Elias couldn’t stop replaying the moment her hand slipped into his.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t loud.
But it landed somewhere deep, somewhere he hadn’t let anyone reach in years.
By the time he got home that night, he stood in the entryway longer than necessary, coat still on, keys still in his hand, the quiet of the apartment pressing in around him. He wasn’t used to coming back to a space that didn’t echo him.
Tonight, it didn’t feel empty.
It felt… unsettled.
Alive.
He placed his keys on the table, loosened his tie, and sat down—only to stand again seconds later. His thoughts wouldn’t sit still.
Her hand had been warm.
Small.
Steady.
He hadn’t expected her to intertwine their fingers.
He hadn’t expected the way his chest tightened when she did.
He hadn’t expected any of this.
The next morning, he arrived at the office before sunrise. The city was still half-asleep, lights scattered across the skyline like tired stars. His assistant greeted him an hour later, surprised to find him already reading through reports.
“You’re in early,” she said.
“I had things to review.”
She nodded but watched him a moment too long.
“Mr. Vance… you seem different.”
He didn’t look up. “In what way?”
“I’m not sure. Just—lighter.”
He froze briefly. A beat too still.
“Must be the weather,” he replied.
She didn’t look convinced.
By mid-morning, the familiar rhythm began to pull him back into routine—emails, calls, numbers, decisions. But every so often, something shifted:
the ghost of warmth in his palm,
the faint memory of her leaning closer at the harbor,
the way she’d said “I’ll be there” without hesitation.
Around noon, Julian appeared at his office door without knocking.
“So,” Julian started, “what’s her name?”
Elias didn’t look up. “No.”
“No what?”
“No questions.”
Julian grinned. “Ah. So there is a woman.”
“Julian.”
“Fine, fine.” He strolled in anyway. “Just came to remind you about the shareholder briefing tomorrow. And also—your schedule just opened up this afternoon.”
Elias’s brow lifted. “How.”
“I moved the logistics call to Friday.”
“You can’t do that without—”
“I can and I did. You’re welcome.”
Elias stared at him. “Why.”
Julian leaned on the desk, smug as ever. “Because if you’re going to pretend nothing is happening, at least have the decency to do it outside this building.”
Elias exhaled slowly. “You’re insufferable.”
“I know.” Julian turned toward the door. “But I’m right.”
Elias didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
He didn’t have an excuse now.
He had time.
Too much of it.
And there was only one place he wanted to go.
By the time he stepped outside, the sky was turning the pale gold of early afternoon. His car pulled up automatically, but instead of getting inside, he started walking.
His feet moved before he decided where to go.
Before long, he was standing in front of *Wren & Bloom*.
The bell chimed as he stepped inside.
Clara looked up from the counter.
The second their eyes met, something in the air shifted—quiet, warm, immediate.
“Hi,” she said, breath catching just a little.
Elias felt himself breathe easier.
“Hi.”
Clara set aside the bouquet she’d been tying, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped around the counter. Elias watched the movement—small, natural, but somehow impossible for him to look away from.
“You’re early,” she said softly.
“So are you.”
Her lips curved. “I work here.”
“I know.”
He said it like it meant something.
Clara tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly aware of how close he was standing—not uncomfortably close, but just enough that she could feel the faint warmth radiating from him.
“Did you come from a meeting?” she asked.
“No.”
“From home?”
“No.”
“Then…?”
He held her eyes, steady, unguarded.
“I came from wanting to see you.”
Her breath caught.
Not because the words were dramatic—they weren’t.
But because they were honest.
Completely, quietly honest.
She looked down for a moment, trying to steady the pulse fluttering at her throat. When she looked back up, he was closer—not by much, just half a step, but enough to feel intentional.
“Do you—” she began, then stopped, unsure how to finish.
Elias waited.
She tried again. “Do you want to stay for a while?”
“Yes.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I haven’t even said what we’d be doing.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She laughed softly, the sound easing something in him he didn’t know had been tense.
“Help me with these?” she asked, gesturing toward a bundle of eucalyptus and pale roses.
Elias looked at the flowers like they were instructions he’d never seen before.
“I don’t know anything about arranging.”
“That’s okay.”
She offered a small smile. “Just being here helps.”
He didn’t say anything, but the shift in his expression—barely there, softer—told her he’d heard every layer of what she meant.
Clara worked beside him, handing him stems one at a time.
“Hold these,” she instructed.
He held them stiffly.
“Relax your grip.”
He tried. Failed.
She reached over, gently adjusting his hands.
Her fingers brushed his.
Elias stayed absolutely still.
“Better,” she said quietly.
He didn’t trust himself to answer.
They worked like that for several minutes—Clara moving with ease, Elias trying (and failing) to look like he belonged among flowers. When she stepped back to check the shape of the arrangement, she smiled.
“You’re a natural,” she teased.
“I’m not.”
“No,” she laughed, “you’re really not.”
But she said it with warmth, not criticism.
He watched her carefully, the way her smile brightened the small corner of the shop, the way her hands moved with confidence, the way she seemed lighter when she was surrounded by color.
“Clara,” he said quietly.
She looked up.
Elias’s voice was lower than before, steadier.
“Last night wasn’t an accident.”
Her breath stalled.
He stepped closer—slow, certain, giving her every chance to step back.
She didn’t.
“I meant what I said,” he continued. “About moving toward something.”
Her pulse hammered. “So did I.”
His eyes softened.
“Then let me stay close.”
He lifted his hand—not to take hers, but to let it hover near her wrist.
Asking.
Waiting.
Clara turned her palm upward.
He placed his hand against hers—warm, certain.
Not a first touch.
A second one.
A confirmation.
And this time, neither of them looked away.
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