Even before Elias reached the shop, he could tell it was close to closing time.
The lights inside *Wren & Bloom* glowed in soft amber, warming the windows against the cold evening air. Shadows moved gently across the walls—Marla cleaning the counter, Clara arranging something near the back. The familiar rhythm of the shop was visible even from the street, a quiet cadence unlike anything in his own world.
He stopped halfway down the sidewalk.
His breath clouded in front of him, dissolving into the chill. He hadn’t planned what to say. He wasn’t even certain why he’d come. The rosemary in his pocket felt heavier than a sprig of herb had any right to be, as though it carried the weight of a decision he hadn’t meant to make.
He could still turn around.
He could still pretend none of this meant anything.
But then Clara laughed—soft, faint, barely audible through the glass—and something inside him shifted.
He walked forward.
The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped inside. Marla glanced up first.
“Oh—hey!” she said, startled but cheerful. “Welcome to—oh.” Her eyes widened as recognition sank in. She looked between Elias and Clara like she’d stumbled into a scene she wasn’t prepared for.
Clara turned.
The moment she saw him, her hands paused mid-motion. A ribbon slipped between her fingers. Her expression didn’t break into surprise or confusion—only a kind of gentle stillness, like she’d been expecting him in some quiet corner of her mind.
“Hi,” she said softly.
Elias nodded, the smallest movement. “Hi.”
Marla cleared her throat dramatically. “Well. I think the mop needs me. In… the back. Far, far in the back.”
She vanished before either of them could protest, leaving a trail of suspiciously exaggerated footsteps.
Silence unfolded again, but not the brittle kind—this one felt soft, familiar.
Clara set down the ribbon. “I didn’t think you’d… actually come.”
Elias stepped toward the counter, each movement measured but certain. “I didn’t think I would either.”
Her lips curved in the faintest smile. “Long day?”
“Long week.”
She nodded, understanding more than he said. “The flowers helped?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
Clara’s eyes warmed, but she didn’t tease him for admitting it. “I’m glad.”
A beat passed.
He reached into his coat pocket and set the rosemary on the counter between them. Her breath caught—just a little.
“You got it,” she murmured.
“I did.”
“And you came here.”
He met her eyes, steady. “I did.”
The shop suddenly felt too small, too quiet. Something fragile yet unmistakably alive sparked between them.
She brushed her thumb lightly over the ribbon. “I’m closing in a few minutes. If you want to wait… or come back in the morning—”
“I’ll wait,” he said before she finished.
Her pulse flickered visibly in her throat.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Elias stepped back, giving her space as she continued locking up, turning off lights, wiping counters with practiced motions. He watched the way she moved—efficient, gentle, grounded. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there before Marla reappeared, coat on, keys in hand.
“I’m heading out,” she announced loudly. “Clara, text me when you get home. And—uh—don’t forget to water the… feelings. I mean flowers. The flowers!”
She fled again. This time, the bell above the door jingled like it was laughing at her.
When they were finally alone, Clara turned the last switch, dimming the shop to a warm hush. She walked toward him, the glow of the sign outside casting a soft halo around her.
“Thank you for waiting,” she said.
Elias found himself breathing easier than he had all week. “I wanted to.”
She opened the door, holding it for him. The night air wrapped around them as they stepped out into the quiet street.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like two separate worlds.
It felt like a door—finally, intentionally—opening.
The street outside was quieter than either of them expected.
Evermere usually hummed, even at night—cars whispering down distant roads, footsteps echoing from nearby apartments, the low murmur of a city that never really slept. But tonight, the air felt still, as if the world had stepped aside to give them space.
Clara locked the door behind her, the key clicking softly in the lock. Elias watched her hands move—steady, practiced, the motions of someone who had built a life around small rituals. When she turned back to him, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“So,” she said gently, “no dinner meeting tonight?”
He blinked, caught off guard by her accuracy. “It wasn’t important.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
“It isn’t.”
She didn’t press. Somehow, she never did. She simply waited, giving him room to choose the truth or avoid it.
Elias took a slow breath, the cold air sharp in his lungs. “I… wanted to see you.”
There.
The truth, bare and unfamiliar.
Clara’s expression softened—not surprised, but something quieter. Something like recognition.
“I’m glad you came,” she said.
They began walking without discussing a direction, their footsteps falling into an easy rhythm. The city stretched ahead, lamplights glowing in long intervals, casting pale pools of warmth across the pavement.
“You close late,” Elias said.
“Mmm. Sometimes. Depends on the orders.” She smiled lightly. “Depends on the day.”
“And today?”
She thought about it. “Today felt… long. But then it didn’t.”
He looked at her, trying to understand the shift.
“You showing up probably had something to do with that,” she added, tone soft but matter-of-fact.
Something in his chest tightened—quick and bright.
They stopped at a crosswalk, the red pedestrian light holding them in place. Clara hugged her coat a little closer to her body, the cold brushing across her cheeks.
“You always walk home?” he asked.
“Usually.”
“At this hour?”
“It’s not far.”
He frowned. “That’s not an answer.”
She smiled at the tone he didn’t realize he used—protective, quiet, instinctive.
“I’m careful,” she said.
“That’s not enough.”
The light changed. They didn’t move.
Clara looked up at him, eyes warm, steady. “Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t walk alone?”
“Yes.”
She let out a soft laugh. “You know… if anyone else said that, I’d tell them to stop worrying.”
He didn’t respond. His jaw shifted slightly, like he was choosing his words with care.
“But since it’s you…” She tipped her head. “I don’t mind.”
He didn’t expect that. Or the warmth it sparked.
They started walking again, their steps slower now. Clara’s building came into view—a modest corner apartment, vines climbing the fire escape, a warm light glowing faintly through the curtains.
She stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“This is me,” she said.
Elias took in the quiet street, the dim stairwell, the dark corners. Something uneasy flickered across his features.
“You should get a better lock,” he said.
She huffed a small laugh. “You haven’t even seen it.”
“I don’t need to.”
Clara stepped up onto the first stair, then turned back toward him. Their height shifted just enough for her to be eye-level with him.
“Elias.”
He lifted his gaze to hers.
“Thank you for walking with me.”
His breath tightened. “You shouldn’t thank me for that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wanted to.”
Her fingers curled gently around the railing. “Then I’m glad.”
A quiet wrapped around them again. Softer this time. Easier.
She opened her mouth—maybe to say goodnight, maybe something else—but she hesitated. Something flickered across her face, a thought she hadn’t decided whether to speak.
“What?” he asked.
Clara exhaled a faint breath. “You don’t have to keep pretending you don’t care.”
His heartbeat stuttered—not painfully, but in a way that reached new territory inside him.
“I’m not pretending,” he said.
Not anymore.
Clara held his gaze for one long, steady moment. Then she nodded once, almost imperceptibly.
“Goodnight, Elias.”
He didn’t trust his voice, so he simply nodded back. She turned toward the stairs, her steps soft, disappearing into the warm light above.
He waited until he heard the faint click of her apartment door closing.
Only then did he turn back toward the street.
And for the first time in years—
he didn’t feel alone on the walk home.
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