Page 2 of The Florist By Chance
I glance at the paper again, the signature line glaring up at me, daring me to complete the formality.
Mia steps closer, and this time, I don’t step back. She’s close enough now that I can see the tiny flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, the same ones I used to tease her about when she was a kid. But this look isn’t teasing. It’s hard. It’s a challenge.
She pauses, still not breaking eye contact. “You don’t get to just walk back into my life and pretend everything’s fine, Luke.” Her voice is low now, quiet, but the words hang in the air, sharp as a blade. “You don’t get to claim what’s mine without earning it.”
I feel a flash of anger, a spark I know too well. But I swallow it down. Mia’s right. She has every right to be angry, to resent my return.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to back down.
I shift my weight, planting my feet more firmly, and meet her stare. “I never wanted anything from you, Mia. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”
For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches between us, and in it, I hear everything that’s unsaid—the years, the distance, the guilt.
Finally, Mia exhales slowly, like she’s releasing all the frustration, all the tension she’s been holding. She shakes her head, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
And with that, the lawyer clears his throat one last time. “If you’re both finished, we can proceed.” His voice shakes slightly, betraying the tension he’s trying to hide.
But it’s clear now—this isn’t just about paperwork anymore. This is about something much bigger than Collins’s will. It’s about us. About everything we’ve been running from for so long.
Mia stands firm, shoulders squared, chin lifted, her eyes still smoldering with that stubborn spark. She’s always had that fire, that unyielding need to prove herself. I remember it from when we were younger—the way she would never back down, even when she was wrong. It was a trait I admired in her, even when I didn’t fully understand it.
Now, standing in front of me, it’s impossible not to see just how much she’s changed. There’s no trace of the girl who would sneak into my truck for a ride when Jake and I were out late, no trace of the one who would roll her eyes at my jokes or tease me when I was too serious.
Mia is no longer the little sister who needed protection. She’s a woman who stands on her own. And in a way, it scares me.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “Mia, I don’t want to fight you,” I say, my voice quieter than I intend. It feels hollow, unsure. “I never came back to stir things up. I came back to honor Collins’s wishes. That’s it.”
Her lips twist into something that isn’t quite a smile, but it’s close enough. It’s the kind of smile that’s meant to hide the hurt, the frustration, the pain that’s been simmering under the surfacefor years. She’s been carrying all of it on her shoulders for so long, and now it’s spilling out, uncontrolled, and I can feel every drop of it.
“You don’t get to walk back in here like nothing’s changed,” she says, her voice soft but laced with steel. “You don’t get to walk in and pretend that you haven’t been gone for all these years.”
She takes a step forward, the space between us shrinking even more. I want to take a step back, to put more distance between us, but I can’t. I’m rooted to the spot.
“I didn’t pretend, Mia,” I say, my words coming out faster than I mean. “I didn’t pretend to forget this place. I didn’t pretend to forget what Collins meant to me.”
She laughs, the sound sharp and bitter. “What, so you’re here now because he died? Because now you’ve got nothing else to run from?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words get stuck. There’s a lump in my throat, an unfamiliar weight pressing down on me. She’s right. I’ve been running my whole life. Running from this town. Running from my past. Running from people I care about. I was good at it. I thought I was better off that way. But standing here, feeling the weight of her gaze, the weight of the shop pressing in on me, I realize that maybe I wasn’t.
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to push the thought away. “I came back because he asked me to. He wanted me to help. And that’s all I’m here to do. To help. To honor what he left behind.”
Mia doesn’t look convinced. “Help? You don’t even know the first thing about what this shop means to me. Or to this town.”
I flinch, the words cutting deep. She’s right again. I’ve been away too long. I’ve missed too much. I thought I could just waltz in and fix things, but I can see now that it’s not that simple. This isn’t just about flowers or business. This is about her—this isabout Mia. And the more I try to explain, the more I realize that the distance between us isn’t just physical. It’s emotional. It’s a chasm I’ve spent years building.
“I know it’s not that simple,” I say, my voice rough now. “But I’m willing to learn. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help.”
She doesn’t respond right away. For a long moment, we just stand there, the silence stretching between us, thick and heavy.
Finally, Mia lets out a slow breath, the anger in her eyes flickering, softening just enough for me to see the vulnerability beneath. “I’ve been running this place on my own for years, Luke,” she says quietly. “It’s not just a business to me. It’s my mother’s legacy. It’s all I have left.”
I feel the weight of her words settle in my chest, heavy and unyielding. “I know,” I say softly. “I know, Mia. I know.”
She looks at me for a long, quiet moment, the flicker of something new passing between us—something that doesn’t feel like anger anymore. It feels like understanding.
And for the first time since I walked through that door, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not as out of place here as I thought.
The air between Mia and me feels thick, almost suffocating. Every breath I take seems heavier than the last. The room around me grows quieter, as if the very walls are waiting for something—waiting for either of us to make the next move. The lawyer, who’s been silent for too long, shifts his weight nervously, but even his unease doesn’t break the tension. It’s just the two of us now, the space between us charged with everything we haven’t said and everything we’re afraid to say.
