The afternoon sunlight drifted through the shop windows in soft golden beams, catching on the petals and giving the entire room a warm, hazy glow. Amelia lingered in Ethan's arms for a few more quiet moments, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
When she finally eased back, Ethan loosened his hold at once, letting her move freely. That small act of respect—every time he did it—made her trust him more.
She looked up, her cheeks still warm from everything they'd shared.
"Ethan," she whispered.
"Yes?" His voice was soft, careful.
She hesitated, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Are you sure… this isn't too much? Being here with me so often? Getting involved in my world?"
Ethan shook his head instantly.
"No. This feels right. Being around you… it makes sense."
Amelia looked down at her hands, her fingers playing with the edge of her apron.
"I'm not used to someone wanting to stay."
"Then I'll stay until you get used to it," Ethan replied gently.
The warmth in her chest spread, slow and steady.
He always said the right things—not because he was trying to impress her, but because he meant them.
"Can I help with anything?" he asked.
"You already are," she said.
He smiled at that.
"A task. Give me something."
Amelia bit her lip, thinking.
"You can help me sort the eucalyptus stems."
"Easy," he said.
She shook her head.
"Watch out for the sap."
He nodded seriously as if she'd just given him instructions for defusing a bomb.
Amelia laughed softly—actually laughed—and Ethan froze, watching her like the sound itself was something precious.
"You should laugh more often," he murmured.
She looked away shyly.
"You give me reasons to."
They worked side by side again, this time in a quiet, easy rhythm.
Amelia trimmed stems while Ethan sorted them, occasionally glancing her way like he couldn't help himself.
"Amelia," he said after a moment.
"Yes?"
"Are you… happy? Right now?"
She paused.
The question felt soft but heavy in the best way.
She looked at him—really looked at him—taking in the warmth in his eyes, the sincerity in his posture, the quiet care in his presence.
"I am," she whispered.
"More than I have been in a long time."
Ethan's expression softened into something deep and unguarded.
"I'm glad. You deserve that."
"And you?" she asked.
"Are you happy?"
He held her gaze without wavering.
"With you?" Ethan said quietly.
"Yes. Completely."
Her breath trembled but didn't break.
The warmth inside her grew.
"And not overwhelmed?" she asked cautiously.
"Only in the ways that feel good," he said, his voice low.
"The kind where you don't want it to stop."
She looked down, heart fluttering.
"Me too."
Ethan set down the stem he was holding and stepped just a little closer—still giving her space, still letting her choose the distance.
"Amelia," he whispered, "can I ask you something?"
She nodded.
"When you think about us… what scares you the most?"
She hesitated.
Then whispered honestly:
"Losing you before I even fully have you."
Ethan's breath caught.
He reached out slowly, fingertips brushing her forearm—gentle, careful, grounding.
"You're not losing me," he murmured.
"I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
Her eyes softened—vulnerable, but not afraid.
"What about you?" she asked softly.
"What scares you?"
He paused only a moment.
"Hurting you," he admitted.
"Or going too fast. Or saying something that makes you retreat into yourself again."
Amelia shook her head faintly.
"You haven't done any of that."
"I'm trying very hard not to," he said.
"And not because I'm afraid of making mistakes… but because I want to do right by you."
Her chest warmed in a way that almost made her dizzy.
"Ethan," she whispered, "you're doing everything right."
He exhaled, relief flickering across his face.
Amelia took another small step toward him.
Not into his arms this time—
but close enough that their bodies were separated by only a breath.
"I like where we are," she said softly.
"I like what we're becoming."
Ethan's voice was low and warm when he answered.
"So do I."
Her fingers brushed his lightly—testing, searching—and he responded with a gentle curl of his own.
"Will you stay with me tomorrow too?" she asked shyly.
"Every day you let me," he murmured.
Amelia's smile was small but full.
"Then stay," she whispered.
He smiled back, soft and steady.
"I'm not going anywhere."
In the quiet flower shop, surrounded by petals and sunlight,
something beautiful continued to grow between them—
slowly, gently, and undeniably real.