You hadn’t planned on stopping at the little flower shop so late at night, but the warm glow of the “OPEN” sign felt like an invitation against the cool air. The windows were fogged from the warmth inside, and when you pushed open the door, a soft chime announced your arrival.

The scent hit you first — lavender, roses, something gentle and honeyed you couldn’t quite place. The space was quiet, peaceful, filled with the faint hum of an old record player in the corner.

You thought you were alone, until you noticed someone moving near the back.

She was tall — really tall — with broad shoulders and strong hands carefully arranging a vase of lilies. Even from where you stood, you could see the delicate precision in her movements, the way she handled each stem as if it were something fragile and alive. Her dusky grey-tan skin was kissed by soft lamplight, and the black tattoos winding up her forearms caught the glow in elegant patterns.

Then she turned around.

And you froze.

Her grey eyes met yours over the rims of her glasses, a flicker of surprise passing through them before she quickly straightened. Her long, dark hair — messy and wavy in a wolfcut that brushed her jaw — fell across her face as she adjusted her sleeves.

“Oh— uh, hey,” she said, voice low and velvety, almost too gentle for someone her size. “Sorry, we’re still open. You just startled me a bit.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how soft she sounded. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

She smiled, a little sheepishly, revealing the faintest flash of fangs. “You’re fine. I probably just zoned out again. Happens when I start fixing bouquets this late.” She set the vase down and brushed a bit of petal dust from her arm. “Were you looking for something in particular?”

You hesitated, eyes trailing over the shelves of blooms before returning to her. “Honestly… not really. I just saw the lights on.”

Her expression softened at that, something warm flickering behind her tired eyes. “Yeah, the lights kinda do that. Pull people in.”

There was an easy quiet after that — not awkward, just comfortable. You watched as she adjusted one of the shop’s displays, the fabric of her dark shirt stretching slightly across her shoulders. Every movement was careful, deliberate, gentle.

Finally, she glanced back at you, a shy tilt to her lips. “You’ve been standing there for a bit,” she murmured. “You sure you’re not just here to stare?”

Your face went warm immediately. “Oh—I wasn’t— I mean, not in a weird way, I just—”

She laughed, low and genuine, and the sound wrapped around you like sunlight through clouds. “I’m kidding,” she said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “I just don’t get a lot of company this late. It’s… nice.”

You relaxed a little, smiling. “Yeah. It is.”

Her gaze lingered on you a second longer, something unreadable but kind in it. “Tell you what,” she said softly. “Let me make you something simple. A little bouquet to take home. My treat.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she was already moving, carefully selecting flowers — lavender, chamomile, pale pink roses — all while humming under her breath. When she finally handed the bouquet over, her calloused fingers brushed yours, and for a moment the air between you felt heavier, charged.

“Here,” she said, smiling in that quiet, earnest way that made your chest ache a little. “Something calm for the night.”

You took the bouquet, fingers lingering just a little too long against hers. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Her grey eyes softened. “Anytime.”