It’s as if we're finding our rhythm again after years of discord.
Margaret moves on to terrorize another group, leaving us alone in our bubble of tension and possibility.
“I’m sorry.”
The words slip out before I even have a chance to take them back.
“Sorry for being a dick to you. I need to do better. About cleaning. The past.”
“And sleepwalking!” She says as she points to me.
I nod my head, and then we both burst out laughing.
Then Emma's voice cuts through everything. "Oh my God, you two! That arrangement is gorgeous!"
The spell breaks. Savannah steps back, puts distance between us like she always does when things get too real.
I want to grab her, shake her, make her finish what she was going to say. But Emma's already bouncing over with the rest of the bridesmaids in tow, and the moment's gone.
"Griff, you're incredibly talented," Emma gushes, examining our centerpiece. "Have you ever considered doing this professionally?"
"Just a hobby," I mutter, but can't deny the pride swelling in my chest. The arrangement really is beautiful - autumn colors blending in perfect harmony, each flower playing its part.
"You should totally help with the wedding flowers. Our florist could use someone with actual vision."
The suggestion should terrify me. More time around Savannah means more opportunities for these walls I've built to crumble. But looking at what we created together, seeing the way her face softens when she looks at the flowers...
"I could help," I hear myself saying. "If you need it."
Emma claps like I've just offered to cure cancer. "Perfect! Church arrangements the day before, reception centerpieces morning of. This is going to be the most beautiful wedding ever!"
The workshop continues for another hour. We work mostly in silence, the easy camaraderie from earlier replaced by awkward tension. But our hands keep brushing as we reach for stems, and every contact sends electricity shooting through my system.
"Careful," I murmur when she reaches for a particularly thorny rose. "Let me get that one."
My fingers brush hers as I take the stem, and she sucks in a sharp breath. "I can handle it."
"I know you can. Doesn't mean you have to."
She stares at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her face. "You're different."
"How?"
"Gentler." She says as she tilts her head, as if she’s studying me.
"Maybe I've learned a few things too."
The admission slips out before I can stop it, and I see the way her expression softens. Like she's seeing something in me she wasn't expecting.
"Like what?"
"Like some mistakes aren't worth making twice."
Around us, the other women chatter and laugh as they work on their arrangements, but it feels like Savannah and I are in our own private world.
"Our arrangement's coming together well," she says finally, breaking the silence.
"Yeah. It is."
