Irene notices first.
I’m at my desk, staring at this week’s funeral schedule, my phone lying innocently beside me. My thoughts aren’t on work; they’re fixed on whether another message from Levi will appear.
Irene clears her throat from my doorway. “Something interesting happening on that phone?”
“No,” I reply swiftly, too swiftly.
She arches an eyebrow, stepping closer. “I’ve never seen you so invested in your screen. Who’s got your attention?”
I avoid her gaze. “No one.”
She folds her arms, grinning. “If you’re this…preoccupied, maybe letting them in isn’t the worst decision.”
I frown, about to respond when my phone vibrates.
Her smile broadens. “Don’t run from this, Hayden.” She leaves the room before I can argue further.
I sigh, grabbing my coat. “I’m stepping out.”
“In the middle of the morning?” Irene calls. “Tell Mr. Wilder hello for me.”
Ignoring her teasing, I head straight to Full Bloom after a quick caffeine detour, two coffees in hand and a flimsy excuse at the ready. I pause at the shop entrance, aware of how absurd this is. Me, voluntarily stepping into noise and color, no appointment or agenda. But I’m here anyway because…I want to be.
Through the window, Levi arranges a bouquet. Sleeves rolled, hair tousled like he’s surrendered mid–attempt at neatness. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, remnants of a blurry late-night message he’d sent: a photo of endless paperwork and a caption,Will sleep ever find me?
Apparently not, if the way he’s suppressing a yawn is any indication.
I hover just inside the entrance, debating if it’s smart to be here at all.
Then, the door swings open behind me, and a woman rushes in like she’s escaping a burning building and the only item saved was the bouquet she’s clutching.
“Oh my god, my wedding’s ruined.”
Levi startles, dropping the ribbon he was holding. “Shit, Emily. What—”
“The bouquet!” she cries. “Levi, you have to help me. It’shideous.”
I instinctively take a step back, hoping to avoid whatever…this is.
Levi looks wounded and a flush creeps up his neck to his ears. “Emily, youchosethe bouquet. We went over it. Multiple times.”
“Well, yeah, now that I’ve seen it in person, Ihateit,” she groans. Her pale cheeks are flushed, her movements agitated. “It looks like every other bouquet. I need it to be…” She flails. “Romantic.”
I watch as Levi rubs at his temples. “Can you be a little morespecificfor me? Because ‘romantic’ is awfully subjective. Do you want more texture? Different colors? Bigger blooms?” Levi eyes the bouquet, his gears clearly turning, and I’m grateful he hasn’t seen me yet because watching him work is fascinating.
“More feeling!” she exclaims. “I want it to look like itmeanssomething.”
I shift, feeling like I should be anywhere but here. Feelingandwishing.
The temperature ticks down, the air thinning the way it always does before they appear.
A flicker.
A shape hovers behind her: an older man in a brown jacket,posture stiff and expression unreadable like he’s not quite sure where he belongs in this moment.
It would be easy to ignore this commotion. To step back and let Levi deal with this on his own.
To pretend I don’t see the man—Emily’s father, I’m guessing—linger behind her, as if waiting for something.
