Before everything.
Before prison.
Before fear started deciding what I could and couldn’t do. I have always loved flowers. That’s why I opened my florist shop. Which I need to get back to.
I move toward the wildflowers slowly.
Like if I rush it, I’ll break the moment.
Kneeling down, I reach out, brushing my fingers lightly over the petals.
Delicate.
Alive.
Free.
A small, quiet smile pulls at my lips.
“I was wondering where you went.”
Ace.
I glance over my shoulder.
He’s leaning against the porch railing, arms crossed, watching me like he’s been there longer than he’s letting on.
“You always track people this closely?” I ask.
“Only the ones who wander off after almost getting kidnapped.”
I huff softly.
“Fair.”
He pushes off the railing and walks toward me, slower this time. Not tactical. Not urgent.
Just… Ace.
“Flowers?” he asks.
I nod.
“I love to pick them for the shop,” I say. “Wild arrangements. People love them.”
His gaze softens slightly as he looks down at what I’m holding.
“You in a hurry to get back?”
The question catches me off guard.
“I am,” I admit.
He crouches down beside me.
Close.
Not crowding.
