Elias was late to his own office.
Not by much—ten minutes, maybe twelve—but enough that his assistant lifted an eyebrow when he stepped out of the elevator.
“Traffic?” she asked.
“No.”
She waited.
“I stopped for coffee,” he said.
Her brows went higher. “You don’t drink coffee.”
“It wasn’t for me.”
Understanding flashed in her eyes, but to her credit, she didn’t comment. She simply nodded and handed him his schedule.
“The board wants the numbers by tomorrow. Julian said he’d bring you the revised report at ten.”
“Fine.”
He went into his office, closed the door, and looked at the city spread beneath the glass. Normally, this view grounded him. Today, it felt… far away.
His phone buzzed.
A new message.
Clara.
She had sent a picture—a quick, slightly crooked photo of the counter at *Wren & Bloom*. In the center was a single vase of dahlias, the ones they’d rearranged the day before. She’d captioned it:
*They haven’t fallen off the edge yet.*
Elias’s mouth twitched.
He sat down at his desk and typed back:
*Good.*
Then, after a beat:
*They won’t. I moved them.*
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Came back.
*You really like moving my things, don’t you?*
He stared at the screen longer than necessary.
*Only when they’re too close to falling.*
He hit send before he could overthink it.
A knock sounded on his door.
Julian let himself in without waiting. “So,” he began, “why does your face look less like a storm cloud today?”
Elias didn’t look up. “It doesn’t.”
“It does. It’s… unsettling. I feel like I should call someone.”
“Leave.”
Julian dropped into the chair across from him anyway. “You’ve been going to that flower shop every day.”
“That’s not relevant to our Q4 projections.”
“It’s very relevant to my curiosity.” Julian leaned forward. “Have you asked her out yet?”
Elias’s fingers paused over the keyboard. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I see her every day.”
“Exactly. You see her at work. Her work. That’s different.”
Elias stayed quiet.
Julian’s tone softened. “You like her.”
“Yes.”
“You planning to do anything with that information, or just stare at flowers forever?”
Elias shot him a flat look.
Julian lifted his hands. “Look, all I’m saying is… at some point, you have to ask her to see you somewhere that isn’t between a cash register and a bucket of dahlias.”
Elias leaned back in his chair, considering that.
He had shown up.
He had stayed.
He had stood between her and people who tried to push her.
But he hadn’t actually asked for anything.
“I don’t want to push her,” he said.
“Then don’t.” Julian shrugged. “Ask. Don’t push. Give her the choice.”
Elias looked back at his phone.
The last message from Clara still glowed on the screen.
*You really like moving my things, don’t you?*
He thought of her hands, the way she held stems, the way she steadied vases, the way she had said *stay* without flinching.
“Elias,” Julian said more gently, “you’re allowed to want something.”
He exhaled slowly.
That afternoon, between meetings and numbers and emails, the thought followed him like a quiet echo:
You’re allowed to want something.
You’re allowed to want her.
By the time the sky began to dim, Elias had made a decision.
He picked up his phone and typed:
*Are you free tonight?
Not at the shop.*
He stared at the words for a long second, then hit send.
Seconds later, three dots appeared.
*Maybe,* she wrote. *Depends who’s asking.*
His chest tightened.
*I am,* he replied.
This time, her answer came quicker.
*Then yes.*
Clara read his message three times.
*Are you free tonight?
Not at the shop.*
Her first reaction was simple: yes.
Her second reaction was panic.
She stood behind the counter, phone in hand, trying not to visibly combust while Marla arranged carnations nearby.
“Why do you look like you just read a plot twist?” Marla asked.
“I—didn’t.”
“You did.”
Clara ignored her and typed back, *Maybe. Depends who’s asking.*
His reply came so quickly it made her jump.
*I am.*
Her heartbeat stumbled.
She typed, *Then yes,* before she could talk herself out of it.
Marla made a noise. “Okay, what is happening and do I get popcorn?”
“No,” Clara said too fast.
“Yes,” Marla countered. “Your face says yes, your voice says please mind your own business, which only makes me more curious.”
Clara took a breath. “He asked if I’m free. Tonight.”
Marla gasped. “Outside of here?”
“Yes.”
“Like a date.”
Clara hesitated. “He didn’t call it that.”
“But it walks like one, talks like one—”
“Marla.”
“Fine. I’ll call it ‘a romantically charged social outing’.”
Clara covered her face. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m helping emotionally,” Marla said. “Logistically, you’re on your own.”
Her phone buzzed again.
*Seven o’clock? There’s a small place near the harbor that serves decent food. I can meet you outside the shop.*
She stared at the message, warmth spreading in her chest.
*Okay,* she typed. *I’ll be here.*
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur.
She worked, she smiled, she answered questions, she wrapped stems—but underneath all of it, there was a steady hum.
Seven o’clock.
Harbor.
Him.
At 6:45, Marla shooed her toward the back. “Go. I can close.”
“I can’t let you—”
“You can and you will,” Marla said. “Also, change your sweater. Wear the one that makes you look like you accidentally walked out of a cozy movie.”
“I don’t—”
“Top shelf. Grey one. Go.”
Clara obeyed.
When she stepped back out at 6:59, the shop was dim, the sign flipped to CLOSED, and Marla was nowhere in sight.
Elias was.
He stood just outside the door, hands in his coat pockets, looking up at the evening sky as if measuring the cold.
When she opened the door, he turned immediately.
For a moment, he didn’t speak.
He just looked at her—
like he was memorizing her all over again.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Hi.”
His gaze flicked over her sweater, then back to her eyes.
“You’re warm enough?”
“I think so.”
“If you’re not, tell me.”
She swallowed. “I will.”
They fell into step side by side, walking toward the harbor. The air was colder than the last time they’d been there, the sky a dark navy dotted with early stars.
The restaurant he’d mentioned was small, tucked beside a row of old brick buildings—soft light in the windows, quiet conversation inside. They were seated near the back, at a table by the window.
Clara wrapped her hands around the water glass, trying to calm her nerves.
“This feels strange,” she admitted.
“In a bad way?” Elias asked.
“No. Just… new.”
He nodded once. “For me too.”
“You don’t do this often, do you?”
“Never.”
She blinked. “Never?”
“Not like this.”
Her chest pulled tight.
“I don’t usually ask people to spend time with me,” he said, voice steady. “Outside of… obligations.”
“And this isn’t an obligation,” she said.
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
He held her gaze.
“Something I want,” he said simply.
Her heart jumped.
She exhaled slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Me too,” she said.
And for the first time,
an evening between them didn’t feel like an accident—
it felt like the start of something they were both choosing.
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