The soft morning light drifted through the shop windows, catching in the petals of pale roses and pastel lilies. Amelia worked quietly at her workstation, rearranging a bouquet with delicate precision. Every few seconds, she could feel Ethan's gaze drifting to her—soft, attentive, warm.
He sat on the small wooden stool near the counter, sipping his tea slowly.
Not rushed.
Not impatient.
Just present.
It felt… nice.
Comfortable.
Amelia placed a sprig of greenery between the flowers, stepping back to study the arrangement. Her lips pursed slightly, concentrating. Ethan watched with a small, private smile—like he already knew she'd make it beautiful.
"What do you think?" she asked without turning around.
"About the bouquet?" Ethan replied.
"Yes."
"I think you're underselling how talented you are."
Amelia's breath caught faintly as she turned toward him with a shy look.
"You didn't even see it properly."
"I don't have to," he said, smiling.
"I've seen enough of your work to know anything you make is thoughtful."
Her cheeks warmed.
"You say things that…"
She shook her head, unable to finish.
"That what?" Ethan asked, leaning forward slightly.
"That make me feel more than I'm used to."
Ethan's smile faded—not from disappointment, but from tenderness.
"Is that too much?" he asked softly.
Amelia shook her head immediately.
"No. It's just… new."
He nodded slowly.
"New can be good."
She looked down at her hands, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips.
"Yes. It can."
Ethan stood and walked over to her workstation, stopping a safe distance away—close, but not intruding. Amelia's heart fluttered at how careful he always was with her space.
"Show me?" he asked gently, nodding toward the bouquet.
She held it up, the pastel colors glowing softly in the light.
"See? You barely looked at it," she teased lightly.
Ethan stepped a little closer.
"Let me fix that," he murmured.
He examined the bouquet seriously, his brows furrowing in gentle concentration. After a moment, he nodded.
"It's beautiful," he said softly.
"But not as beautiful as the person who made it."
Amelia's breath halted.
She lowered the bouquet slowly, feeling a warm flush spread to her ears.
"Ethan…" she whispered.
He looked at her, all patience and sincerity.
"I won't say anything that makes you uncomfortable," he said.
"But I won't lie about how I see you."
She swallowed hard, her heart racing softly but steadily.
"You really see me like that?"
"I do," he said simply.
She set the bouquet down carefully, her fingers trembling only slightly. Ethan noticed, but stayed still—waiting, giving space, letting her lead.
"You came early," she said softly.
"You didn't have to."
"I wanted to," he answered.
"Why?"
"Because being here with you… feels like my favorite part of the day."
Her breath fluttered, softer than before.
"I don't know what to do with that," she whispered.
"You don't have to do anything," Ethan replied.
"I just want you to know."
Silence settled between them—
not awkward,
not heavy,
just full of unspoken warmth.
Amelia took a slow breath and did something she hadn't planned.
She stepped closer—just a small, brave shift. Enough that their arms nearly brushed.
Ethan didn't move, but she saw the way his breath deepened.
He felt it.
He always felt her closeness.
"Ethan," she said quietly.
"Yes?"
"I keep feeling like I'm learning you."
"And I'm learning you."
"What have you learned so far?" she asked softly.
Ethan's voice lowered, warm and steady.
"That you're stronger than you think.
Gentler than you admit.
And braver than you realize."
Her chest tightened with emotion.
"And what about you?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
He hesitated only for a second.
"That being around you feels easy," he said.
"And that scares me in a good way."
Amelia felt her throat tighten.
"Ethan…"
He looked at her, eyes warm.
"Can I—" she began, then bit her lip nervously.
"What is it?" Ethan asked, voice soft.
Amelia exhaled slowly, feeling her courage rise like a quiet wave.
"Can I stand closer?"
Ethan's breath faltered—quiet, controlled, but full.
"Yes," he whispered.
So she stepped into his space—
close enough that she could feel his warmth,
close enough that their arms brushed softly,
close enough that her heartbeat stuttered in her chest.
Ethan stayed perfectly still, letting the moment belong to her.
After a long, quiet breath, Amelia whispered:
"I like being near you."
Ethan's voice trembled in the softest way.
"I like being near you too."
Their eyes held—soft, lingering, full.
And in that tender morning light,
with flowers blooming around them
and warmth unfurling slowly between their hearts,
they stood close enough that the air itself seemed to soften around them.