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Wells glanced over, nodding in approval. “Not bad.”

I smirked. “You almost sound impressed.”

He leaned on the edge of his stand, arms crossed. “Don’t push it.”

As the morning market officially opened, a steady stream of people wandered through, stopping at booths, chatting with vendors, and carrying baskets filled with fresh produce and homemade treats. I wasn’t sure what to expect when Wells dragged me into this, but to my surprise, I was having fun.

It started slow—just a few passersby glancing at the flower stand. But then, a woman stopped and picked up a bouquet, her eyes lit up.

“These are beautiful,” she said, bringing the bundle closer to her face to inhale the soft scent of lavender and wildflowers.

“Thank you,” I said, standing a little straighter. “We grow them right on the farm.”

“You and your husband have a great little thing going.” She complimented.

I was so stunned I couldn’t speak. Of course Wells heard it and shot me a cheeky grin.

That one sale turned into another. And another. People were drawn to the flowers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I found myself genuinely enjoying a conversation with strangers.

A mother and her little girl stopped by, the child’s fingers grazing over the petals as she stared at them in wonder.

“You like flowers?” I asked with a smile.

The girl nodded shyly. “Pink ones.”

I crouched down, picking out a bundle with soft pink roses and daisies. “This one has your name all over it.”

Her face lit up as she turned to her mom.

“We’ll take it,” the woman said, smiling warmly as she handed me cash.

“That’s my gift to you.” I pushed the money back.

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

By midday, my hands were covered in bits of twine and petals, and I had sold more than half of the bouquets I brought. A sense of pride swelled in my chest—something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I glanced over at Wells, who was handling the produce stand with ease, chatting with customers like he’d been doing this his whole life—which, knowing him, he probably had. He caught me watching and shot me a knowing grin.

“Told you you’d be a natural,” he said.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t fight the smile tugging at my lips.

As the afternoon wore on, the steady trickle of customers turned into a full-blown rush. One by one, bouquets disappeared from the stand, exchanged for cash and grateful smiles. People stopped to admire the setup, complimenting the arrangements, asking about the farm.

And then, just like that—I was sold out.

I blinked down at the empty table, the last bouquet in the hands of an elderly man who grinned as he shuffled away.

Holy crap.

I sold out.

I wiped my hands on my dress, barely able to believe it. “Wells,” I called over, still staring at the bare table like more flowers would magically appear.

He turned, a crate of tomatoes in his hands, and when he saw my booth, he froze. Then his brows lifted.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, setting the crate down and walking over. “You sold out?”