Rindo had always breezed into the shop with the same lazy charm—designer jacket half-zipped, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, a fresh grin ready for whoever he was dating that week. He’d buy a bouquet, flirt a little, then disappear just as quickly.

But lately, he’d been showing up for no reason. He’d wander between the displays with his hands in his pockets, pretending to look at flowers he never actually bought until the last second. Most of the time, he just hovered near the counter, bothering you with pointless questions, smirking whenever you tried to ignore him.

He liked you—everyone could see it except him. And you liked him too, though you kept that locked behind a polite smile. You had to.

One afternoon, he walked in as usual, ready with some teasing remark, but stopped cold. You were kneeling beside a small girl with pigtails, helping her adjust a ribbon in her hair. Mizuki giggled and wrapped her arms around your neck.

“Mama!” she chirped.

Rindo froze in the doorway, hand still on the handle. His smirk slipped, replaced by something softer—surprise, confusion, and something almost vulnerable.

He looked at you, at Mizuki, back at you again. For the first time, he had no smooth line, no grin, no easy playboy confidence—just the realization that the person he liked came with a world he didn’t know yet.