"Would you like me to prepare these for you, Mrs Morris?" I called out, raising my voice just enough to reach the sweet, elderly lady standing by the counter, whose hearing wasn’t as sharp as it once was. Every Saturday without fail, she came in to pick up a small bouquet for her sister, a ritual that brightened the quiet corners of her week.
"Yes, dear, thank you," she replied with a gentle smile.
"Freesias, right? Your sister’s favorite," I ventured, wrapping the delicate pink blooms alongside sprigs of gypsophila with careful hands—affectionate and precise, whether the bouquet was extravagant or humble.
"Indeed they are. Gladys will be thrilled," Mrs Morris said, watching me work with an approving gaze. When I handed the finished bouquet over, her eyes softened with concern. "You look a bit pale today, Sophia. Working too hard?"
I chuckled softly, brushing off the worry. "No, just had a late night, that's all. Nothing more."
Her eyes twinkled with a nostalgia that touched something tender inside me. "Ah, to be young again," she sighed fondly, settling the payment on the counter. "See you next Saturday, dear." With a buoyant step, she turned and made her way out, the bell on the door chiming a wistful farewell.
I hurried to open the door for her, flashing a warm smile. "Enjoy your tea with Gladys." The brief lightness in the air lingered as I closed the door behind her and retreated to the back room for a fresh pack of pale tissue paper—my preferred wrapping for flowers, soft and delicate, like a whisper around the stems. Cellophane was too harsh, stripping the blooms of their subtle charm.
A sudden chime from the door bell startled me, and I turned swiftly, clutching the tissue. My breath caught. "Cade? What are you doing here?" My voice betrayed my shock as I set the paper on the counter, blinking at the unmistakable figure before me.
He smirked, a crooked grin playing on his lips. "I woke up feeling a bit used, you know. No goodbye, no nothing." His green eyes danced with amusement, teasing me as if last night’s escapade was nothing more than a game. But I stood in my rumpled jeans and off-white T-shirt, hair a messy topknot, feeling utterly exposed under his polished gaze.
Embarrassment flushed my cheeks. "I had to work," I said quickly, twisting the corners of the tissue paper to steady my nerves. Anywhere but here. He was here—at my sanctuary—when all I wanted was to forget last night.
"You look tired," he observed, his voice softer now.
"I am tired," I snapped, the defensiveness sharp in my tone. His kindness unsettled me more than his presence. I wanted to push him away, to erase the memory of what we'd shared, but here he was, stubborn and persistent.
"Look, I don't get why you're here," I pressed, my voice low but firm. "Last night was last night. I don't want this—showing up at my work, like this."
The confident edge slipped from Cade's expression, replaced by a flicker of disappointment. "What's wrong, Sophia?" His voice held a rare softness, as if reaching past the walls I'd built.
I squared my shoulders, lifting my chin. "Nothing’s wrong. You just shouldn’t be here. What happened last night? It won’t happen again." The words felt cold, but I needed them to be, to protect myself from unraveling.
Cade blinked, absorbing my distance. "I see," he said thoughtfully, tilting his head. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Not to try and relive last night."
"Thanks, but I think it’s best if you go now." My heart churned with nerves that threatened to spill over. His presence was a constant reminder of a reckless moment I wasn’t ready to face.
"Sophia," he said, standing tall and steady, "I’m sorry if I upset you last night. Maybe it was wrong to ask you to sleep with me. But for what it's worth—I had a wonderful time." His voice softened, a hopeful note threading through its depth. "Maybe we could start over? Dinner?"
I shook my head, guilt weighing heavily. "I can’t."
Cade’s wry smile appeared, shrugging. "Help me out here, Sophia. I’m trying to apologize." Just then, footsteps approached as the door chimed again, and a man strolled in.
The newcomer’s eyes immediately locked on Cade. "Lapley, in a flower shop? Didn’t expect that," he said with a knowing smirk. The name hit me sharply—Lapley. In this small market town of Cirencester, the name carried weight—both respect and disdain.
Cade stiffened, unease flickering across his features. "And you are?"
"Benson." The man’s tone was casual but edged with familiarity. "It’s the wife’s birthday. Thought I better grab her some flowers."
Benson’s beady eyes flicked to Cade, who replied coolly, "A man should buy flowers only when he truly means it."
"Are you drunk, Lapley?" Benson joked, but Cade’s sharp gaze was warning enough to keep the teasing in check.
"Quite sober, thanks," Cade replied, voice low and firm.
Benson’s tone dropped, curiosity replacing bravado. "So, who’s the lucky lady getting flowers from Cade Lapley?"
Cade turned to me, green eyes narrowing. "Someone I’ve just met," he said evenly, voice steady and intense.
Benson snorted, eyebrows raised. "Didn’t take you for the sentimental type, Lapley."
"There’s a lot you don’t know about me," Cade shot back sharply. Whether the words were meant for Benson or me, I couldn’t tell.
Without a second thought, Benson reached for the nearest bunch and shoved it toward me. "Who is she? Anyone I know?" He pulled out a crisp fifty-pound note and slapped it on the counter, his smirk widening as I began wrapping the tulips, acutely aware of Cade’s watchful gaze.
The tension hung thick in the air—between them, between us all. While I folded the tissue paper around the blooms with practiced ease, every movement felt heavy with unspoken questions and fragile boundaries.
As I finished the wrapping, Cade’s eyes never left me, steady and searching. I knew this was no ordinary flower purchase. It was a moment charged with possibility and restraint, a delicate balance between connection and denial.
Benson took the wrapped bouquet and nodded towards Cade. "Well, Lapley, maybe you’re more complicated than we thought."
Cade’s lips curved into a faint smile. "I’m full of surprises," he replied quietly.
The shop door chimed again as another customer entered, and the spell was broken. Cade glanced around, his usual guarded demeanor slipping back into place. Turning to me, he said, "I should go. Take care of yourself, Sophia."
I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. "You too, Cade." And as he stepped out into the late morning light, I felt the fragile threads between us tugged taut—knowing that moving on would be anything but simple.