The morning drifted by gently at Petal & Bloom.
Amelia found herself smiling at small things—at the soft rustle of petals, the hum of the cooler, the warmth of the tea Ethan brought her.
The memory of his voice lingered with her:
> Last night… meant a lot to me.
Her heart fluttered every time those words replayed in her mind.
By early afternoon, a soft drizzle had begun outside. Willow Bay always seemed to breathe through the rain, and today, the droplets tapping softly against the windows felt almost comforting.
Amelia stepped into the back room to trim a bundle of lavender when she heard the front door chime again. She paused, breath catching slightly—
too early for Ethan, she told herself.
But when she walked out, there he was.
Ethan stood by the counter, soaked lightly from the drizzle, brushing water from his hair with an embarrassed smile.
> "It started raining harder than I expected," he said softly.
Amelia blinked, warmth blossoming in her chest.
"You came earlier than you said."
"I know," he replied, eyes gentle.
"I just… wanted to see you."
Her breath faltered.
Something about the way he said it—not rushed, not dramatic, just honest—went straight to her heart.
"You're wet," she murmured, reaching instinctively for a towel she kept for the shop. Before she realized it, she stepped closer and gently pressed the towel to his hair.
Ethan stilled.
Completely.
His eyes softened, breath catching imperceptibly as she dabbed lightly at the rain drops. Amelia didn't even notice how intimate the moment was until her fingers brushed the side of his temple.
She froze.
Ethan looked at her, voice barely above a whisper.
> "It's okay… I like when you touch me."
Her heart pounded so hard she thought he might hear it.
She lowered the towel slowly, her fingers trembling slightly.
"I didn't mean to—" she started.
"You did nothing wrong," he said gently.
> "You can stop whenever you need to."
Amelia swallowed.
"I didn't want to stop."
Something shifted in Ethan's expression—
a soft, quiet joy that made her breath hitch.
He stepped a bit closer, careful as always.
"Can I… try something?" he asked.
Her pulse quickened.
"What is it?"
Ethan reached for her hand—but didn't hold it.
He simply took it lightly, lifting it to his chest, right over his heartbeat.
Her fingers pressed softly against the warm steady rhythm beneath his shirt.
"Feel that?" he whispered.
Amelia nodded, breath shaking.
"Yes."
"That's what you do to me."
Her chest tightened with emotion—soft, overwhelming, beautiful.
Ethan didn't hold her hand there.
He let her decide.
And Amelia didn't pull away.
She let her hand rest against him for a full, trembling moment before slowly withdrawing, her heart pounding.
"Ethan…" she whispered.
He met her eyes.
"Mm?"
"I don't know how to handle this."
"I know," he murmured.
> "And I'm not asking you to. Just feel what you feel. That's enough."
Amelia took a slow, shaky breath.
"I feel… safe with you."
Ethan's eyes softened with something almost aching.
> "Then I'll do everything I can to keep it that way."
She looked at him for a long moment—the gentle curve of his smile, the kindness in his eyes, the quiet steadiness that made her want to open up without fear.
"Will you stay awhile?" she asked softly.
Ethan's expression warmed.
> "As long as you want."
They moved to the back room, sitting close but not touching, making small arrangements together—lavender, eucalyptus, soft pink petals. The rain outside deepened, a soft rhythm that filled the silence between them.
Ethan watched her hands as she worked.
"You look peaceful," he said quietly.
Amelia paused, glancing up.
"I feel… peaceful."
Ethan smiled.
> "I'm glad I came early then."
Her cheeks warmed.
And for the first time, she didn't shy away from the warmth.
She let it stay.