Clara hadn’t planned on waking up early.
But her eyes opened before dawn, the faint blue light of morning pressing softly against her curtains. She lay still for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of her apartment, and she realized something—
She wasn’t nervous.
Not like before.
Not like the nights when she replayed every word someone said, wondering what she should have done differently.
No.
Today felt different.
She got ready slowly, choosing a warmer sweater, tying her hair loosely, the kind of small choices she didn’t used to think about. And when she stepped outside, the air was cold enough to sting, but it felt sharper in a good way.
When she reached the shop, she expected to be the first one there.
She wasn’t.
Someone was standing by the door.
Elias.
His hands were in his coat pockets, head tilted slightly as if listening to the quiet street. The moment he heard her footsteps, he turned.
“Morning,” he said.
“You’re early,” she replied.
“You’re later than usual.”
“I’m ten minutes early.”
“I was eleven.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “You’re not competing with me.”
“I’m not.”
He absolutely was.
She unlocked the door, and he followed her in. The shop was still dim, sunlight barely touching the windows. Clara flipped the lights on, the room warming instantly.
“You ate?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
He handed her something.
A warm bakery bag.
Clara froze. “Elias—”
“It’s only one today,” he said. “You said three was too much.”
She stared at him. “That’s… not what I meant.”
“You said you needed fewer choices.”
“I meant—” She groaned softly. “Never mind.”
He watched her as she opened the bag. It was a croissant, flaky and still warm.
“You remembered.”
“I listened.”
Her heart tightened.
She took a small bite. He watched her too closely.
“It’s good,” she said.
“Good.”
He stood near her worktable, scanning the shelves with quiet attention—as if memorizing the room again, or perhaps making sure it was the same space he had walked into yesterday and the day before.
Then his gaze returned to her.
“You slept more,” he said.
She blinked. “How do you know that this time?”
“You look… rested.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t elaborate.
He didn’t need to.
Clara was about to arrange the dahlias when she realized he was watching the bucket like it offended him.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s too close to the edge.”
“It’s always there.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
He moved it two inches inward.
Clara pressed a hand over her smile. “You’re adjusting my shop?”
“I’m preventing it from falling.”
“It has never fallen.”
“It could.”
She shook her head, warmth threading through her chest.
“You know… you don’t have to fix everything.”
“I’m not fixing,” he said simply.
“I’m staying.”
Her breath caught.
She didn’t respond—not right away.
Not when the words hit her too directly.
He didn’t retract them. Didn’t soften them.
He just waited.
And for the first time, Clara didn’t try to hide the way her pulse jumped.
“Then…” she said quietly, “keep staying.”
The day moved gently—slow enough that Clara could see the small ways things had changed.
Elias didn’t hover.
He didn’t ask unnecessary questions.
He didn’t interrupt.
But he stayed close.
Close enough that she always knew where he was.
Close enough that their shoulders brushed when they crossed paths behind the counter.
Close enough that her breath sometimes shifted without permission.
She finished arranging an order for a regular customer and stepped back to admire it. Elias stood beside her, hands behind his back like he was observing something important.
“It’s different today,” he said.
“What is?”
“You added more green.”
Clara blinked. “You… noticed that?”
“Yes.”
“Is it bad?”
“No. You were thinking about warmth.”
She stared at him, thrown completely off balance.
“Elias, how do you—”
The bell rang sharply.
Clara turned as a woman stormed in—tall, sharp heels, sharper expression.
Julia Marks.
Clara felt her stomach drop.
Julia glared. “So. You sent my fiancé after me?”
“No,” Clara said quickly. “He came on his own—”
“He embarrassed me,” Julia snapped. “And now I want my refund.”
Clara exhaled slowly. “Julia, I explained this before—”
“You refused my vision.”
“You changed your vision six times.”
“And you couldn’t keep up.”
Clara tensed. “I did everything I could—”
“You did nothing,” Julia hissed. “And now you owe me.”
Elias stepped in before Clara could speak.
“No,” he said.
Julia turned, annoyed. “Oh, not you again—”
“This conversation is over.”
“It is not—”
“You’re harassing her.”
“She’s incompetent.”
“No,” Elias said sharply.
“She isn’t.”
Julia froze.
Elias took one step forward—
not threatening, just certain.
“You’re angry at yourself,” he said calmly.
“And taking it out on someone who did her job.”
Julia’s mouth opened—
then closed.
Clara watched, stunned.
Julia’s confidence faltered.
Elias continued, voice low but firm.
“You’re not getting a refund.”
He held her gaze.
“And you know why.”
For a moment, Julia didn’t speak.
Then she scoffed, turned sharply, and marched out.
The bell slammed behind her.
Clara stood there, gripping the counter.
“…Elias.”
He turned to her.
“I didn’t want her talking to you like that,” he said.
“I won’t let anyone do that.”
Clara’s throat tightened.
“Elias, you can’t protect me from every rude customer.”
“I can try.”
“That’s not—”
“I know you’re capable,” he said softly.
“But I’m allowed to be here.”
Allowed.
Not required.
Not obligated.
Just allowed.
Clara stepped closer without thinking.
“You really mean that,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Then…” she breathed, “stay.”
He didn’t hesitate.
“I will.”
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