Soft at first. Then deeper, my hand cupping the back of his neck, my thumb tracing his jaw.
“I'll see you in the morning,” I said against his mouth.
“Seven sharp. Coffee in hand.”
“Deal.”
He smiled. “Sleep well,” he said.
Not without you, I wanted to say, but I bit back the words and made myself let go, step back, turn toward Main Street.
The walk home was cold. I shoved my hands in my pockets and thought about Reid and Claire, about years of not saying the thing that needed to be said. About what it would feel like to watch Jamie walk away without ever knowing if he would have stayed.
The apartment above the shop was dark when I climbed the stairs. Empty in a way it hadn't felt for weeks. No dogs padding across the floor to greet me. No warmth from another body in the bed. Just the familiar quiet I used to think I wanted.
It felt like a warning now.
I showered, set my alarm for five, lay in bed running through what I might say. None of it sounded right. None of it sounded like me.
But Reid was right about one thing: silence wasn't going to protect me. It was just going to guarantee I lost something I wasn't ready to lose.
Sleep came, but when it did, I dreamed about flowers. Ranunculus and garden roses in Jamie’s colors. An arrangement I'd been building for weeks without knowing what it meant.
I woke before the alarm, knowing exactly what I had to do.
Chapter Nine
Jamie
Seven came too early and not early enough.
I'd barely slept. The house felt wrong without Holden, too quiet, too much space in the bed. Just a couple of weeks and his morning kisses had become part of my routine. Marceline had tried to compensate by sprawling across his usual spot, but it wasn't the same. I'd stared at the ceiling for hours, running through everything that could go wrong today and everything that might go right.
I'd chosen my outfit carefully this morning. Not the beat-up Converse and ratty jeans I usually threw on. The dark green henley that brought out my eyes. My nicer boots. If this was going to be our last day together, I wanted him to remember me looking good.
Now the girls and I stood outside Hutchinson Florals with two coffees from the Copper Kettle, breath fogging in the predawn dark, pulse ticking faster than it should at this hour.
Holden opened the door before I could knock. He looked ready for battle: clean flannel in charcoal and navy, sleeves already rolled to his elbows, canvas apron tied in that efficient knot he'd probably been making since childhood. His hair was damp but combed, his jaw freshly shaved. This was Holden in professional mode, the version of himself he'd spent years perfecting for the biggest day of his year.
He took the coffee I handed him as the dogs ran past him, and for a moment we just stood there in the doorway, cold air swirling between us.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
“Happy Valentine's Day.”
His mouth twitched. “Ask me again in twelve hours.”
He stepped back to let me in, and the day began.
The shop was already humming with preparation. The whiteboard behind the counter was covered in names and pickup times, Holden's neat handwriting filling every inch. The coolers were packed so tight you could barely see the glass, roses in every shade of red and pink pressed against wedding arrangements. Buckets of stems lined the work counter, waiting to be transformed. The whole place smelled green and alive, that sharp scent of cut stems that I'd come to associate with him.
Jake showed up at seven-thirty, shrugging off the early morning cold as he pushed through the door. Eighteen, gangly, with a beanie pulled down over his ears and the eager expression of someone determined to prove himself. Holden had hired him Thursday after his aunt's relentless campaign, and today was his trial run as delivery driver.
“Morning, Mr. Hutchinson.” Jake straightened his spine like he was reporting for duty. “Ready when you are.”
“Here.” Holden handed him a stack of printed addresses. “First three are downtown. Fourth is up near the resort. Take Highway 7, not the back road. Fifth is the Morrison place on Spruce.”
