Page 35 of When the Storm Breaks
A soft chime rings overhead, and the scent of warm cinnamon and cedar wraps around me.
I’m clearly the only one here, but the shop is full—lined with knick-knacks, locally poured candles, and racks of greeting cards with hand-lettered, sarcastic sayings. It’s the kind of place no one plans to visit but always leaves with something. Chaotic and charming. Full of things you don’t need but somehow can’t resist.
Near the entrance, a display of porcelain trinkets catches my eye. Tiny mouse figurines, each dressed for a different job—a police officer, a doctor, a gardener.
One stands out right away: a mouse in a chef’s hat, holding a whisk in one paw and a spatula in the other.
It’s perfect for Chase. Quirky, funny, endearingly unique. Everything about it just feels right. I pick it up, rolling it carefully in my palm as I start weaving through the rest of the store, searching forsomething for Haiyden.
But nothing fits.
I pause at a table of wood-carved trinkets, running my fingers over the smooth edges of pocket-sized animals and intricate keychains. A wolf catches my eye for half a second, but the idea of giving Haiyden something so symbolic feels wrong. Too personal. Too much.
I move on, trailing past racks of leather-bound journals, mugs that try too hard to be funny, and handwoven mittens I can’t imagine him ever wearing.
I used to be good at giving gifts. Thoughtful ones. Now I second-guess everything, like the sadness rewired something in me, made me forget how to care properly.
After several more minutes of searching, I finally give up. Maybe a bottle of whiskey will do—simple, impersonal, exactly the kind of thing someone like Haiyden would probably prefer anyway.
My brain flashes back to the way he tasted when he kissed me. Whiskey and mint.
A quick shiver runs down my spine. I shove the memory aside, pull myself together just long enough to pay for Chase’s gift, and push the door open a little harder than necessary as I walk back out into the cold.
Next up is wine. The liquor store’s only a few blocks away, so I leave my car parked and walk.
As I pass a small plant shop tucked between two larger storefronts, something stops me. The trim is painted sky blue—sweet and inviting. The front window is crowded with vibrant greenery and twinkling Christmas lights. Strands of ivy drape over the edges of shelves, weaving through tiny ceramic houses and gold-painted pinecones.
I pause, staring through the glass, my thoughts drifting to the neglected, half-dead plants wilting in my apartment. Most of them have all but shriveled up by now.
Maybe it’s time to bring some life back into my space.
Maybe it’s time to take care of something again.
Maybe someday I’ll have a windowsill full of them.
Maybe that’s enough of a reason to try again.
When I push the door open, a wave of fresh, earthy air hits me—damp soil, citrus, and something faintly floral.
The space is small but brimming with life.
A central table overflows with potted plants, while shelves and hanging baskets line the walls, spilling vines and broad, leafy greens in every direction.
Music plays softly in the background, but it fades beneath the quiet rustle of leaves shifting as I pass.
I let my fingers trail over waxy leaves and rough ceramic pots, taking my time. Then I spot them—a neat row of plants with upright stems and glossy, oval leaves.
A small sign sits in front:
Zanzibar Gem (ZZ Plant)
Symbolizes growth, prosperity, and good fortune.
Resilient. Nearly impossible to kill.
The words almost make me smile. Impossible to kill. It seems like a challenge; one I might finally be ready to take on.
I reach for one in a navy-blue pot, already deciding it’s coming home with me.
