“Just reviewed the order list one last time and asked that we'd be there by eleven.” I stepped closer to his workbench. “Is that—”
Holden looked at the flowers in his hand and nodded. “Bridal bouquet. I'm just figuring out how I want it to look.” For a few minutes he test-built the bouquet, those big hands that I knew so well now, just as gentle and dexterous as he added stems,studied it, then took it apart while writing some notes in a worn notebook. White peonies, garden roses in the palest blush, trailing eucalyptus. “What do you think?”
“It's beautiful.” Then the front bell rang. “I'll take care of it.”
Jenna Mendoza from the high school was at the counter when I got there, her coat dusted with the light snow that had started falling an hour ago. She wanted the arrangement she'd ordered for her mother's birthday party and something for her daughter, who was going through a hard time.
“Holden made something with sunflowers,” I said, pulling the second arrangement from the cooler. Bright yellow faces surrounded by sprigs of lavender, wrapped in kraft paper with a purple ribbon. “He thought it might cheer her up.”
“Oh, that's lovely.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “He remembered I mentioned her. That man is an artist.”
“He pays attention.” More than people realized. More than he'd ever admit.
“You two make such a good team.” She handed me her credit card. “How long has it been now?”
The question shouldn't have hit so hard. We'd answered it a dozen times over the past weeks—the performance, the story we'd agreed to tell. But something about today made the words stick in my throat.
“A few weeks,” I managed.
“Well, you seem happy together.” She tucked her wallet away, gathered the arrangements. “It's nice. Holden deserves someone who sees him.”
The bell chimed behind her. I stood there longer than I should have, her words echoing.
Tomorrow was Valentine's Day. The most romantic day of the year, and the end of our arrangement.
I'd spent the first half of this week pretending that wasn't true. Throwing myself into the work, staying late, filling everymoment with tasks so I didn't have to think about what came next. But the deadline was here now, and I couldn't ignore it anymore.
Holden appeared at my elbow. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I made myself smile. “Just tired.”
He studied me for a moment, that quiet, assessing look he got sometimes. The one that made me feel like he could see straight through me and liked what he found anyway. Then he nodded, giving me that soft half-smile before he went back to work.
I loved him.
The thought arrived without drama, settling into place like it had always been there. Like I'd always known but had been too scared to look at it directly. Not the desperate, clinging thing I'd felt with Landon. Something steadier. Something that felt like the first deep breath after too long underwater.
I loved him. This ended tomorrow. I had no idea what to do about either of those things.
The telephone didn't seem to stop ringing during the morning, last minute orders, people asking if it was too late to order flowers for tomorrow. But even juggling the chaos, there was a satisfaction in it, the way I could handle the credit card machine without freezing it, could answer questions about how to keep flowers lasting longer, and could wrap a bouquet almost as neatly as Holden did.
I'd learned something here. Become useful to someone. That felt good, even when everything else felt uncertain.
During a quiet spell, I walked to the back to check on Holden.
He was bent over an arrangement, hands moving with that careful precision I'd come to love watching. The late morning light caught the edge of his jaw, highlighted the stubble he hadn't bothered to shave in two days. He'd pushed his sleeves up past his elbows, and I could see the muscles in his forearms shifting as he worked. He looked exhausted, shadows under his eyes, aslowness in his movements that hadn't been there a week ago. But his hands never faltered.
“Hey.” I leaned against the doorframe. “Need anything?”
“I'm good.” He didn't look up. “You should take a break. Eat something.”
“I ate.”
“A granola bar at seven doesn't count.”
“It had chocolate chips.”
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. I'd take it.
