Kyle had been nearby. Too nearby.

He crouched near the herb section, organizing trays of rosemary and mint, when he heard it—Mark’s voice, low and insistent, filtering in from behind a rack of succulents.

“I think I’m in love with him.”

Kyle’s hand froze on the edge of a terra cotta pot. His breath caught mid-chest.

At first, he thought he misheard. But then—

“I’m in love with Kyle.”

Kyle ducked instinctively, as if the words had physically struck him. He scrambled back, hiding behind a curtain of hanging pothos. His heart thundered in his chest like it wanted to swing from the ceiling vines.

Mark was talking to someone on the phone—Dave, if the tone was any indication. Calm, confident, but tinged with something deeper. Softness. Vulnerability.

Kyle pressed his back to the shelf and listened, cheeks burning.

“I want to impress him, but he’s not impressed by money or suits. He laughs at me when I call a pothos a ‘leaf thing.’”

A choked sound escaped Kyle’s throat. He slapped a hand over his mouth.

What the hell.

Mark Lee—the same man who strutted into Green Sprout Haven three months ago looking like a stock photo of ‘Intimidating CEO’—was saying things like ‘I want to be someone softer around him.’

And he meant Kyle.

Kyle Arandia, boyfriend to an emotionally unavailable liar, long-time family punching bag, and guy who forgot to water half the ferns last Tuesday.

He didn’t know what to do with the words. He didn’t even know how to breathe for a second.

“Say that again?” Dave’s voice faintly echoed from Mark’s phone.

“I’m in love with Kyle.”

Mark said it like a promise. Like a confession made to the world.

Kyle blinked several times. Then scrambled to pretend he hadn’t just had an emotional aneurysm.

By the time Mark rounded the corner and walked to the counter, Kyle had dusted off his apron, rearranged three pots of lavender, and forcibly lowered his heart rate.

“Hi,” Mark said smoothly, placing a new ceramic pot on the counter like nothing happened.

Kyle managed a smile. “Hey, Mark. New addition to your jungle?”

Mark tilted his head, as if caught off guard by the question. “You remembered?”

“Of course,” Kyle replied, trying to act normal. “You’ve been bringing home more greens than a rabbit on payday.”

Mark laughed under his breath. “I guess I like the shop.”

“Or the plants?”

Mark’s eyes flickered toward him. “Something like that.”

Kyle rang up the pot, fingers twitching.

“Anything else?” he asked, voice too light.

“No,” Mark said. “Just... thank you. For remembering.”

Kyle handed him the bag. “Have a good day, Mark.”

Mark paused at the door. He turned slightly, like he wanted to say something else, but decided against it.

The bell chimed as he left.

Kyle exhaled so hard he almost fainted.

Then he stared at the counter for a long, long time.

Somewhere in his chest, a tiny green shoot of hope tried to push its way through the soil of doubt.

He didn’t know what it meant yet.

But he knew it had begun to grow.