The day eased into a quiet rhythm.
With Ethan still in the shop, everything seemed to move a little slower, a little brighter. Amelia didn't feel the usual pressure behind her ribs—the tightness she often carried like invisible armor. Instead, she felt present… grounded in a way she hadn't known she was capable of.
As they arranged flowers side by side, their hands brushed occasionally. Each time, a warm flutter rushed through Amelia's chest, but she didn't pull away. She didn't shrink.
She allowed the moment to exist.
Ethan noticed, but his expression stayed soft, careful, steady.
"You know," he murmured, tying a ribbon around an arrangement, "I think I've learned more about flowers in the last few weeks than I have in my entire life."
Amelia smiled, a small, shy curve of her lips.
"You're learning fast."
Ethan looked up, eyes warm.
"I've had a good teacher."
Her cheeks warmed. She busied herself with trimming another stem, but Ethan gently touched her wrist—not a grab, just a light brush to get her attention.
"Hey," he whispered.
Amelia looked up, breath catching slightly at the softness in his gaze.
"You don't have to hide your smile," he said quietly.
> "It's one of my favorite things."
Her heart fluttered so suddenly she almost dropped the scissors.
"Ethan…" she breathed.
He let go of her wrist immediately, stepping back half an inch to give her room.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "Did I—"
"No."
She shook her head quickly.
"No, you didn't do anything wrong."
He relaxed slightly, watching her carefully.
"I'm just… not used to being noticed," she admitted.
Ethan's voice softened even more.
> "Then I'll notice you gently."
Her breath trembled.
His words felt like warm hands cupping something fragile inside her.
---
They worked like that for a little while longer, quiet but connected. At one point, Amelia reached for a vase, and Ethan instinctively stepped behind her to grab something from the shelf.
Their bodies brushed lightly—
not intentional, not intimate—
just close.
Amelia froze.
Not from fear.
From the unexpected warmth that bloomed inside her.
Ethan stepped back instantly.
"I'm sorry—"
Amelia turned around slowly, shaking her head.
"You don't have to apologize for every small thing," she whispered.
He blinked in surprise.
"I just don't want to overwhelm you."
"You're not," she said softly, surprising herself with the certainty in her voice.
"I feel… safe next to you."
The words left her mouth before she had time to think about them. Her chest tightened, both nervous and relieved.
Ethan's breath hitched—just a fraction.
"Amelia…" he whispered, voice touched with emotion.
She looked up at him, and for a moment, neither moved. The world seemed to slow around them, the only sound the soft hum of the cooler and the faint patter of rain against the roof.
Ethan lifted a hand—slow, gentle, asking permission without saying a word.
Amelia inhaled shakily.
She stepped forward before her mind could catch up, closing the small space between them.
His hand hovered near her cheek.
She nodded.
A tiny, trembling nod.
Ethan touched her cheek carefully, like he was afraid she might fade under his fingertips.
Amelia leaned into the touch—
barely,
softly,
but enough.
Ethan's eyes softened, something deep and quiet blooming in them.
"You're brave," he murmured.
She shook her head faintly.
"I'm just… trying."
"And you're doing beautifully."
Her heart fluttered wildly.
The moment stretched—warm, intimate, fragile.
Then Amelia did something she never expected of herself.
She reached up and touched his hand where it rested against her cheek.
A soft gasp escaped Ethan—surprised, touched, overwhelmed.
"Amelia…" he breathed.
She lowered his hand gently, but didn't step away.
"I like… moments like this," she whispered.
Ethan smiled—slow, stunned, deeply moved.
"I do too."
Amelia's cheeks warmed, but she didn't hide.
Not this time.
"Will you come back later?" she asked softly.
"Always," Ethan replied.
And somehow, she believed him.