Page 38 of The Florist By Chance
“I plead guilty,” he says, a grin tugging at his mouth. “But it’s not what you think. Promise me you’ll just… watch for a second.”
I swallow hard, my hands gripping the daisies, heart hammering. “Luke—what are you?—”
He opens the box, and inside glints a ring, simple but radiant, catching the light in tiny, perfect flashes. My breath leaves me in a gasp I can’t control.
“Mia,” he begins, voice low, trembling just enough to show the weight of what he’s about to say, “I?—”
“Luke—” I start, voice cracking, but he shakes his head, silencing me.
“I can’t wait any longer,” he says, his gaze holding mine with a steady intensity that makes my knees go weak. “I’ve been afraid—afraid of losing you, afraid of failing you, afraid that I’d never get another chance. But I’ve run from enough already, and I’m done running from this… from you. Mia, will you marry me?”
Time collapses around me—the hum of the cooler, the soft sunlight, the scent of lilacs—it all blurs until the only thing that exists is him, kneeling there, ring in hand, his whole being waiting for my answer.
“Yes,” I breathe, tears spilling down my cheeks before I can stop them. “Yes, Luke. Yes, of course I will.”
He slides the ring onto my finger with a reverence that makes my chest ache. It fits perfectly, like it was always meant to be there, like it had been waiting for this very moment.
Luke rises, pulling me into his arms, and we laugh together, soft, shaky, joyful laughter that fills every corner of the shop. We hold each other, feeling the pulse of the shop, the life we’ve nurtured together, the victories and near defeats that brought us here.
And then, just as if the community has been waiting for this moment, the bell above the door jingles. Neighbors, friends, townsfolk who have supported us these past weeks—sometimes quietly, sometimes with wild energy—start filing in. Some are holding flowers, some baked goods, some handmade cards. All are beaming, clapping, cheering.
“About time!” shouts Mrs. Smith from the back, waving a bouquet of daisies. “Took you two long enough!”
Luke laughs, tugging me closer. “We were making sure it was perfect.”
“It is perfect,” I murmur, leaning into him, letting my hands rest on his chest, feeling the warmth, the heartbeat, the steady certainty I’ve been craving for so long.
The shop quickly fills with energy, laughter, and stories. Children tug at our sleeves, friends pinch our cheeks, everyone congratulating, teasing, and celebrating with us. The flowers bloom even brighter in the sunlight streaming through the windows, as if echoing the joy in the room.
Luke whispers in my ear, voice low and playful, “See? I told you patience would pay off.”
I laugh softly through my tears, letting the warmth of the moment fill me entirely. We stay there for a long while, the shop alive around us, the sunlight casting patterns across the floor, the townspeople celebrating our union in quiet cheer and playful teasing.
The hum of the shop, the scent of fresh flowers, and the joy of community blend into a perfect symphony. I rest my head against Luke’s chest, finally letting myself believe in everything I’ve feared to hope for: stability, love, and a life shared.
Because this moment, this day, this shop—it’s ours. Every petal, every laugh, every gentle brush of fingers against fingers is a promise of the life we’ll build together. And for the first time, I know with every fiber of my being that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.
Epilogue
The soft glow of candlelight flickers across the living room, casting shadows that dance along the walls. The remnants of our dinner sit neatly on the coffee table—half-empty glasses, a few stray crumbs from the artisan bread, and the faint scent of roasted vegetables lingering in the air. Luke is perched on the edge of the couch, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed, the same smirk tugging at his lips that I’ve come to love and hate in equal measure.
I kneel on the floor in front of him, my hands clutching a small, carefully wrapped box. He tilts his head, curious. “What’s this? Another one of your clever surprises?”
I grin, trying to steady my nerves. “Something… a little different this time.” I set the box on his knee, letting him pull at the ribbon. His brow furrows in concentration, then his hands peel back the wrapping paper, revealing a tiny onesie embroidered with a single tulip—the same bright, cheerful yellow that’s become our favorite color.
Luke freezes. Just freezes, his hands hovering over the gift as his eyes meet mine. “Is this… what I think it is?” His voice is a mixture of awe, disbelief, and something softer I can’t quite name.
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh at the way his jaw has gone slack. “It is,” I whisper. “We’re… going to have a baby.”
For a heartbeat, the room is silent except for the faint crackle of the candle flame. Then Luke scoops me up without another word, pulling me into a tight embrace. My arms wrap around his neck as he buries his face in my hair, laughing and exhaling at the same time. “Oh… wow. Mia… this is… this is amazing.”
I giggle against his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath my cheek. “You like it?”
“Like it?” he mutters, squeezing me tighter. “I love it. I love you. I love us. And now… I get to be a dad. I’m actually going to be a dad!”
I laugh, the sound trembling with happiness. “Yep. A tiny human plotting inside me. That explains why coffee makes me want to flee the kitchen these days.”
He chuckles, pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes sparkling. “So, you were blaming caffeine this whole time?”
