Page 32 of The Florist By Chance
I clear my throat, forcing myself to let go, but the warmth lingers.
“Anyway,” I say gruffly, dragging the crate closer. “We should probably stop joking and focus on selling before Titan strolls by with their perfect little army.”
Mia arches a brow, clearly unimpressed with my retreat. “Fine. But for the record? You’re wrong. This displayisperfection.”
I can’t help grinning. “You keep telling yourself that, sunshine.”
Her mouth twitches like she wants to argue, but then she surprises me—she just shakes her head and laughs again, softer this time. Almost… fond.
The afternoon rush hits hard. We work shoulder to shoulder, handing out bouquets, answering questions, wrapping stems in brown paper. And somewhere between the fifth compliment and the tenth sale, I realize we’re moving in perfect sync. No sharp words, no stubborn clashes—just… us.
Her hand brushes mine as we pass ribbon, our heads lean together over a stubborn arrangement, her shoulder bumps mine when she reaches across the table. Each touch feels unintentional, but the pull between us is impossible to ignore.
And the more I fight it, the stronger it gets.
Because the truth is, Ilikethis. I like the way she snaps her fingers when she’s excited, the way her eyes spark when she talks to customers, the way she doesn’t back down when I tease her.She’s fire and grit and heart, and I’m starting to believe I could stand here with her forever and not want anything else.
That thought scares the hell out of me.
So when she tosses me a crooked smile and says, “Not bad, you almost look like you belong behind a flower stand,” I do the only thing I can to keep from blurting the truth.
I smirk back. “Careful, Mia. Keep complimenting me like that and people will think you actually like me.”
Her laugh is quick, bright, but there’s something softer under it—something that makes my chest tighten. And for one dangerous moment, I think she might actually say it.
But then a gust of wind rattles the garlands, breaking the spell. She busies herself tying them back down, and I swallow the words I’ll never admit aloud.
Because falling for her? That’s a risk I don’t get to take.
Not again.
The morning sun hits the festival square, bright and unforgiving, and already the crowd is moving in a steady tide. I glance at our booth, and my chest tightens. Every petal, every vase, every ribbon has to be perfect. This is our booth on display, and there’s no margin for error—not with the community watching and Titan lurking in the background.
Mia flits around the tables like a whirlwind, adjusting stems and muttering under her breath. I can’t help the way I watch her, the way she throws herself into the work with that mix of chaos and genius. She’s distracting. Dangerous. And somehow impossible to look away from.
“Are you sure these daisies aren’t too… happy?” she asks, frowning at a cluster near the front.
“Too happy?” I say, cocking my head, keeping my tone light even as my heart beats faster. “There’s no such thing as too happy. But maybe these need a little less… exuberance,” I add, adjusting the petals just so.
She rolls her eyes, that familiar spark in them. “Exuberance? Since when did you start using flower vocabulary like it’s a personality trait?”
“Since I realized my company was boring without it,” I tease, hoping the grin on my face doesn’t betray how much I care what she thinks. “Besides, it matches your chaotic style.”
She shoves a stray ribbon at me. Reflexively, I catch it. “Same difference,” I reply, and I can’t stop the way her corners twitch, almost smiling. Almost—but not enough for me to let my guard down entirely.
We move around each other with practiced precision, elbows brushing, hands reaching for the same stems. Every accidental touch sends a spark through me, and I have to remind myself: focus, Luke. Focus on the flowers, the booth, the festival. Not… her.
By mid-morning, the booth looks incredible. People stop, admire, snap photos, and I can’t help but notice Mia’s shoulders relax for the first time in months. She’s radiant when she’s in her element, completely alive. I feel a twist in my chest, something I’ve been trying to ignore: I’m falling for her, and I know it.
“Not bad for a last-minute pairing of chaos and control,” she says, leaning against a crate.
“Not bad at all,” I murmur, letting my eyes linger on her a second too long before shifting back to the arrangements.
Then—I notice it. The subtle shift in the air, the curl of petals that shouldn’t be curling. My stomach drops.
“Wait…” Mia says, voice tight.
I step closer, scanning the centerpiece. Half the roses are shriveling, petals curling like they’ve been poisoned. The main vase is tipped slightly, water sloshing over the edge. Titan. Sabotage. My jaw tightens.
