Clara didn’t usually notice small things.
Or—she noticed the ones that mattered to her work:
how quickly roses wilted, which stems needed more water, which customers were about to cry before they did.
But she had never paid attention to the tiny, ordinary details of someone standing in her shop.
Until Elias.
He was here again the next morning.
Not walking in like yesterday.
Not arriving early.
Just… on time.
Like showing up had quietly become part of his routine.
Clara was untying a new shipment of tulips when the bell chimed. She looked up, already knowing the sound of his steps.
He paused at the door, scanning the room the way he always did—as if confirming she was safe, or here, or maybe just real.
“Good morning,” he said.
Her chest warmed. “Morning.”
He moved closer, hands in his pockets, coat still open from the cold outside.
“Did you sleep?”
“Some,” she admitted. “You?”
“Some.”
They both knew what that meant.
Neither of them had slept much.
Not because of worry.
But because their thoughts had been loud.
Clara went back to the tulips, slicing the stems at an angle. Elias hovered near the counter—not awkward, not lost. Just present.
After a moment, he said, “You cut them differently.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Yesterday you trimmed roses straight across. Today you’re cutting these… diagonally.”
Her hands paused mid-air.
“You noticed that?”
He nodded like it was obvious.
“You do it consistently.”
Clara felt her cheeks warm. “I didn’t realize you were watching that closely.”
“I always watch closely.”
He said it with zero embarrassment.
Zero hesitation.
Her pulse skipped again.
Before she could respond, Marla stumbled in late—hair a mess, scarf falling off one shoulder.
“Clara—I overslept—WAIT.”
She froze.
Her eyes shot between Clara and Elias.
“Oh. He’s here. Again.”
She smirked. “Wow. Some people have a *routine*, I see.”
Clara glared at her. Elias didn’t react.
Marla leaned in and whispered loudly, “Should I leave? Am I interrupting—”
“Go sort the carnations,” Clara hissed.
Marla saluted dramatically and disappeared into the back.
Elias watched the exchange, expression unreadable but softer than usual.
“You two are close,” he observed.
“She’s family,” Clara said simply.
He absorbed that with a small nod, like it meant more than she realized.
Clara returned to the tulips, trying to regain her focus.
But he spoke again.
“You should eat.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You haven’t eaten. You get quiet when you’re hungry.”
Clara stared at him, stunned.
“How would you know that?”
“Yesterday,” he said. “And the day before that. Around this time.”
Clara’s mouth parted.
“You were paying *that* much attention?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t a confession.
It was a fact.
Before she could recover, he reached into his coat and placed something gently onto the counter.
A small paper bag.
Warm.
“I stopped by the bakery downstairs,” he said. “They said these were fresh.”
Clara swallowed.
“You got me breakfast?”
“I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
He cleared his throat—just a tiny shift, almost nervous.
“So I brought three options.”
She opened the bag.
Three pastries.
All different.
All carefully packed.
A laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it.
He stiffened. “What.”
“Nothing,” she said softly. “You’re just… learning.”
His shoulders eased slightly.
“Yes.”
He met her eyes.
“I’m trying to.”
Clara chose the smallest pastry from the bag and took a careful bite.
Warm. Soft. Slightly sweet.
Elias watched like he was waiting for a verdict.
“It’s good,” she said.
He nodded once, as if relieved.
“I can bring something else tomorrow.”
She nearly choked. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“You’re… planning to come tomorrow?”
His brows lowered slightly, like he didn’t understand the question.
“I’ve been coming every day.”
“Yes, but—” she floundered, “you don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“But you still will?”
“Yes.”
Her heartbeat turned into something she could feel in her palms.
She needed a distraction, so she grabbed a bucket and went to refill the water in the back room.
Elias followed.
She spun around. “You don’t have to follow me everywhere.”
“I know.”
He didn’t stop walking.
She let out a soft groan. “Elias—”
“I’m not hovering,” he said calmly. “I just don’t want to stop being near you.”
The bucket nearly slipped from her hand.
“Do you even hear yourself?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“And you’re saying things like that out loud?”
“Yes.”
“Elias—”
He stepped closer, gently taking the bucket from her grip like it weighed nothing.
“Let me,” he said.
“It’s not heavy.”
“That’s not the point.”
Her breath hitched. “Then what is?”
“That I want to help.”
Simple.
Direct.
Nothing poetic—just truth.
He filled the bucket and handed it back to her. She didn’t miss the way his fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary before pulling away.
They returned to the front of the shop, and Clara set the bucket down, trying to steady herself.
She was about to speak when he asked, “Are you free tonight?”
Her head snapped up.
“I—I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Maybe yes or maybe no?”
She swallowed. “Maybe yes.”
He nodded as if that settled something important inside him.
“Good.”
“Elias… what did you have in mind?”
He hesitated, then said quietly:
“I didn’t want last night to be the only night.”
Her lungs forgot how to function.
“Oh.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Not pushing.
Not demanding.
Just waiting for her to meet him halfway.
Clara stepped closer—not touching, but enough that he would feel her warmth.
“I didn’t want it to be the only night either,” she said.
Elias exhaled—
slow, low, almost like relief.
“Then we’ll figure it out,” he said.
“How?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he answered softly.
“As long as we both keep showing up.”
Clara felt that line settle right beneath her ribs.
He wasn’t asking for promises.
He wasn’t asking for definitions.
He wasn’t asking for certainty.
He was asking for presence.
And she could give him that.
Slowly, she reached for his hand again—
the same gesture she’d made last night,
the same quiet offering of closeness.
This time—
he met her hand halfway.
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