Elias hadn’t realized how quickly his routine had shifted.
There had been a time—not long ago—when his mornings were rigid.
Quiet. Predictable.
Everything measured down to the minute.
Now his mornings began with a door chime in a flower shop.
And with her.
The next day, he arrived on time—maybe a minute early—and Clara was already at the counter, arranging a new set of dahlias. Her hair was tied up today, a few strands falling near her cheek.
He noticed that first.
“Morning,” she said without looking up.
“Morning,” he replied, already walking toward her.
She glanced at him, eyes soft in a way that made his chest tighten.
“You beat me.”
“You slept less today,” he said.
She blinked. “How do you know that?”
“You look tired.”
“I do?”
“Yes.”
She touched her cheek self-consciously. “Is that… bad?”
“No.”
He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t have to.
She could read the rest in his eyes.
He set something on the counter—a familiar paper bag.
Clara laughed. “Breakfast again?”
“You didn’t finish what you liked yesterday.”
“That’s because you brought too many.”
“Then I’ll bring fewer.”
“You brought three again, didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
She sighed, smiling helplessly. “You’re impossible.”
He didn’t deny it.
Before she could tease him further, a sharp knock sounded from the front door. Clara looked up.
A man—not a customer—stood outside.
Clean suit. Expensive watch.
Cold expression.
Elias stiffened.
Clara opened the door cautiously.
“Hi, can I help—?”
“Clara Wren?” the man asked.
“Yes?”
“I’m Nicholas Hale. I believe you know my partner, Julia Marks.”
Clara tensed.
Oh.
Julia—the wedding client from last month. The one who kept changing her mind, never paid on time, and left Clara three angry voicemails.
“I’m here for the refund,” Nicholas said flatly.
Clara froze. “The—what?”
“You didn’t finish her arrangements.”
“That’s because she canceled the order.”
“She canceled because you didn’t meet her expectations.”
Clara’s breath hitched. “She changed her brief six times—”
“And you refused to redo them.”
“That’s not true—”
Elias stepped forward.
“Clara,” he said quietly, “go inside.”
She turned to him. “Elias, it’s fine—”
“It’s not.”
Nicholas looked him up and down with irritation. “This is between the florist and my fiancée.”
“She’s not giving you a refund,” Elias replied.
“Excuse me?”
“The contract states cancellations within seven days are non-refundable.”
Nicholas scoffed. “Who are you? Her lawyer?”
“No,” Elias said.
“Something else.”
Nicholas opened his mouth, ready to fire back—but then he paused.
Recognition flickered in his eyes.
“Wait—Vance? Elias Vance?”
Elias didn’t answer.
Nicholas straightened immediately.
“Oh. I—didn’t realize. I didn’t know you were… involved.”
Clara blinked. “You… know him?”
“Of course I know him,” Nicholas said, suddenly cautious. “Everyone in the business sector does.”
He cleared his throat.
“Well. Perhaps we can… reconsider the refund. I’ll speak to Julia.”
He backed away quickly.
Too quickly.
“I’m sure we can settle it. Good day.”
He left.
Clara stood frozen for a full three seconds.
“…What just happened?” she whispered.
Elias turned to her, expression unreadable but warm around the edges.
“You were being pushed,” he said. “I didn’t like it.”
Her chest tightened.
“Elias… you didn’t have to step in like that.”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“I did.”
Clara didn’t speak for a moment.
She just looked at him—really looked—and Elias felt something in his chest shift under the weight of her gaze.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
Something softer.
Something dangerous.
“Elias…” she said quietly, “you can’t just step in and scare people off because of your name.”
“I didn’t use my name.”
“No,” she admitted, “but he recognized you.”
“That isn’t my concern.”
“It should be.”
Elias’s jaw tightened—not in anger, but in frustration at himself.
“I don’t want anyone speaking to you like that. Or pushing you.”
Clara’s breath trembled.
“Elias, I’ve dealt with difficult clients before. I can handle it.”
“I know you can,” he said quietly. “But you shouldn’t have to handle it alone.”
The words hit her like something physical.
She swallowed hard.
“…You really mean that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He met her eyes, a low certainty settling into his voice.
“Because you matter to me.”
Her heart kicked.
He didn’t look away.
Didn’t soften it.
He just let the truth sit there between them, steady and undeniable.
Before she could decide what to do with the feeling rising in her chest, another voice cut in from the back.
“Uh… I can come back later.”
Marla.
Both turned to see her standing by the cooler, holding a stack of floral foam and trying very badly to pretend she hadn’t heard a single word.
Clara groaned. “Marla—”
“I swear I didn’t hear the whole thing,” Marla said immediately, “just the part where Elias said you matter to him.”
Elias closed his eyes for one second.
Clara covered her face with both hands. “Oh my god—”
“I’m leaving!” Marla yelped, and disappeared again.
Silence returned—
this time warmer
and somehow… deeper.
Clara slowly dropped her hands and looked back at Elias.
“You can’t say things like that with other people listening,” she whispered.
“It didn’t matter.”
“It mattered to me.”
He stepped closer.
Close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.
“Then I’ll only say it to you,” he murmured.
Her breath caught.
He wasn’t flirting.
He wasn’t teasing.
He meant every word.
“Clara,” he said softly, “tell me if I’m crossing a line.”
She shook her head instantly.
“You’re not.”
“You’d tell me if I was?”
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly.
“Then I’ll keep going.”
She barely had time to inhale before he reached out—
slowly, deliberately—
and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Her pulse jumped so loudly she almost stepped back.
Almost.
He studied her carefully.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m not,” she whispered.
“You are.”
“I’m not—”
He leaned in just enough that his breath grazed her cheek.
“Clara.”
She went completely still.
His voice lowered, steady and warm at the center.
“I like being near you.
I like standing with you.
I like showing up for you.”
Her heart twisted painfully.
“Elias…”
“And unless you tell me to stop,” he said,
“I’m going to keep choosing you.”
She exhaled a shaky breath.
“…I don’t want you to stop.”
He nodded once—
slow, sure, like anchoring himself.
“Good.”
And when she lifted her hand—
just slightly, just enough—
he met it halfway,
his fingers sliding into hers with a familiarity that already felt inevitable.
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