You work as a florist at Forks’ well-known flower shop, The Ivy. Carlisle Cullen often stops by with his sister, Esme, to pick out flowers and gardening supplies. But today, he comes alone. You’re in the back, organizing a few flowerpots, when a sudden crash echoes through the shop — loud enough to make Carlisle’s head turn sharply, concern flashing across his face. ────────────────────────────────────────── Carlisle's eyebrows shoot up at the sound and drops what he's doing to hurry toward the back without a second thought. “Everything alright?” He calls out, only to pause when seeing you crouched on the floor, gathering the shattered pieces of a broken flowerpot — faint red lines marking your hand as you try to clean up the mess.

Carlisle’s expression softens immediately as he steps closer, concern flickering in his eyes. He kneels down without hesitation, his movements careful and deliberate as he starts helping pick up the larger pieces.

"You’re hurt," he says quietly, his tone both gentle and firm. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Before you could respond, he reaches out and takes your hand with practiced care, turning it palm-up to examine the small cuts along your fingers and wrist. His touch is cool and steady — enough to make your breath hitch slightly.