Page 25 of The Florist By Chance
“I won’t let them take this from you,” I say, steady, certain.
The words hang there, heavier than I meant, but I don’t take them back. Because I mean every one.
Grace gives me a long look, then mutters something about needing to check her email and heads toward the back, giving us space.
Mia lets out a shaky laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You always swoop in with promises like you can just muscle the world into place.”
“I don’t muscle,” I say, and the corner of my mouth quirks. “I strategize. There’s a difference.”
That earns the smallest smile from her, quick and fleeting, but enough to keep me standing here instead of unraveling.
The bell over the door chimes again. Zoe peeks in from the stockroom. “Mia? This just came for you.”
She holds out an envelope, plain white, no return address.
Mia frowns, wiping her damp hands before tearing it open. One sheet of paper slides free, the words typed in stark black letters:
“Titan isn’t just competing. They’re sabotaging your suppliers. Watch your orders.”
Mia goes still, her eyes darting over the page once, twice, like she can’t trust them to be real. Then she looks up at me, her voice barely above a whisper. “Luke… what if it’s true?”
A chill runs down my spine. The storm outside may have passed, but standing here, watching her clutch that letter like it’s a lifeline, I know we’ve only just stepped into the real fight.
The letter burns a hole in my pocket all night. I can’t shake the words, can’t stop replaying the look on Mia’s face when she read them—fear tangled with defiance. It’s the kind of look that makes me want to dismantle the whole world if it means protecting her.
So at dawn, before the shop opens, I’m at Delaney’s Wholesale. The air in the warehouse is sharp with fertilizer and damp soil, forklifts beeping as they cart pallets of potted ferns and flats of tulips. I’ve been here a hundred times, years ago with Mia’s mom. It always felt like the backbone of the shop—steady, dependable. Now, I scan every corner like I’m expecting to find Titan’s fingerprints smeared across the walls.
“Luke Matthews,” Delaney himself calls from behind a counter stacked with invoices. He’s older, broader in the middle now, but his eyes still crinkle when he smiles. “Didn’t think I’d see you back here after all this time. Come to place an order?”
“Not exactly,” I say, lowering my voice. “Something’s been… off with our deliveries. Shortages, wrong substitutions. I need to know if that’s just bad luck or if someone’s pulling strings.”
Delaney leans back, frown deepening. “You’re asking if Titan’s been leaning on me.”
I hold his gaze. “Are they?”
He hesitates, and that hesitation is answer enough.
“They’ve got deep pockets,” he admits finally. “Promised me a steady contract if I gave their orders priority. Said nothing about cutting anyone else off, but… shipments get rerouted, stock goes ‘missing.’ Hard to prove anything.” His jaw works like he hates himself for saying it out loud.
The muscles in my shoulders tighten. “And you went along with it?”
“Luke—this is my livelihood. Titan comes in waving six figures, what do you expect me to do? I’ve got kids in college.” His voice rises, then softens. “I never wanted it to hurt your shop. Mia’s shop. But Titan doesn’t play fair, and I can’t afford to be the guy standing in their way.”
I should be furious. And part of me is. But mostly I just feel the weight of it—the inevitability. Titan doesn’t just buy flowers. They buy people.
“Thanks for being straight with me,” I mutter, sliding the letter across the counter. He barely glances at it before shaking his head.
“You didn’t hear this from me,” he says, lowering his voice. “But if you really want proof, check with Bloom & Vine. They’ve been cozy with Titan lately. Too cozy.”
Rival florist. The name hits me like a stone. Bloom & Vine has always been competition, sure, but friendly competition—the kind where you wave across the street during parades, borrow ribbon in a pinch. If Titan’s bought them off, this is worse than I thought.
By the time I leave, my jaw aches from how tightly I’ve been clenching it. The morning sun glares off the windshield of my truck as I climb in, pulling out my phone. My thumb hovers over Mia’s contact.
She deserves to know. She deserves the truth.
But she also deserves not to be dragged through every grimy detail of Titan’s underhanded games. She’s already carrying somuch—her grief, the shop, the storm damage. Do I really add sabotage and bribery to that stack?
The phone buzzes in my hand before I can decide. Mia’s name flashes across the screen.
