The customer stayed only a few minutes, picking up a small bouquet and leaving with a polite smile. As the door closed, the bell's soft chime faded into the quiet hum of the shop.
Amelia exhaled slowly, steadying the flutters still dancing through her chest. She turned back toward Ethan—who hadn't moved far from the counter, his hands in his pockets, his eyes still warm and fixed on her.
"You handled that well," he said.
Amelia smiled softly.
"It was just a simple order."
"I wasn't talking about the customer."
Her breath caught.
Ethan stepped closer—slow, thoughtful, letting her see every inch of his approach so she never felt startled. When he reached her, he stopped at a comfortable distance, the kind that let her choose what happened next.
"You looked… happy," he said quietly.
"While you were helping them."
Amelia blinked, surprised.
"I did?"
"Yes," Ethan murmured.
"And seeing you smile like that—"
He paused, searching for the right words.
"It does something to me."
Her cheeks warmed instantly.
She turned slightly, organizing a few loose petals on the counter just to steady herself.
"You're always saying things that—"
"Are honest?" he offered gently.
Amelia nodded once.
"Yes."
"And do they make you uncomfortable?" he asked, voice soft.
Amelia looked up—really looked—taking in the gentleness in his eyes.
"No," she whispered.
"They make me… feel seen."
Ethan exhaled slowly, relief and warmth blending in his expression.
"I'm glad," he said.
"That's all I ever want to do—see you clearly."
She felt her chest tighten with a soft, warm ache.
The good kind.
Before she could say anything else, Ethan noticed something on her cheek—a tiny streak of pale petal dust.
"Wait," he murmured, stepping a touch closer.
He lifted his hand slowly—slow enough for her to react if she needed to—and gently brushed the faint smear from her skin with the lightest touch of his thumb.
Amelia froze.
Not in fear.
In warmth.
Her breath softened, her eyes fluttering for a second at the contact. Ethan's thumb lingered just a moment longer—barely there—before he dropped his hand respectfully.
"Sorry," he said softly.
"There was something on your cheek."
Amelia could barely speak.
Her voice came out quiet and breathy.
"You don't have to apologize."
Ethan stepped back half a step—not far, just enough to give her space again.
She missed the closeness instantly.
Her heart picked up, nervous but brave.
She stepped closer again—closing the small gap he'd created.
Ethan's breath caught in his throat.
"Amelia…" he murmured.
"Yes?" she whispered.
He didn't touch her.
But his voice lowered into something warm enough to melt her.
"You know you can tell me to stop… at any moment."
Her chest tightened.
"I don't want you to stop."
A soft, unsteady exhale escaped him.
"Good," he whispered.
Their breaths mingled gently, the air between them buzzing with a tenderness neither of them tried to hide anymore.
Amelia reached up slowly—hesitating, giving herself time—then lightly touched his forearm.
Ethan stilled completely.
"I like when you're close to me," she whispered.
His eyes softened in a way that made her knees weaken.
"Then I'll stay close."
He didn't move in.
He didn't rush.
He simply stood there, presence warm and steady, letting her hold his arm lightly.
After a long moment, Amelia took a small breath.
"Ethan… can I ask something?"
"Anything."
She met his gaze, shy and brave at the same time.
"Do you feel… nervous? When you're near me?"
Ethan let out a low, soft laugh—gentle, genuine.
"All the time," he whispered.
"But in the best way."
Amelia blinked, surprised.
"You? Nervous?"
"You matter to me," he said simply.
"And that makes everything feel… intense. But in a good, careful way."
Her heart fluttered wildly.
"I feel that too," she said.
Ethan's voice dropped to something impossibly tender.
"I know."
Before she could ask how, he added quietly:
"Because you look at me like you're letting yourself want something again."
Amelia's breath hitched.
"I am," she admitted quietly.
Ethan held her gaze, steady and full.
"And I'm here," he murmured.
"For whatever you want. Slowly. Gently. At your pace."
She stepped closer—just a little—her fingers brushing his hand in a soft, searching way.
Ethan turned his palm upward.
She slid her hand into his.
Warm.
Steady.
True.
"Then this," she whispered, "is what I want."
Ethan's breath trembled, but his voice didn't.
"I want this too."
And in the quiet, flower-scented morning of the shop,
with hands intertwined and hearts blooming slowly together,
Amelia felt something settle inside her—
not fear, not hesitation,
but beginnings.