The rain didn't let up that afternoon.
It fell in steady sheets, tapping against the windows of Petal & Bloom like a slow, soothing heartbeat. The world outside seemed washed clean, softened at the edges, wrapped in a grey calmness that made the inside of the shop feel even warmer.
Amelia and Ethan worked quietly at the back table, surrounded by lavender stems and scattered petals.
Ethan's presence beside her felt natural now—like a soft light in the corner of a dim room.
Amelia placed the last sprig of eucalyptus into the small arrangement she was making and sighed softly.
Ethan glanced over.
"Tired?"
"Not really," she said, twisting the ribbon gently.
"Just… full."
"Full?"
She nodded.
"Of things I'm still learning how to feel."
Ethan set down the flower he was holding, eyes softening with concern—but not pressure.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Amelia hesitated, staring at her hands.
"Being around you feels different. Safe. But it also scares me… because I'm afraid of losing that safety."
Ethan's expression softened.
"Amelia… being afraid doesn't mean something is wrong. It means something matters."
She looked up at him, breath trembling.
"I'm afraid I'll depend on you too much."
Ethan shook his head gently.
> "Dependence isn't weakness. Sometimes leaning a little is part of healing."
Her eyes warmed.
"You make it sound so easy."
"It's not," he admitted softly.
> "But you don't have to do it perfectly."
Amelia felt a small smile tug at her lips—fragile but real.
She watched as Ethan gathered a few petals that had fallen onto the table. He placed them in a little line, almost absentmindedly.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Nothing."
His smile was shy.
> "Just keeping them from falling on the floor."
She laughed—quiet, surprising herself.
Ethan paused, watching her with a tenderness that felt like sunlight through clouds.
"That sound," he murmured.
"It suits you."
Amelia's cheeks warmed.
She looked away, flustered but touched.
Ethan reached out, slowly—
giving her time to step back if she needed to.
When she didn't, he gently brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek.
"Can I tell you something?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered.
He lowered his hand, not taking advantage of the closeness.
> "Every time you let me see more of you… it feels like a privilege."
Her breath hitched.
"I'm trying," she said softly.
"I know. And you're doing beautifully."
She looked down, warmth curling in her chest.
After a moment, she spoke again.
"Stay until the rain slows?"
Ethan smiled, soft and certain.
> "Of course."
They finished their work quietly, arranging flowers under the warm glow of the small lamp. When they finally stepped out into the front of the shop, the rain had softened to a gentle drizzle.
Ethan glanced at the window.
"It's still early. Want to take a walk?"
Amelia hesitated. Rain usually made her retreat inward, stirring memories she preferred to avoid. But today felt different—less sharp, less lonely.
She nodded slowly.
"Yes."
They stepped out into the soft drizzle. The air smelled like wet earth and fresh petals, the world hushed around them.
Amelia clasped her hands together, feeling the faint coolness of raindrops on her skin.
Ethan walked close—not touching, but close enough for her to feel his warmth in the chilly air.
After a few steps, Amelia's hand brushed against his.
Her heart hammered.
Ethan didn't move, didn't reach.
He simply let their hands graze lightly.
Amelia exhaled shakily.
Then, slowly—
hesitantly—
she let her hand slide into his.
Ethan froze.
His breath trembled.
He looked down at their entwined fingers as though he was afraid even to breathe too deeply.
"Amelia…" he whispered.
She squeezed his hand softly.
"It's okay," she said.
"I want to."
Ethan's smile—small, stunned, full of quiet joy—was the kind that could warm an entire winter.
They walked like that through the drizzle, fingers intertwined, hearts open in ways neither of them had expected.
Amelia looked at their joined hands, then up at the sky.
For the first time in years…
the rain didn't feel cold.
It felt like a beginning.