The soft glow from the overhead light cast long shadows across the flower shop, making everything look calmer, quieter, almost intimate. Amelia rested in Ethan's arms for another slow moment, breathing in the faint scent of cedar and something uniquely him.
Eventually, she eased back again—
but this time, she didn't step away.
She stayed close.
Close enough that Ethan could see the faint flush on her cheeks,
close enough that she could hear the steady rise and fall of his breath.
"You're getting comfortable with this," Ethan murmured gently.
Amelia nodded.
"It feels… safe."
His voice softened even more.
"I'm glad."
She glanced around the shop, noticing how still everything had become.
"It's strange," she whispered.
"I've spent years closing the shop alone…
but today, it doesn't feel lonely."
Ethan's gaze warmed.
"I want you to get used to that too."
A soft breath escaped her, half shy, half hopeful.
"Ethan… why me?" she asked suddenly.
He blinked, surprised by the raw honesty in her voice.
"What do you mean?"
She looked down at her hands, fiddling with a stray ribbon.
"You could choose anyone. Someone confident. Someone who doesn't… tremble."
Ethan reached out slowly—giving her time to step back if she needed—and gently lifted her chin with just two fingers.
She met his eyes, startled.
"I don't want 'anyone,' Amelia," he whispered.
"I want you."
Her breath hitched.
"You see the world differently," he continued softly.
"You feel quietly, deeply, beautifully. And you don't pretend. You're sincere. You're gentle. And you're stronger than you think."
Amelia swallowed hard, tears pricking her eyes—not from sadness, but from being understood.
Nobody had ever spoken to her like that.
"And," Ethan added softly, "you make me want to slow down. You make me want to be better. To be careful. To be present."
A single tear slipped down her cheek—silent, unintentional.
Ethan froze, thumb lifting instinctively to wipe it, but he stopped himself halfway.
"May I?" he asked quietly.
She nodded.
Ethan touched her cheek gently, wiping the tear with a tenderness that made her chest ache.
"Don't cry," he whispered.
"I'm not sad," she said.
"It's just… no one has ever said things like that to me."
Ethan's jaw tightened slightly with emotion.
"Then they weren't looking closely enough."
Her heart fluttered wildly.
"Ethan…" she whispered.
"Hmm?" he murmured.
She stepped forward again—close enough to rest her forehead against his shoulder now.
He inhaled, surprised but deeply moved.
Amelia's voice was small but steady.
"I think I'm falling for you faster than I planned."
Ethan let out a soft breath—a mix of relief, longing, and something deeper.
"You're not alone," he whispered back.
"I'm falling too."
He didn't hold her too tightly.
He didn't rush.
He simply rested his hand along her back—warm, steady, supportive.
They stayed like that for a long, quiet stretch—
two hearts leaning closer,
two souls learning each other's rhythm.
Finally, Amelia spoke again.
"Ethan?"
"Yes?"
"Do you… want to have dinner with me tonight?"
Ethan pulled back just enough to see her face.
"Are you sure?" he asked softly.
"No pressure, Amelia. None."
"I'm sure," she whispered.
"I want… more time with you."
Emotion flickered across Ethan's face—
soft, overwhelmed, grateful.
"Then yes," he said.
"I'd love to."
She smiled, small but full.
"After I close the shop?"
"I'll wait," Ethan said.
"No rush."
"Will you stay with me until then?" she asked.
He brushed a strand of hair gently behind her ear.
"Until you tell me to leave."
Amelia's heart warmed.
"Then don't leave yet," she whispered.
Ethan smiled.
"I won't."
And as Amelia turned to lock the cash drawer, Ethan stayed beside her, warm and steady, his presence comforting and close.
For the first time in years, closing the shop didn't feel like ending a day.
It felt like beginning something beautiful.