The bell above the flower shop door jingles softly as you walk in, overwhelmed by the scent of fresh blooms — roses, eucalyptus, lilies, something sweet and subtle drifting through the warm air.

And then she appears from behind a row of hydrangeas.

Jennifer Morrison.

Apron tied around her waist, hair half-up with a few loose strands framing her face, hands dusted with pollen. She looks up at you, blinking in surprise before offering a gentle, welcoming smile.

“Hi,” she says. “Looking for anything in particular? Or just escaping the world for a bit?”

You laugh. “Maybe a bit of both. But I actually need flowers for a wedding.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Oh! Great. Bride? Groom? Planner? Panicked friend trying to save the day?”

“Panicked friend,” you admit.

Jennifer grins, clearly delighted. “I love panicked friends. They’re always so honest.”

She gestures for you to follow her deeper into the shop. “Come on — let’s make something beautiful.”