaw tightened, running

(02:15):
you left, Owen, you don't get to claim this place.
Nine years ago, they'd spent summers tending hives, dreaming of
a future under meadow View's starry skis. His sudden disappearance
had stung her, sending her to Seattle to rebuild. Seeing
him here in her grandmother's apiary felt like a fresh
wound in her heart. The apiary's struggling, Owen said, stepping closer,

(02:38):
warn hives, unpaid suppliers, and Marcus Finch's circling. I'm trying
to hold it together. I'm here to sell Leela snapped,
but the words felt fragile. The Apiary's debts were dire taxes,
repair costs, and the town council had given her two
months to settle them or lose the property. Marcus's resort loomed,

(02:59):
threatening meadow Views. Charm Owen gestured to a cracked hive box.
This needs fixing to keep the bees healthy. I can
handle it, if you'll let me. She wanted to refuse,
but the apiary's state was grim, and Owen knew its
hives and bees like his own hands. Fine, she said,
her voice cold. Fix what you can, but this changes nothing.

(03:22):
He nodded. Grabbing tools and began working. The hum of
bees filled the silence as Leela sorted honey jars, her
eyes drifting to his steady hands. His presence was a
spark she couldn't ignore, stirring memories she'd buried. By dusk,
the hive was patched, and Owen's gaze softened. Why do
you come back, Leela? He asked for gran she said,

(03:44):
avoiding his eyes. This apiary was her everything. Chapter three,
The town's honey Meadow of You rallied around Lela. The
next day, Missus Thatcher, the baker, brought jars of wild
flower pollen. Her smile warm Hazel would be proud, she said.
The florist donated lavender for the bees, and locals visited.
Drawn by the apiary's sweet hum, Leela started a beekeeping

(04:07):
workshop for kids, Hopping to build support, The barn buzzed
with chatter and the drone of bees, but Marcus Finch's
shadow loomed. At a town meeting, the developer stood his voice,
slick Meadow of You needs progress, resorts, tourists, jobs. Stirling's
apiary is outdated. Leela stood, her heart racing. This apiary

(04:27):
is our heart, not your vineyard. The crowd cheered, but
Marcus's smile was sharp, promising a fight. Afterward, Owen found
her outside the barn, the street lights casting a soft glow.
You were fierce, he said, his tone warm. Leela shrugged
her guard up. Why do you leave Owen no note nothing?
His face tightened. My brother was in troubled debts, trouble

(04:49):
with the law. I went to work farms in Boise
to help him. I wrote to you, Leela, every month.
I never got any letters, she said, her voice breaking.
Had her cousin Eli's hidden them out of jealousy. The
revelation hit like a broken comb, and she turned away,
the Apiary's lights blurring in her eyes. Chapter four, The

(05:10):
first harvest in the Apiary, Leela checked a hive. The
bees hum vibrant under her fingers. Owen watched his hands idle.
You've still got it, he said, a smile in his voice.
She lifted a frame, the honey glistening. Graham taught me well.
Their eyes met, and the years seemed to soften, But
the Apiary's debts pressed harder, and Marcus's offer loomed. Leela

(05:31):
planned a fundraiser at the community center, hopping to rally
more support. Owen helped, repairing hives and crafting wooden display racks.
Their work felt like a shared rhythm, each moves sparking memories.
As they set up for the fundraiser, their hands brushed
and Leela's pulse quickened. We're not kids anymore, she said,
stepping back. Owen nodded, but his gaze held a spark.

(05:54):
The center glowed that night, with locals bidding on honey jars,
but Marcus's presence cast a chill. My offers fair, he said.
Leela's resolve hardened. She'd fight for the apiary and maybe
her heart. Chapter five, The fundraiser's spark. The meadow View
Community Center glowed under strands of fairy lights, its wooden rafters,

(06:14):
casting a warm ambience for the fundraiser. To save Sterling's apiary,
Leela Sterling arranged her honey jars on display tables, golden clover, amber, wildflower,
ruby buckwheat, their glow catching the light like liquid sunlight.
Owen Veil's handcrafted wooden racks, carved with subtle meadow motifs,
framed her creations, their collaboration attestament to their shared past.

(06:38):
The room buzzed with townsfolk, their voices mingling with the
soft strum of a guitarist. As bids climbed higher, Leila's
heart lifted with each sail. The funds inching closer to
clearing the apiary debts, but the tax deadline, now just
weeks away, kept her tethered to reality. Owen moved through

(06:58):
the crowd, offering cups of honey sweetened tea, His flannel
shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing wax streaked forearms. His hazel
eyes caught hers across the room, a quiet smile sparking
a warmth she tried to suppress. They've been working side
by side for days, tending hives, sanding racks, and his
steady presence was chipping away at her resolve to keep
him at a distance. She turned to a bitter an

(07:20):
elderly woman who admired a wild flowered jar. It's like
Hazel's honey, the woman said, her voice soft. You've got her,
touch Leela. Before Leela could respond, Marcus Finch swept in
his tailored suit, stark against the crowd's cozy knits. The
room hushed slightly as he approached. His smile calculated miss Sterling,

(07:41):
he said, gesturing to the jars. Impressive turnout. But my
company can buy the apiary outright, turn it into a
cultural exhibit in our resort. You'd be debt free with profit.
Leela's stomach twisted. This apiary isn't a display. It's meadow
View's heart. Her voice carried, and murmurs of agreement rippled
through the crowd. Marcus's eyes narrowed, but his smile held.

(08:06):
Heart doesn't pay bills. My offer's open for now. He
glided away, leaving a chill in his wake. Owen appeared
at Lela's side, his shoulder brushing hers. He's worried, he said, quietly.
You're rallying the town. His voice steadied her, but their
brief touchs and a spark through her, stirring memories of
Starlit summers. She stepped back, focusing on the bids, but

(08:27):
his presence glowed like a flame she couldn't douse. By
night's end, the fundraiser had raised nearly half the needed funds.
As they packed up, Owen helped stack racks, his hands. Careful,
you're doing it, Leela, he said. Hazel would be proud.
Her throat tightened the past and present humming together. Chapter six,
The Starlet Confession. The stars shimmered over meadow View, their

(08:50):
light dancing on the river. Outside Sterling's apiary, Leela sat
on a riverside bench. The fundraiser's success, tempered by Marcus's
offer and the sting of Owen's lost letter. Had her
cousin Elise really hidden them out of jealousy? The thought
burned and she needed answers. The barn's door creaked, and
Owen stepped out, his breath visible in the cool night air.

(09:11):
Knew you'd be here, he said, sitting beside her, leaving
a careful distance. The river's murmur filled the silence, and
the scent of beeswax clung to him, grounding her. Why
didn't you try harder, Leela asked, her voice. Raw letters
are one thing, Owen, but you could have called found me.
He looked at the stars, his jaw tight. I tried,

(09:32):
Leela once, when I was back for a week. Elise said,
you moved on, that you were thriving in Seattle. I
didn't want to pull you back. His voice was heavy
with regret. Leela's heart sank. Elise, always envious of her
bond with Owen had sabotaged them. She lied. Leelah whispered
the betrayal sharp. I waited for you, Owen for months.

(09:54):
I thought you'd forgotten me. His eyes met hers pained,
I'm sorry. I I's not letting you go. Was right,
you were meant for more than meadow View. He reached
for her hand, his touch tentative warm from handling hives.
She didn't pull away, the contact stirring memories of their
hands entwined by the apiary's frames. I wanted you, not Seattle,

(10:16):
she said, her voice breaking. The admission hung between them,
fragile as a honeycomb. I wrote every month, Leela Owen said,
every letter was for you. His honesty cracked her defenses,
and she felt the pull of their past like a
spark catching fire, But fear held her back. She couldn't
risk her heart again. She stood the stars blurring in
her eyes and walked back to the barn, the weight

(10:37):
of truth and trust glowing within her. Chapter seven, the
hives rhythm. The Apiary hummed with activity as Leela and
Owen prepared for the meadow View Fair, their best chance
to save Sterling's Apiary. They crafted a honey based product
line for the fair clover infused soaps, wild flower candles,
buckwheat balms, each item glowing with the apiary's essence. Leela's

(11:01):
hands guided the honey extraction. The hives hum a steady
rhythm while Owen carved wooden racks, his focus intents. Their
work felt like a dance, each move complimenting the other,
but the air crackled with unspoken tension. As they poured
honey into molds. A drop landed on Lela's cheek. She laughed,

(11:21):
wiping it off, but Owen reached out, brushing it gently
with his thumb. Careful, he said, his voice husky. Their
faces inches apart. Her pulse raced, and she teased, still messy.
Breaking the moment, her cheeks flushed. You're perfect, Owen said,
his smile soft. The words hit her, stirring memories of
late night's tending hives together, Dreaming of a shared future.

(11:43):
She turned to the molds, focusing on the honey, but
her heart pounded. They worked late, the products taking shape
under the barn's warm lights. Owen shared stories of his
time in Boisey, grueling farm shifts, lonely nights, and Leela
listened drawn to his vulnerability. Why do you come back,
she ad asked, pausing her work for the Apiary. He said,

(12:04):
for Hazel and for you, even if I didn't admit it.
Then his honesty warmed her, fraying the walls she'd built,
but fear lingered she couldn't fall again, not with the
Apiary's fate and her heart at stake. As they packaged
the soaps, their hands brushed, and Leela felt a spark
she couldn't extinguish. Chapter eight. The town stand the next morning,

(12:25):
met of you. Buzzed with purpose, Leela and Owen organized
an open house at the Apiary, inviting the town to
see its value. Beekeeper's demonstrated hive tending, kid's bottled honey,
and Missus Thatcher brought lavender scones. The community's support was
a warm glow, but Marcus Finch's smear campaign cast a shadow.
Fliers claimed the Apiary's bees posed an environmental risk. Leela's

(12:49):
anger flared, but Owen's calm presence steadied her. We'll prove
them wrong, he said, his hand brushing hers as they
set up displays. The open house drew a crowd, with
townsfolk marveling at Leela's honey products and Owen's racks. A
petition to declare the apiary a historic site gained signatures,
and the mayor promised to push it through. Marcus arrived,

(13:12):
his presence a cold draft. This is charming, he said,
his tone sharp. But my resort will bring progress. You're
delaying the inevitable. Leela stood tall. This apiary is our future,
not your prophet. The crowd cheered, and Owen's proud smile
warmed her. As the day ended, they stood in the barn,
adjusting a honey display. Their hands met, and for a moment,

(13:34):
Leela didn't pull away. The air felt charged, their faces close,
but a child's laugh broke the spell. Leela stepped back,
her heart racing. The fair was days away, their last
chance to save the apiary and maybe their love. Chapter nine,
The Meadow You Fair. The Medo You Fair transformed the
town into a vibrant haven, its fields aglow with lanterns,

(13:57):
the scent of wild flowers and warm honey mingling in there,
and the hum of fiddles weaving through the night. Sterling's
Apiary stood as the fair's heart, its barn doors flung open,
shelves radiant with Leelah Sterling's creations, golden clover honey, amber,
wild flower jars, ruby buckwheat balms, each product glowing like

(14:17):
liquid sunlight. Owen Veil's hand crafted wooden racks carved with
meadow motifs, showcased her work their collaboration. A beacon of
Hope townsfolk and visitors from neighboring towns crowded the apiary,
bidding on honey products and donating to save it from
Marcus Finch's vineyard resort plans. Leela's heart swelled with each sail,

(14:38):
the funds nearing the amount needed to clear the apiary debts.
With the tax deadline just days away, Leela adjusted a
clover honey jar, its glow catching the lantern light, her
fingers lingering on the smooth glass. Owen moved beside her,
his flannel shirt dusted with wax, his hazel eyes bright
with pride. This place is a lit again, he said,

(15:01):
his voice warm. You did this, Leela. His words kindled
a spark in her, but the pressure of the deadline
kept her grounded. Marcus Finch appeared at the Barnes entrance,
his tailored suit stark against the fair's rustic charm. He approached,
his smile sharp, Miss Sterling, he said, eyeing the jars
a valiant effort, but my resort will bring jobs, progress,

(15:24):
Sell now, and I'll feature your honey in our shops.
Leela's resolve hardened. This Apiary is meadow View's soul, not
your showcase. Her voice rang out, and the crowd murmured support.
Owen stepped closer, his present Steady, she's right, he said,
This town chooses its heart over your profit. Marcus's eyes narrowed,

(15:44):
but he left without a word, his footsteps fatting into
the fair's hum. As dusk fell, the mayor took the stage,
her voice clear, thanks to your generosity, Sterling's Apary has
raised enough to clear its debts, and our petition has
made it a historic site. Erupted in cheers and Leela's
eyes stung with relief. Owen's hand found hers, his touch

(16:05):
a quiet promise. They joined the fair's dance, their steps
close under the lanterns, the music weaving their past and
present into a single radiant moment. Chapter ten, The letters unearthed.
The Fair's triumph lingered in Leela's mind as she climbed
the apiary's attic stairs. The next evening, a lantern casting
shadows on the dusty beams. Owen's confession about the letters

(16:28):
he'd sent hidden by her cousin, Eli's had left her restless,
needing proof. Dust swirled in the lantern's light. As she
sifted through her grandmother Hazel's belongings in a wooden box
tucked behind old high frames. She found them. A bundle
of envelopes, edges yellowed, addressed to her in Owen's steady handwriting.
Her heart pounded as she opened one, the paper crinkling Leela,

(16:53):
I'm sorry I left. My brother's troubles took me away,
but you're my light. I love you always will. Please
write back. Each letter echoed the same love, regret, hope.
Tears blurred her vision as she read the words, melting
nine years of pain. Elise's betrayal cut deep, but Owen's
truth was a warm spark, rekindling her trust. She found

(17:14):
him by the river. The waters rush a soft backdrop
to the night I found them, she said, holding up
the letters, her voice trembling. Owen's eyes widened and he
stepped closer, his breath catching. What did they say? He asked,
his voice low, that you loved me, she said, her
throat tight, that you never forgot. She handed him a

(17:35):
letter and he read it silently, his jaw clenching. Elise
told me you moved on, he said. I thought I
was doing right by letting you go. She lied. Lela whispered,
I waited for you. The admission hung between them, heavy
with lost years. Owen reached for her hand, his touch
warm and steady. I'm here now, Leela. I'm not leaving again.

(17:58):
She didn't pull away, letting his words shape her doubts,
her heart glowing toward forgiveness. Chapter eleven, The Heart's Ember.
The apiary hummed with quiet energy as Leela and Owen
crafted honey products for a community market. The hives hum
a steady rhythm. Their hands moved in sink, bottling honey
and shaping balms, the air thick with the scent of bees,

(18:20):
wax and wild flowers. Leela's fingers brushed Owen as they
adjusted a buckwheat balm, and a spark shot through her
Warm and undeniable. I was so angry, she admitted, pausing
her work. But I missed you, Owen every day. He
set a jar down his hazel eyes soft but intense.
I missed you too. Every night in Boise I saw

(18:42):
you in the hives. I tended. He stepped closer, the
space between them shrinking. I love you, Leela. I never stopped.
Her breath, caught the weight of nine years, fatting under
his gaze. She wanted to guard her heart, but his
truth burned through her doubts. They walked to the river bank,
the willow trees branches swayed in the breeze under their canopy.

(19:02):
Leela kissed him, her lips meeting his with a warmth
that felt like home. His arms wrapped around her, steady
and sure, and the rivers rush echoed their pulse. I
love you too, she whispered, the words of flame binding them.
They sat by the water, planning the apiary future workshops, markets,
a hub for meadow View's artisans. Owen's hand stayed in hers,

(19:24):
a vow of partnership. For the first time, Leela saw
not just the apiary's survival, but a life with him,
radiant and strong. Chapter twelve, The Meadow's Flame. Weeks later,
Sterling's Apiary thrived as meadow View's heart, its shelves alive
with Leela's creations, golden clover, honey, amber, wild flower jars,

(19:45):
ruby buckwheat balms displayed on Owen's carved racks. The apiary
buzzed with activity, children bottling honey, locals crafting gifts. The
town council had cemented its status as a historic site
safe from Marcus Finch's plan, and visitors flocked from neighboring
towns to see the reborn space. Leela stood in the

(20:06):
barn watching a girl check her first hive, her smile
mirroring hazels. The sight warmed her. Her grandmother's legacy was alive.
Owen joined her, his flannel shirt dusted with wax, his
smile soft. It's beautiful, isn't it, he said, his arm
brushing hers. She leaned into him, nodding better than I dreamed.

(20:26):
They walked to a riverside willow, its branches heavy with starlight. Together,
they harvested a joint hive on a portable frame, their
hands guiding the comb into a jar swirled with meadow hues.
Each drop felt like a promise, their love glowing in
every line. As the moon rose, casting a silver glow
over the apiary, Leela turned to Owen, what now, she asked,

(20:49):
her voice soft. He took her hand, his smile warm.
We keep burning together. Meadow View embraced them not just
a town, but a vow of forever their love, a
flame that held it up altogether.