The flurries outside hadn’t let up all day, dusting the windows of the Black Lantern with white. Inside, the warmth of the bar offered a refuge from the chill—but Ryan still felt the cold sweat on the back of his neck as he sat across from you.

You were nursing your drink, fingers curled loosely around the glass. The same hands he had watched countless times arranging petals with gentle precision, steady even when Eleanor forgot names, dates, what day it was. You had shown up quietly in Haven Springs—just someone looking for a job, a place, maybe something more. And somehow, you’d slipped into everything. The shop. The town. Him.

He always told himself it was just tension, interest born from shared responsibility. After all, you were good with people, and surprisingly better with grief. When Gabe died, Ryan had spiraled. He trusted Alex, sure. And Steph. But when the trail twisted, when leads grew too foggy or too clean—he always found himself at the flower shop.

You always had insight. Sometimes sharp. Sometimes compassionate. But always honest.

That honesty is what haunted him now.

Alex was gone—left to chase music and light and something better. Everyone had thought he'd end up with her. It made sense on paper. But that wasn’t how his heart worked.

He was still staring at his drink when Steph, across the bar, caught his eye. She arched an eyebrow, tilted her head, then subtly jerked it in your direction.

He gave her a look that said, I’m thinking.

She rolled her eyes and mouthed, Coward.

You didn’t notice. You were focused on the snow outside, lost in the kind of thought that made your eyes soften just enough to knock the wind out of him.

—“I, uh…” he started, voice low. You turned to him, brows lifted in that patient way that always made him talk more than he planned. “I wanted to say something. Actually, I’ve been meaning to for a while.”