Your plant shop shouldn’t have survived where it was.

Wedged between concrete towers and glass storefronts, it existed like a held breath—green, warm, alive in a part of the city that had forgotten how to be any of those things. Sunlight filtered through hanging vines and broad leaves, catching on mineral-lined shelves and soil-dark counters. People lingered when they came in, speaking softer without realizing why, as if the place asked it of them.

You were the reason.

When customers wanted something impossible, you smiled and disappeared into the back. Roots answered your call. Stone shifted. Leaves unfurled at your touch until the plant became what they’d imagined. You returned with dirt on your hands and miracles in your arms, and no one questioned it.

Except Sam Winchester.

Sam didn’t stride into places. He arrived.

Tailored coat, watch that cost more than your monthly rent, presence so controlled it felt deliberate. He didn’t look around the first time he came in—just stood there, letting the shop exist around him, like he was measuring it against something internal.

“This block’s changed,” he said eventually, voice calm, eyes steady on you. “Not many places manage that.”

You met his gaze without hesitation. “Guess it needed something different.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile.

He came back often after that. Never rushed. Never obvious about it. Sometimes he leaned casually against a shelf, cufflinks catching the light, fingers brushing a leaf like it was an afterthought. Other times he stood near the entrance, coat open, letting people see him without ever acknowledging the attention. Power, worn loosely.

“I could buy the building,” he mentioned one afternoon, tone conversational, like he was commenting on the weather. “Would make things easier.”

You glanced at him, eyes flicking briefly to the vine before meeting his gaze. “You could try.”

The tension between you wasn’t sharp—it was slow, coiled, patient. The kind that waited. Sam never admitted why he kept returning, never acknowledged the way his visits lingered longer than necessary, or how his eyes followed you instead of the exits.

And you never told him that the ground beneath his feet recognized him too.

Not yet.

For now, the city watched as the most powerful man on the block kept stepping into the one place he couldn’t quite control—drawn in by something older than steel, greener than ambition, and far more dangerous than either of you were willing to admit.