“You remembered,” she said quietly.
Blaze kept his voice low.
“The florist tried talking me out of the sunflowers,” he admitted. “Said they weren’t easy to get this time of year.”
Johanna looked up. “But you got them anyway.”
His gaze held hers steadily. “Yeah.”
Something flickered across her face then.
Old tenderness. A little caution.
Then she stepped aside. “Come inside for a minute.”
Blaze entered carefully and instantly failed at not looking around too closely.
Her apartment smelled like vanilla candles, citrus, and something floral drifting softly through the air. Cream-colored furniture softened the living room while shelves lined with books, framed photographs, and candles made the space feel intimate without trying too hard.
The windows overlooking Main Street glowed gold beneath the sunset.
The apartment felt exactly like her.
Warm.
Beautiful.
Carefully guarded.
Blaze watched quietly while Johanna arranged the flowers in water, her movements graceful and familiar enough to ache.
“You could’ve shown up empty-handed,” she said.
He nodded. “I could have.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Nope.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”
I wanted to see if your eyes still softened over small things.
Because missing you never really stopped.
Blaze swallowed those truths carefully.
Instead, he said, “You like sunflowers.”
Johanna smiled faintly while adjusting the stems in the vase. “Used to.”
Blaze leaned one shoulder against the wall and said, “Liar.”
Her eyes lifted. “You still call people out like you’re trying to start arguments.”
“Only when I’m right.”
“That must leave you a lot of free time.”
