Clara woke up with the scarf still hanging on the back of her chair.
She hadn’t meant to keep it there—hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch either—but the warmth of it had lingered long after she returned home. Every time she glanced at it, that faint cedar scent drifted toward her, a reminder of the way Elias had wrapped it around her neck without hesitation.
Her fingers brushed the fabric as she passed.
A quiet shiver ran through her.
She arrived early at the shop again, unlocking the door as the morning light filtered through the windows. The first thing she checked—without thinking—was her phone.
No message.
But instead of disappointment, there was something else:
**anticipation.**
As if something was already on its way.
Marla arrived with a bagel in her mouth and a look far too knowing for this early hour.
“Morning,” she mumbled. “You look like someone who slept with a secret.”
Clara flushed instantly. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes.”
Clara busied herself tying her apron. “We have a delivery at nine. Please behave.”
“I always behave,” Marla said.
“You never behave.”
But before they could argue further, the bell above the door chimed.
A man in a charcoal coat stepped inside—not Elias.
Tall, clean-cut, carrying a leather portfolio.
“Good morning,” he said. “I’m looking for Clara Wren.”
Clara blinked. “That’s me.”
He held out a sealed envelope. “Mr. Vance asked me to bring this to you.”
Her pulse skipped.
She took the envelope slowly, almost delicately.
The messenger nodded and left as quickly as he came.
Marla was already vibrating.
“OPEN IT. OPEN IT NOW.”
Clara hesitated—just one breath—then unfolded it carefully.
Inside was a handwritten note.
*I have a meeting near the harbor this afternoon.
If you’re free, meet me by the railing at four.
— E*
Clara stared at the ink, the crispness of each stroke, the simplicity of the request.
It wasn’t a command.
It wasn’t even urgent.
It was an invitation.
A bridge.
Marla read her expression and burst out, “OH, SO YOU’RE GOING.”
Clara tried to hide her smile. Failed.
“Maybe,” she said weakly.
“Clara Wren, if you don’t go, *I* will go in your place.”
Clara laughed despite herself. “You absolutely will not.”
“You wanna bet?”
Before Clara could respond, the bell chimed again—and this time, her heart stopped because she knew the sound of his footsteps before she saw him.
Elias stepped inside.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
Not before four.
Not this early.
But there he was.
As if drawn in a straight line toward her.
His eyes found her instantly—like they had their own gravity.
“Hi,” he said, breath visible in the cold morning air.
Marla whispered, “I am LEAVING,” and vanished behind the curtain.
Clara exhaled softly. “Hi.”
He looked at her hands, at the envelope still half-open, then back at her.
“You got it.”
“I did.”
“And?”
Her heartbeat stuttered.
She didn’t look away.
“I’ll be there.”
Four o’clock felt impossibly far away.
Clara worked through three custom bouquets, two walk-in customers, and one frantic bride who wanted “roses that looked like they were blushing but not embarrassed,” whatever that meant. She smiled through all of it, but her thoughts were nowhere near the flowers.
They were at the harbor.
By the railing.
At four.
When the clock finally slid past 3:30, Marla shoved her out the door.
“Go,” she commanded. “If you’re late to a not-date with a man like that, I’ll disown you.”
“It’s not a date,” Clara protested weakly.
Marla snorted. “Sure. And I’m the Queen of Evermere.”
Clara gave up and let herself be pushed onto the street.
The walk to the harbor felt shorter than usual, her steps light despite the cold. The sky was shifting into a soft winter peach, the first hint of evening brushing against the water.
Elias was already there.
He stood with one hand resting on the railing, the other in his coat pocket, watching the horizon like he was trying to memorize the way the light moved.
When he heard her footsteps, he turned.
His expression changed—subtly, but unmistakably.
Like someone exhaling after holding their breath for hours.
“You’re early,” he said.
“You’re earlier.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
Clara stepped beside him, the distance between them small enough for the wind to tangle their coats. They watched the water for a moment, the world settling into a quiet pulse around them.
“Did your meeting go well?” she asked.
“It ended early.”
“Because of me?”
A pause.
Then—
“Yes.”
Her breath hitched. “Elias…”
“I wanted more time.”
The confession hung between them, soft and startling.
Clara looked down at her hands, then at his. Slowly, almost shyly, she shifted a little closer until their sleeves brushed—like the night before, but this time on purpose.
He noticed.
He always noticed.
“I keep thinking,” Elias said quietly, “that I missed something for too long.”
She turned toward him. “Missed what?”
His jaw tightened slightly, not in frustration, but in vulnerability.
“This,” he said.
It was barely a word.
Barely a breath.
But it trembled with meaning.
Before she could answer, a gust of wind swept across the harbor, colder than before. Clara instinctively wrapped her coat tighter, but Elias moved first.
He stepped closer—just enough that their shoulders touched, just enough that his warmth eased the chill.
“Better?” he asked softly.
She nodded, breath unsteady. “Yes.”
Another pause.
Another heartbeat.
Then she asked, “Elias… what are we doing?”
For a moment, he didn’t speak.
He looked at her—really looked—like the world beyond her had stopped being relevant.
“We’re… moving toward something,” he finally said.
Clara’s lips parted. “And you’re not afraid?”
He exhaled through his nose. “Terrified.”
“Then why—”
“Because I want it anyway.”
Her pulse fluttered.
A long silence spread between them, warm despite the cold.
Then—
Elias lifted his hand again, slowly, giving her every chance to step back.
She didn’t.
His hand found hers.
Not tentative this time.
Not questioning.
And Clara laced her fingers through his.
The first real hold.
The harbor lights flickered on above them.
And the world felt suddenly—
inevitably—
changed.
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