The sunlight slanted lower as afternoon drifted into early evening, casting a mellow glow through the shop windows. Amelia arranged fresh lilies on the front display, humming softly—something she hadn't realized she was doing until Ethan approached behind her.
"You hum when you're happy," he said quietly.
Amelia froze for a moment, the petal between her fingers trembling.
She turned her head slightly.
"I… do I?"
Ethan nodded, smiling gently.
"You do. It's subtle, but it's there."
Her cheeks warmed.
She couldn't remember the last time someone noticed such small things about her—much less cared enough to mention them.
"I didn't realize you paid that much attention," she said softly.
Ethan gave a quiet laugh, his voice low and warm.
"I pay attention to you more than you know."
Her heart fluttered in her chest—quick, nervous, wanting.
She looked away before the feeling overwhelmed her.
Ethan didn't push.
He stepped beside her, close enough that the warmth of his presence wrapped around her, but not close enough to crowd her.
They worked side by side for several minutes—
hands brushing occasionally,
breaths falling into the same rhythm,
the kind of comfortable closeness that didn't need words.
Finally, Amelia broke the silence.
"Ethan," she began, her voice hesitant, "were you always this patient with people?"
He paused, considering.
"Not really," he admitted.
"I think I learned to be patient because of the kind of person I want to be. Kind. Steady. Someone who doesn't hurt others."
Amelia nodded slowly.
"That's… beautiful."
"It's also difficult," he said honestly.
"But with you, it never feels forced. It just feels right."
Her breath trembled.
"Why?"
He turned toward her fully, his eyes sincere.
"Because you're gentle too," he said softly.
"Even when you don't realize it."
Her eyes widened slightly—surprised, almost disbelieving.
"Gentle?" she whispered. "Me?"
"Yes," Ethan murmured.
"In the way you touch flowers like they're alive.
In the way you choose your words carefully.
In how you look at people without judgment."
Amelia's chest tightened, a knot loosening deep inside.
"No one has ever said that to me."
"Well," Ethan said, his voice softening, "it's true."
She turned away quickly, afraid she might feel too much, too fast.
But then—
perhaps for the first time—
she didn't want to run from it.
She took a breath, steadying herself.
"Ethan?"
"Yes?"
She reached out carefully, pausing just an inch from his arm.
"Can I…?"
His breath caught.
"You always can," he whispered.
She let her fingers rest lightly on his sleeve—
a soft, cautious touch.
Ethan didn't move.
He didn't pull her closer.
He didn't overwhelm or interrupt.
He simply stood still and let her feel safe.
Amelia traced the fabric gently before lowering her hand.
"I liked giving you that flower," she said quietly.
"It felt… meaningful."
Ethan touched the carnation still tucked into his jacket pocket, his expression tender.
"It was," he said.
"I kept it with me all day.
I didn't want to let it out of my sight."
Her lips parted in surprise.
"Ethan…"
He stepped just a little closer—inviting her into his warmth, letting her choose again.
"I don't take anything you give lightly," he murmured.
"Not your words… not your trust… and definitely not your touch."
Amelia felt her heart open wider, a soft blooming she couldn't deny anymore.
She whispered,
"I'm starting to want more moments like this."
Ethan's eyes warmed, deep and full of emotion he was trying hard to keep gentle.
"Then we'll have as many as you want," he said softly.
"At your pace."
She exhaled—
a shaky breath filled with relief, warmth, and quiet joy.
For the first time in years,
Amelia felt like she wasn't walking alone.
She was walking beside someone
who knew how to hold her heart
without letting it break.