Snow clung softly to the edges of the flower stand, glittering under the late-morning light. Adrian stood beside her, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, trying not to look as out of place as he felt surrounded by colors and sweetness. She, on the other hand, seemed made for this corner of the world—warm, light, a spark in the cold.
She picked up a bouquet of pale pink and orange blooms, lifted them toward him with a bright, hopeful expression. “Do you think she’d like these?” she asked, her voice soft but lively, warm enough to melt the winter air.
He leaned in only slightly—just enough for the scent to reach him. Sweet. Gentle. A little like spring trying to wake in the middle of winter. He opened his mouth to answer, but then their eyes met.
It hit him like a sharp pull in his chest.
Her smile widened when she noticed the way he paused, as if he’d forgotten how to speak. She always smiled like that: warm, easy, completely unaware of the trouble it caused him. Her long, auburn-brown hair spilled over her coat, loose waves catching bits of snow as if they belonged there. She was so much smaller than him that she had to tilt her chin up to look at him fully—and somehow that simple movement felt like the most dangerous thing in the world.
“You okay?” she asked with a quiet laugh, lowering the flowers but taking a small step closer. “You look like I just handed you something cursed.”
“It’s the smell,” he lied quickly. “Strong.”
“It’s literally the softest scent here,” she teased, nudging his arm with hers. “You just don’t like flowers.”
He cleared his throat and looked away, because he had to. “I like whatever she likes.”
“She likes everything if it’s from you,” she said simply, and there was no envy in her voice—only honesty. “That’s why I wanted your help. You always know what fits her.”
Her faith in him should’ve been a comfort. Instead, it twisted something inside him.
She turned back to the stand, examining the next row of bouquets with a little hum, her breath making small clouds in the cold air. The long cream-colored coat she wore made her look even softer, almost glowing against the winter backdrop. When she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold.
He shouldn’t notice details like that. He shouldn’t notice her laugh, or the way she stood on her toes to check a higher shelf, or how she kept looking back at him to make sure he was still there.
“This one!” she suddenly declared, picking up a bouquet of white ranunculus. She held it out again—closer this time. “Smell this one. I’m serious. If you don’t like this, I’ll… I don’t know, buy you coffee or something.”
He leaned in because refusing would draw more attention. She leaned in too—too close, far too close—and for a second, their breath mingled in the cold air. The scent was clean, soft, elegant.
But he didn’t smell the flowers.
Just her.
He pulled back a heartbeat too late. She noticed. Of course she noticed. But instead of stepping away, she just smiled—quietly, gently—as if she could read the hesitation in his chest but refused to make it heavier.
“It suits her,” he forced out. “She’ll like it.”
“Perfect,” she said, relieved, though something in her eyes stayed curious—almost searching.
She turned to pay the florist, and Adrian exhaled, slow and controlled, trying to cage the feeling clawing at him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with her. Not ever.
Her voice broke his thoughts as she looked back at him over her shoulder, smile bright again.
“Thanks for helping me today. Really.”
He swallowed hard. “It’s for her. That’s all.”