Amelia barely slept that night—not from anxiety, but from the strange warmth spreading through her chest.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt again the soft rise and fall of Ethan's breath beneath her fingertips.
A touch so small…
yet it felt like she had handed him a piece of her heart.
She woke early, sunlight brushing gently through the curtains. The morning smelled like damp earth, the soft scent that always followed a night of light rain. She stood by the window for a moment, hugging her arms around herself.
For the first time in months, she wasn't afraid of the day ahead.
She was looking forward to it.
---
At Petal & Bloom, she unlocked the shop, flipped the sign, and stepped into the familiar comfort of flowers and quiet air. Usually, this routine felt like a shield—something to hide behind.
Today, it felt like an opening.
She was restocking hydrangeas when the bell over the door chimed softly.
Her heart fluttered.
She didn't have to look up to know who it was.
"Morning," Ethan said, his voice warm but gentle, as if he wasn't sure how close he was allowed to stand after last night.
Amelia turned, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Morning."
Ethan held a paper cup out toward her.
"I, uh… brought you tea."
She blinked.
"Oh—you didn't have to."
"I know," he said, almost shyly. "But I wanted to."
Amelia took the cup, fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. A soft spark ran through her—not shocking, not overwhelming.
Just warm.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Ethan nodded, hands sliding into his pockets.
"I have to head to the library in a bit. But I wanted to check on you."
Her heart fluttered again.
"I'm okay," she whispered. "Better than yesterday."
He exhaled softly.
> "Good."
The shop fell into a comfortable silence. Ethan walked slowly between the flower buckets, brushing his fingertips lightly across the air above petals, admiring without touching.
"You know," he said, "your shop is the first place in this town that made me feel… settled."
Amelia looked up. "Really?"
He nodded.
> "It's quiet. Gentle. Like it knows when someone needs a place to breathe."
Her chest tightened.
"That's how I feel about the library," she admitted.
"It's old, but it's safe. It reminds me of my grandmother."
Ethan's face softened in that familiar way that always made her heart ache.
> "Then I'm glad I get to rebuild a place that means something to you."
Amelia swallowed, her fingers tightening around the warm cup.
"You make things feel safe," she said softly, barely above a whisper.
Ethan froze—but only for a moment.
A slow breath left him, as if her words settled somewhere deep.
> "Thank you," he said, voice low and sincere.
"I try to… especially with you."
The air between them shifted—
not heavy, not tense—
but full of something warm and blooming.
Amelia looked down at the tea, then back at him.
"Will you come by again later?" she asked quietly.
Ethan's expression flickered with surprise, then softened into that small, beautiful smile she was beginning to crave.
> "If you want me to."
She nodded.
"I do."
"Then I will."
He turned toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle.
> "And Amelia?"
"Yes?"
He met her eyes—gentle, steady, full of quiet emotion.
> "Last night… meant a lot to me."
Amelia's breath caught.
Her voice trembled softly.
"It meant a lot to me too."
Ethan held her gaze for a heartbeat longer—
as if memorizing her expression—
before stepping out into the soft morning light.
The bell chimed behind him.
Amelia pressed a hand to her chest.
Her heart wasn't just blooming anymore.
It was beginning to reach toward him—
slowly, bravely, beautifully.