1

The universe liked to play a well-known prank in the town of Aldlake, promising sun when the day began, but turning the sky into a tumultuous mass of grey clouds by noon, churning and twisting like the belly of a great beast preparing for a feast.

From the small room at the back of my flower shop, I watched the world transform into a dark muddle as I created an inventory list, the cacophony of rain whipping against the windows drowning the music from the radio. Vehicles splashed through the water, and unprotected pedestrians scurried for cover, some delighting in the window display while sheltered underneath the awning outside.

The luxury flower shop adorned in neutral hues, romantic French decor, and intricate floral arrangements was an aromatic haven showcasing a kaleidoscope of colours— fuchsia, lavender, yellow, and every shade in between. Pendant lights cast a soft glow over the blooms, heightening their delicate allure. It was a thirty-year-old shop, a whimsical dream straight out of a picture book. Despite its location in a crook of a busy street, the shop was an invitation for every passerby and every customer to pause and smell the flowers, literally. And on cold, rainy days that Aldlake was famous for, the interior felt like a comforting embrace of an old friend, taking away all dreariness.

The breeze knocked a window open and I rose from the chair to secure the panes. A gust of rain-drenched wind swept across my face. I breathed it in, the weight of the cold, moist aroma settling in my lungs.

I had grown to love flowers since my early childhood, while tending to the garden at home. Running a flower shop had first been a bucket of cold water on my ambitions, but amid the burst of colours, my soul had grown petals of resilience and regained its strength. Nature was healing, they said. And so I stayed. I was glad I did.

“But I need to use the restroom, Dad!”

The pleading voice of a child rose above the chaos of rain and wind to stir me out of my thoughts. It had come from outside the shop, but within moments, I heard the tinkle of the bell above the front door.

“Alright, I’ll see if there’s a restroom here that you can use. We can’t keep walking in this rain.”

The older male voice shook me to my bones. I could recognise that voice anywhere, with my eyes closed in the dark, even in my sleep. I hastened away from the window, knocking down the pen holder as I rounded the desk and reached for the door.

The room was spinning when I stepped outside. Or maybe it was just my head.

“Sorry about barging in but is there a—”

 The tall, lean man stopped mid-sentence when he looked around to catch sight of me behind the counter. His face froze, his unblinking blue eyes dazed and wide as he stared with his mouth agape. In his hand was a drenched umbrella. His coat bore a few damp splotches and there were some wet streaks in his dark, wavy hair.

“Restroom, Dad,” the little boy urged, tugging at his coat. “We’re looking for a restroom.”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat, finally blinking. “Do you have a restroom here that he could use?”

My mind, in the throes of panic, could hardly think.

Samuel Fischer— four years older, weathered, lines etched on his forehead and around his full lips. My Sam. The man who had stormed into my life and left me devastated in his wake.

“It’s alright if there isn’t,” he added hastily, his voice deep and soft like I had always known. “We can look elsewhere.”

“But Dad—”

“It’s around that corner.” I mechanically pointed to the right side of the shop, though my eyes remained unmoved. It was not a public restroom but I accommodated customers sometimes. “Behind the fridge.”

“Thanks.” The boy went in my suggested direction.

Kurt. Ten years old now, I figured after a quick mental calculation. An image of his father, with his dark, wavy hair and blue eyes behind round spectacles. The reason I was mercilessly crushed and driven away.

But how was he still there, seemingly happy and healthy? The night Sam and I spoke for the last time, he had no longer than six months.

“Missy…” Sam shook his head, his swallow audible over the pounding of my heart. “Melissa Connor? Is it really you?”

My name on his lips made me a little dizzy. A shiver ran down my spine, a heaviness creeping across my skin. He took a step towards the counter and I instinctively took two steps back, not sure if I was dreaming, if this was some sort of twisted nightmare I would soon awaken from.

 “I cannot believe this…” he whispered, as if talking to himself. “I’ve wanted to see you for years. Didn’t know how or where. Didn’t know if you were even alive. I looked everywhere but—”

Realisation dawned on his face as he abruptly paused and scanned the shop, registering the beauty of the establishment. But if I could read his eyes, it was not admiration I saw in them. I saw astonishment. A touch of sad disappointment, perhaps.

“Do you work here?” He asked, a slight frown forming on his brow. I swallowed hard.

“No, I own this place,” I replied. Sam’s eyes raked over my lace ruffle shirt and pleated skirt before rising to settle on my face again. Not a smile or even an attempt at it. Only a deep, piercing stare. The one I knew so well. The one that could turn me into a puddle.

“What are you doing in Aldlake?” I asked, tucking back a dislodged lock of pale brown hair into my braid with shaking hands.

“I work here. Aldlake School of Business.” He set the umbrella in the corner of the door and took another step towards the counter. “I couldn’t have imagined seeing you here. It’s been so long…”

“Hey, Dad, I saw the coolest thing in there.” Kurt came rushing out eagerly. “You don’t actually have to press the flush. You just hold your hand in front of the button and it automatically flushes. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Yes, it’s called a sensor.” Sam looked at me again. I struggled to pull air into my tight lungs, cold sweat misting my palms and my neck. The rain was coming down in sheets, blurring every sight. “Come on, we should go.”

“But it’s pouring,” Kurt protested. “And it’s nice here. So many flowers…”

He reached for a stick of oncidium in a spherical vase. “What flower is this?” he asked, before sighting the small tag at the bottom. “Dancing lady,” he read aloud. “Why is it called that? Is it because they seem to be dancing in a breeze, like the daffodils?”

He looked at his father for an answer, then at me. I had lost my voice but Sam found his.

“I’ll tell you all about orchids tonight if you want,” he said, gently withdrawing the boy from the plant. “Let’s go now, buddy.”

Picking up the umbrella, he stopped to give me another look. “I…” Reaching into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, he took out a business card from a fold. “In case you have any need for this.”

He set it before me on the counter, took his son’s hand, and hurried out of the shop. Kurt tagged behind his father, waving at me while thanking me again.

As I stared at the door, a customer came in shaking his umbrella. Without heeding to his complaint about the weather, I handed him the pre-ordered bouquet of roses and carnations. He paid, expressed his gratitude, tucked the flowers inside his coat, and wished me a good day before leaving. I sank hard onto the stool behind the counter, my dizziness slowly dissipating to make way for reality.

Sam was in Aldlake, with his family.

Aldlake. The bustling, picturesque town had been my refuge, far away from the looming shadows of the life I had left behind. I never thought I could feel threatened there, but I suddenly was, with nowhere to run.

My eyes went to the plain, unassuming business card on the counter. That little piece of paper represented a world of pain, a portal to darkness. It made my blood boil.

I picked it up, tossed it in the waste paper basket under the counter, and turned away.

2

Later that evening, I sat in Rachel McKay’s dining room, hearing her arguing with her thirteen-year-old son Graham as she forbade him from going out to play basketball in unpredictable weather. His twin sister Kelly was watching the scene unfold from the chair next to me, holding back the smile that was sure to get her into trouble.

Rachel was the deputy mayor of Aldlake and the daughter of the kind lady who once owned the flower shop. She was a late quadragenarian with a dark blonde layered hairstyle, a maternal face, and soft grey eyes that remained unperturbed even when her children tested her patience. They lived a block away from the flower shop, and were the only people I could call my own in the town.

I had moved to Aldlake after taking up the role of a public relations assistant at the mayor’s office. By a strange twist of events, my prestigious government job had lasted only two months, following which Rachel and her mother took me under their wings, Graham and Kelly became my disciples, and before I knew it, I had traded my dreams of a corporate career for the simple life of a florist.

“You’re lucky you don’t have kids,” Kelly chirped, tossing me a glance. Her brother was coming out of the kitchen grumbling under his breath. “Right, Mum?”

“What?” Rachel answered from the kitchen. “Oh, no, honey. Having kids can be wonderful sometimes.” She slammed the door of the pantry. “Sometimes,” she gritted out.

I felt a twinge in my chest, which I quickly washed away with a sip of coffee.

“It isn’t raining anymore!” Graham announced, surveying the state of the sky. “Malcolm and Harry are down there. Can I go? Please, Mum?”

Rachel heaved a sigh of defeat. “Alright, but take your raincoat. Dinner’s at eight, don’t be late.”

Graham was evidently not listening as he grabbed his jacket and made a dash for the door. 

“I’m coming with you,” his sister said, following him.

“I don’t want you with me,” he protested. “Mama’s little spy.”

“Graham…” said Rachel in a low, chastising tone.

“Sorry, Mum,” Graham murmured, walking out the doorway, Kelly close on his heels. The door slammed shut, the twins bickering down the stairs.

“Ugh.” Rachel grimaced after a sip of my drink. “That’s terrible. I don’t know how you can be excellent at so many endeavours yet fail to make a decent cup of coffee.”

She put down her cup of tea and walked over to her liquor cabinet to pick out a bottle.

“Here, I’ll spike it.” She poured a generous splash of the dark amber liquid in my mug, doing the same to her tea. “Whiskey is supposed to make everything better.”

Sinking into the chair that her daughter had recently vacated, she cast me a glance over the rim of her cup. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Sam’s son.” I held up my mug and gently swirled it around. That was the first time I had ever seen him in person, but I still remembered every detail he had shared with me about Kurt— that he read to him every night, that they both loved museums, and that when the sky was clear, they watched the stars together. “He’s alive.”

“You do know that patients with terminal illnesses can survive, right?” Rachel asked. “It’s been years. Maybe he responded to treatment and recovered. He’s got age on his side.”

Yes. Possible. I took a long swig of the coffee, the alcohol making my chest burn as it went down my throat. Rachel’s curious gaze was on my face, probably a million questions on the tip of her tongue since I told her about Sam’s sudden appearance. She knew part of the story, the only person who knew anything about my life before I came to Aldlake. And it was because of her that I was still there, safe and sound and in one piece. No matter how often I ran errands for her or took care of her twins in her absence, it would still never be enough to repay her generosity.

“You should tell him,” she suddenly announced. A frown marred my forehead.

“What?”

“The truth,” she explained. “He needs to know.”

“He doesn’t,” I snapped, my voice rising.

“Yes, he does.”

“And why?”

Rachel sighed. “I felt sorry for him when you told me,” she said. “I didn’t feel sorry for you, not for a moment. But for him, my heart bled.” She paused to take a sip of tea. “What an unfortunate father. Losing what he had and never finding out what he could’ve had with you.”

“There’s no point dwelling on the past now,” I retorted sharply.

“It isn’t the past and will never be as long as it keeps hurting you. The only person who can understand and share in that pain is him.”

“It wouldn’t be a pain for him.” When I picked up my mug again, my hands felt weak. “He’s married. He’s still got his child.”

“And you’re still in love with him.”

“No.”

“Really? Is that why you never show even a sliver of interest in another man, even when they’re clearly attracted to you? Missy, you’re twenty-five. You should be living wild and free, not cooped up in a flower shop engaging old, matronly ladies.” She touched my arm, leaning in closer. “Those same old ladies would be judging the hell out of you if they knew.”

Just like my mother. My jaw clenched as the memory came alive in my mind. I never told Rachel or her family about her, because my mother had called me a home-wrecking whore who was better off an orphan before turning her back on me. From that moment, my family had ceased to exist for me.

“I know you’re devoted to the shop.” Rachel’s exhale echoed in the room. “Mum made the absolute right decision leaving it to you. I can’t even name a flower, let alone understand floristry. But you’re so young and there’s nothing else in your life.”

She cupped my shoulder. “You’ve carried around this burden for far too long. But it isn’t your burden alone.”

“I tried telling him long ago. We know how that went.” A wry laugh trembled in my throat as I drank my coffee in long gulps. “Proof that you must never fall for a married man.” Particularly one that just happened to be the husband of your second cousin, I added in my mind.

Leaving the table, I walked to the far end of the room and slid open the door to the balcony. Below, Graham was dribbling the ball with his friends while yelling at his sister to go away. 

“You’re very good to them,” Rachel smiled, appearing next to me. “I don’t know where you find all that patience. Mum never wanted them in the shop because they would wreak havoc. But you know how to engage them, how to get them to assist you and actually enjoy it.”

“Yes, they are good helpers,” I quipped. “Maybe I’ll leave the shop to them, if they can keep up their impeccable record of not breaking a vase.”

Rachel laughed. “You know, it’s been years since you moved to Aldlake, and yet, we are the only people you mingle with.”

“No, I go to Mrs Oliver’s afternoon tea every week and listen to her ramblings about her neighbours.”

“And tactfully dodge her attempts to interest you in her nephew.”

“I also help Mrs Adamson care for her garden.”

“And she always mentions that you never smile, even when her clingy cat is climbing all over you.” Rachel looked at my face. “To be honest, there isn’t a day when I don’t wonder what you were like before you came here, when you were in Birmingham.”

My hands curled into fists by my sides, a rigidity entering my posture. When I closed my eyes, I saw a montage from my past life— my house of cards tumbling around me, crushing my rose-tinted dreams, turning my family against me, and leaving my heart in pieces.

I thought I could grow a new heart, one made of steel. But seeing Sam standing before me like a whispered memory from a chapter I had tried in vain to forget reminded me of my failure in doing so.

Rachel slid an arm around my shoulders. “I know I don’t say this enough,” she said. “But I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do without your stable presence in our lives, now that my mother is no longer here for us to lean on. I pass by the flower shop every day and see the lights on in the apartment every night and it makes me feel like Mum still lives on through you.”

She paused. “But you don’t have to keep doing this, you know. If there’s something else you’d like to do, maybe return to the mayor’s office for—”

“I’m a florist, Rachel. This is what I do. This is what I wanted to do since I was a little girl.” 

Turning around, I picked up my keys and proceeded to leave. “You’re going to be late tomorrow, aren’t you?” I asked, heading for the foyer. Rachel nodded.

“Big meetings all day,” she answered. I opened the door and stepped out.

“The kids want us to make pizza for dinner,” I said. “We’ll save a slice for you.”

It started to sprinkle as I walked back to my two-bedroom apartment above the flower shop, what previously used to be Rachel’s mother’s house. Frail in her later years, she no longer had the strength and vitality for a business after running the shop for three decades. So charmed was she by my knowledge of flowers and gardening that she handed me the reins of the place and allowed me to run it however I chose. After her death two years ago, the double-storied property became all mine— my abode and sanctuary, decked in floral wallpapers, blooms and foliage of all kinds, and a vintage chic decor that mimicked the aesthetic of my fleurière.

Affording a property at my age with my florist’s income would have been a distant dream had it not been for old Iris’ selfless gift to me. Despite the fact that I lived with her and took care of her in her last years, I always wondered if I deserved that act of generosity, one I was eternally grateful for.

Setting my hair free from the braid, I undressed and stepped into the shower. I had not changed much since the last time Sam saw me. I was still slender, my hair was still long and incapable of holding a curl, my style was still feminine, my demeanour still quiet and soft. Not that he had changed much, except for the twenty pounds and the twinkle in his eye that he had lost.

I lathered myself under the hot, comforting water, my soapy fingers trailing lower to caress my nipples until they peaked under my touch. Almost involuntarily, my other hand drifted past my pelvis and rested on my smooth pubic mound, my thumb mindlessly circling my hard, little bud. My eyes closed as I pressed it with two fingers, the wet, slippery folds begging for my touch. I dipped a finger inside, the ache rising within me.

Suddenly, unconsciously, I imagined Sam’s hands over my body, the softness of his lips as he kissed the water from mine, the hunger in his eyes as he nibbled at my ear and breathed into my hair, the weight of his body against mine when we moved as one, the gruff emotion in his voice when he confessed his love for me again and again.

The pressure of tears formed behind my eyelids. When the world was simpler and my heart more reckless, the brilliant, erudite professor Samuel Fischer had set it afire. The connection was instant and electric, our comfort uncanny and our shared interests endless. He filled my void with his kindness and infinite patience, lit up my spirit with his wit and intellect, and in his arms, I felt all my dreams come true. Just three months from graduation and riding on the high of clinching my dream job, I let myself get carried away on the waves of the covert romance, despite knowing he was married, not knowing who his wife was.

Until the evening she unexpectedly turned up at his flat and found us together, and my world shattered to realise who she was.

The tears rose up my throat as I sank to the floor.

I loved him. Regardless of the pain and the anguish, I could never love another man. No other man could ever match his brilliance, his warmth, or what we’d had together. He had been my best friend and confidante, our fierce passion melting away the seventeen years separating us. 

Turning off the water, I wrapped myself in the bathrobe and walked into my bedroom. My life was what most would deem successful. It was unhurried, uncomplicated, uneventful. I ran a modest but thriving business. I lived in a pretty little house. I loved Rachel and the twins and they loved me. I made a comfortable living and lacked nothing.

Yet, I felt empty, like a part of me was missing.

I went to the window and opened a pane. The sprinkle had turned into a downpour, accompanied by a sharp wind. I inhaled the cold air, felt the rain last on my face. It was strange how one event could derail the course of someone’s life. What was I doing in Aldlake anyway? Was I not supposed to be climbing the corporate ladder, going places, standing on the glittering stage of success?

A few haunting words rose from the depth of my despair. ‘My arms will be empty, till you walk into my dreams, hide in my arms and kiss away the emptiness from my chest.’

I slammed shut the window and crashed into bed, my sobs blending with the crackling thunder and the lashing rain. “Where were you?” I sank into the bed and repeated incoherently through the tears. “Where were you when I needed you the most?”

The tears flowed on until I felt so bad that I did not care if I lived or died.

3

The next morning, a shadowy figure appeared outside the door of the flower shop as I arranged a dozen bulbs of amaryllis in a tall, crystal vase. It was a few minutes to eight, an hour before the shop opened. I used that time to receive supplies for the day, tidy, and organise before the customers started pouring in. My shoulders sagged, a heavy tiredness settling on me.

“Sam, go away,” I groaned, cracking the door. Last night had left me with a headache, robbing me of the strength to face him two days in a row. “I don’t want you stalking me.” 

“I’m not,” he said hesitantly. “I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

“No.” I stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind me. “What are you doing here? The university is at the other end of the town.”

“Yes, I don’t come to these parts very often.” He held my gaze as I stared up at him. “I came to see you.”

“Why?”

“There are things you need to know.”

“What things? It was over a long time ago. There isn’t anything that I want to hear.”

“Missy…” He raked a rough hand through his hair. “Please… can I have only a moment? I couldn’t have a conversation yesterday because I wasn’t alone, so I came back today. There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you for years. I even went to your mother’s house but she knew nothing about you. No one did.”

He paused, his gaze unwavering from my eyes. “Norma-Jean and I are divorced,” he announced quietly. “I’m no longer a married man.”

My heart thudded. He was divorced? But…

“I know what you must be thinking,” he added, taking the liberty to hold me by my arms. His touch softened me, yet I was trying to rein in the anger I suddenly felt.

If he always planned to leave his wife, why did he push me away?

The sky rumbled, catching us off guard.

“I think we should go in.” He reached past me and opened the door, leading me inside the shop. I felt too weak to protest as I was gently eased onto an armchair in the corner. “You should be seated before I tell you anything more.”

“You’re divorced?” I murmured. “But didn’t you…?”

I left the question unfinished, unable to bring myself to utter the words that had destroyed my world.

“Yes, I did withdraw the petition,” he nodded, tugging his trousers to kneel in front of me. “But I filed again shortly after.”

“So I assume your son is all well now?”

A flash of agony rolled across his face. His hands came to rest upon mine, the warmth of his palms against my cold skin making me shudder.

“It was a lie, Missy,” he let out slowly, his tone darker. “Kurt was never sick.”

If my heart had been pounding so long, it now wanted to stop beating altogether. “But you told me—”

“I told you what Jean made me believe.” He rose to his feet and turned his back to me. “I was divorcing her and taking Kurt with me. Then she suspected I had someone else in my life. So she concocted the lie to make me stay with her.”

“What?” I gasped. “How?”

“You remember she was a nurse in London while I was teaching in Birmingham, right? She took advantage of my absence to bribe the doctor and fabricated the medical reports. And it wasn’t just money she paid him with.”

His voice sounded smaller and weaker as he continued. “I met the doctor myself, didn’t have reason to disbelieve him. Kurt would indeed fall ill very often, and they could never find out why. I just couldn’t…” His breath hitched. “I couldn’t imagine a mother would invent a story about her child dying from an incurable disease out of spite and jealousy. It was only when I sought a second opinion from a different doctor that I learned that there was nothing wrong with my son at all.”

Sam shook his head. “I was always a passive person, a people pleaser, avoiding confrontation wherever possible. All through the marriage, I put up with her demands and tantrums, and just went with the flow, coasting along, thinking I was an easy-going guy… I didn’t know I was creating a monster who wouldn’t even spare a six-year-old.”

When he turned around, his eyes were misty. “By the time I found out the truth, it was too late. I had lost you, and it was exactly what she intended. She knew I would do anything for Kurt. She was aware that her lie wouldn’t hold for too long but it would give her enough time to drive you away from me. I couldn’t bear to have her in my life after knowing that she used our son to play nasty games with me.”

Walking closer to the window, he absently stared at the floral displays. “The first thought to go through my mind when I learned about the lie was that I had to get you back,” he said. “But I didn’t know where to look. The university in Birmingham had your old information, and your workplace didn’t have even that. In a fit of desperation, I went to your mother and told her the truth. But she couldn’t help me either. And then yesterday, finally seeing you again so unexpectedly in the unlikeliest of places, I felt my heart was going to explode.”

He came over and kneeled at my feet again. “Remember how opposed she was to the divorce initially? Then she suddenly changed and started agreeing to everything I wanted without a fight. I thought she’d finally had some good sense but she was actually biding her time while she hatched her plan to teach me a lesson.”

The shock subsided, filling me with renewed anger. “You’re telling me that you shunned me because you were a fool to have believed a lie?” I demanded. “That you could’ve found out the truth before driving me away?”

“Yes, I’m a fool. A wretched fool, Missy…” He clasped my hands between his own. “Call me what you like, you have every right to. But I told you I would always love you, and I do. I thought about you every day. All these years…”

I sprang up from the chair, sharply withdrawing my hands. 

“You ended it with a phone call,” I reminded him, turning away. “You returned to your wife because your child needed both parents, and it was more important than your fling with me.”

“It wasn’t a fling.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “My love for you gave me the courage to end my dysfunctional marriage and give you the place you deserved in my life. I know I wronged you, threw away what we had, but not because I didn’t love you.”

“No, but because there was a lot at stake, a lot you were putting on the line. Out of all your problems, I was the easiest to get rid of.”

“Don’t say that, please,” he implored. “You made me the happiest man.”

“What would you have done if those weren’t lies?” I retorted. “What if you had indeed lost your son? What then?”

“Then it would’ve been easier to leave her. I was still with her only for Kurt, and if I lost him…” He winced as he said those words. “…I’d have nothing to keep me in that marriage anymore. I’d probably have nothing to live for either, if I lost him after losing you, the two people I loved the most.”

He drew me close to himself. “I didn’t abandon our love out of choice or free will, Missy. I’ve been miserable every moment without you, and I’ve been trying to find you again just to be able to tell you the truth and make it right.”

“Sam.” I put a hand on his chest to quieten him. “It’s been too long.”

“But—”

“I had wanted to see you one last time. Remember what you said?”

“Melissa—”

“That it’s like stabbing the same wound over and over again. That someday it would make sense.”

“I was wrong.” He cupped my cheek, unshed tears glistening in his big, bottomless eyes. “It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense without you.”

He held my hands again, his nostrils flared and cheeks flushed. “I’m so very sorry,” he croaked. “I don’t know if I deserve your forgiveness but I’ll do anything to make it right. Anything.”

His tear-laden eyes scanned my shop again. “You settled for your childhood dream, I see,” he murmured, drawing away from me. “It’s beautiful, just like you.”

I felt myself shrink. He remembered what I had once told him over a casual conversation at the university library— that as a little girl I dreamed of having a flower shop of my own, but my mother wanted me to be more ambitious. Hence, the top-of-the-class grades, a degree in international business, and aspirations for a corporate career— ultimately ending in floristry. As though fate always had a cruel plan for me.

Without another word, Sam turned and walked out of the shop, the rain coming down as the door swung shut.

#

“Missy, I’m late and I need a bouquet.”

On an overcast Friday afternoon, Rachel burst into my shop, making her way past a few outgoing customers. Her hair was ruffled, her jacket askew, her overstuffed bag barely hanging on to her shoulder.

“A bouquet?” I looked up from the computer screen. “What kind?”

“Like hell I know.” She turned her head from side to side, resembling a confused alien who had just landed on planet Earth. “I’m going to meet Elliot Burns in thirty minutes and I need a bouquet to greet him with.”

“Who’s Elliot Burns?”

“Chief officer of Burns Group of Industries, the biggest business in this town. They have plans to create more jobs in Aldlake.” She picked up a bright arrangement from a shelf near the door. “What’s this?”

“Orange spray roses, orange asiatic lilies, hot pink carnations, red miniature carnations, and pink heather, accented with sword fern, huckleberry, and lemon leaf.”

“Yeah, that’ll work.” She checked the price tag hanging from the bouquet, and before I could utter a word, fished out her card and held it out for me. I did the needful and returned the card.

“Oh, I’ve asked Graham and Kelly to meet me at the conference hall,” she said, checking her appearance in one of the decorative mirrors in the shop. “They’ll come home with me.”

I sighed. “You’re dragging them to a conference?”

“That’s my life, honey, and they are a part of it.” She buttoned her jacket and straightened her shoulders. “And you’re not spending your life babysitting my children.”

“I don’t mind it. Quite the contrary.”

“But I do. You don’t have a life outside of this shop or my children and I hate to see that.” She raked back her tresses with her fingers. “This place made Mum happy, you know. She left you the shop because she wanted it to be your reason to live after the devastation you suffered. But all these years later, you still haven’t healed or found other joys outside of flowers.”

“Reason to live,” I repeated after her. “My reason to live was taken away from me before it even materialised.”

“And you still haven’t told him, have you?” Her words were brittle. “I haven’t seen another woman so understanding of her man’s reason to desert her. He sacrificed a future with you to be there for his sick child and you respected that, because it made him a good father in your eyes, even if you were shattered. You never talked about him, let alone belittle or badmouth him. I probably would never have found out if I hadn’t broken into your flat that fateful morning four years ago and heard only one word on your stuporous lips. Sam.”

Turning around, she crossed her arms. “You never told me the details and I don’t want to know. All I know is that I saw you in a state I never want to see anyone in and if he really is a good father, a good man as you claimed he was, he should know and take some accountability for it.”

She sighed, checked the time on her watch, and then beckoned to me. “Come here.”

“Why?”

“Just come here.”

I flipped the countertop and stepped outside, where Rachel pulled me into a strong embrace. For a moment, I thought I could break down and cry. Sam had not visited the shop again, possibly having nothing more to say, and floral arrangements for four weddings had kept me too busy to even breathe for the past week. But that did not mean I had not thought of him every waking minute.

“You looked like you needed a hug.” Rachel patted my back before drawing away. I had not told her about Sam’s visit or the truth that I had learned from him, but she understood me anyway, having experienced the loss of a beloved. “I’ll see you around.”

She smiled, picked up her flowers, and tossed me a wave as she left the shop. Over the rest of the afternoon, I sent out centrepieces for a party, did two consultations with equally clueless brides, sold half a dozen bouquets, and advised eighty-year-old Ms Anderson for the umpteenth time that the reason her coral bells kept dying was overwatering. I was sure she would forget it again the moment she stepped out of the shop.

At the end of the day, after a complicated arrangement with elusive black orchids I had flown in from Thailand for a particularly extravagant wedding, I lay exhausted in bed. In the quiet of my room, old memories returned to whisper in my ear, evoking the loss I had suffered, the pain I never spoke of, and the hopeless depths of depression that cost me my new job.

Sam was never my professor. Though we were part of the same university, he did not teach the courses that I had. We first met off-campus, at a literary event where our favourite author was answering reader questions and signing copies. And from that first moment, our connection was inevitable, building and boiling like a wildfire ready to consume everything in its path. Afraid of our growing passion for each other, I had tried to change his mind, reminding him that he was married. He had asked if it was wrong to seek affection or want to belong with someone, or just want to breathe free. He had wondered what the point of a loveless marriage was if all it created was tension and trouble.

In the same breath, he had announced his decision to file for a divorce.

‘You can’t do this because of me…’ I had said. ‘I’m no one.’

‘You’re the woman I love,’ he had retorted. ‘And love makes you brave.’

A gut-jarring pang tore through me.

Sam writhed in guilt. I saw it in his eyes, no sign of deception, only a plea for redemption in every word as he held my hands. Norma-Jean was always controlling and manipulative, determined to have her way by any means. I had not seen much of her growing up, but she spoke to my mother often. I never quite understood why my mother was fond of her. She usually resembled the wicked child who intentionally broke an expensive vase and then made up stories to put the blame on others.

I could vividly recall the evening she appeared at Sam’s Birmingham apartment unannounced, her eyes narrowed on me as she slowly walked in, spewing venom at him. His reminder that they were going through a divorce had amused her. ‘Yes, and the reason’s very attractive,’ she had hissed, eyeing me like a hawk sighting a prey. An enraged Sam had yelled at her to shut up, but her words had cut me deep anyway, forcing me to leave immediately, even though he caught my hand and implored me to stay. That was the last time I saw him.

But regardless of all her twisted schemes, it sickened me to think of the game she had played with her marriage… and her little boy.

Magnifying Sam’s guilt or pain was not my intention. But Rachel was right— he needed to know, because the loss had been his as much as mine.

I sat up in bed, cursing myself for throwing away his business card. Slipping on my dressing gown, I scampered downstairs to the flower shop to frantically rummage through the waste paper basket, hoping and praying it was still there somewhere.

It was.

I rushed back to my apartment and reached for my phone, my heart racing as I typed a short message and sent it to the phone number on the card. The number was different from the one he used to have, the one I still remembered. I did not know if it was his personal contact or one he used for professional communication, but either way, he was going to get the message.

Within five minutes, Sam responded with a call.

“Sorry, I know it’s late,” I said quietly, ignoring how talking to him on the phone reminded me of the last time I spoke to him four years ago. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, I just finished working on a research paper and was about to go for a shower,” he answered. I realised his nightly routine had not changed. He always preferred a shower at the end of the day, then read until his hair dried and sleep overpowered him. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Um…” I closed my eyes to gather some of my courage. “I’d like to meet you sometime. Tomorrow, if possible.”

“I don’t have class tomorrow. Would you like me to swing by your shop?”

“No.” It came out quickly, sharply. “Somewhere else.” I paused, trying to think of a place. “Do you drink?”

Sam chuckled down the line, the familiar sound sending tremors through my body. It was once my favourite sound in the world, playful and teasing. I hated to admit that I had missed it.

“Seriously?” he asked. “Just how many Old Bushmills did we empty together?”

Yes, it did help me cope with the arduous process of creating presentations. “There’s a small pub at the Old Town Square,” I said. “Cosy, sophisticated. It is a little crowded on Saturdays but…”

“I don’t mind,” came his quiet assurance. “What time?”

“I close at five. Maybe six o’clock. Does that work for you?”

“It does. Can I pick you up?”

“No, that’s alright. Tomorrow at six, then?”

Without trying, I could see his quiet, tranquil smile. “Tomorrow at six it is.”

4

At six o’clock the next evening, I entered the pub to find Sam seated at the bar. Ryan, the brawny, blonde bartender with bleached eyebrows, was chatting up a storm with him. As I made my way to the bar, Ryan gave me his broadest grin.

“Sweet Melissa…” he broke into a tune, his customary way of greeting me. Sam rose from the stool, his customary way of greeting a woman. I rolled my eyes at the bartender.

“Don’t you have a man of your own?” I teased, occupying the stool next to Sam. He waited for me to be seated before reoccupying his own stool. Ryan’s eyebrows flew up.

“Why, is this one yours?” He looked pointedly at Sam, his grin turning even wider. “You’re lucky, mate.” He slapped his arm. “But she is hell to date.”

Sam’s mouth twitched. “And why is that?” he asked, casting me a brief look. Ryan crossed his arms.

“What kind of flower do you give a florist?” He wondered aloud. “Clearly, she has seen them all.”

I slipped off my jacket and draped it on my lap. “The right man will know,” I said, furtively noticing Sam measuring me in the beige wrap dress. In a black, rolled-sleeve shirt and tan trousers, he looked fine himself. “Why haven’t you served him a drink yet?” I asked Ryan.

“I chose to wait until you arrived,” Sam explained. “You know what we both like.”

“Two Irish Coffees, please,” I said to Ryan. “Bushmills Original, and no whipped cream. Froth the coffee if you want, but it’s not necessary. Two to six ratio.”

The bartender nodded and went away to prepare the drinks.

“You… you look very good,” Sam said quietly. “It makes me glad that your hair is still long.”

I instantly thought back to the day he saw my hair tumble loose from the French twist I usually had it in, like a scene from a shampoo commercial. The collected, level-headed Dr Fischer had been unable to look away.

“I hope you didn’t leave your son alone at home,” I said, bunching my ponytail across my shoulder.

“I didn’t.” He leaned forward on the bar. “My mother is visiting.”

“How are they doing? Your parents.”

“Dad passed last year. Mum’s well. She divides her time between me and my sister now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry about your dad. Did he never recover from that surgery?”

He shook his head. “It’s hard to recover at that age.”

Shifting on the stool, he angled himself towards me, resting his left elbow on the bar. “How long have you had the flower shop?”

“About four years.” I gathered my hands in my lap. “You must think it’s such a waste of my degree.”

“Absolutely not. That is business management in practice.” He stared intently at me, almost drinking me in. “Do you like being a florist?”

“I love it. It’s a simple and dignified life. My flowers make people happy and I get to weave a little magic into every day with my blooms. It’s fulfilling.”

“It is indeed fulfilling to be successful doing what you love,” he added. “I can’t believe I’ve been in this town for a year and it took me so long to stumble upon your shop.”

“How did you end up in Aldlake?” I asked.

“I first visited the business school here for a seminar a couple of years ago and was impressed by the excellence. They offered me a tenure, since my track with London Business School was ending, but I was happier with a contract, to test the waters first. The idea of being in a completely new town also appealed to me. Thought it would help clean the slate.”

“London Business School wanted you to be permanent.”

“So did Birmingham Business School, as well as Aston and Bristol. But I declined their offers.”

“Why? You’d probably be running for dean by now.”

“That’s not my drive. I love to teach, and that’s what I want to focus on— creating future business leaders and entrepreneurs, rather than investing in the institution and its politics. Besides, I earn in the mid-hundreds here in Aldlake, about thirty percent more than LBS, which is surprising for a smaller school. I’m still part of the visiting faculty at London and Bristol, though.”

We looked up when Ryan set our drinks in front of us. When Sam thanked him, he gave us two thumbs up and disappeared. Sam turned towards the bar again, folding his arms on the counter. In the diffused lights of the pub, his handsome, unshaven face looked soft, a little sad, no longer exuding the spark he once had. I inhaled sharply, picking up my glass.

“I’m not sure if I want to know,” I began, feeling an anxious twist in my chest. “But what happened after you found out Jean’s lies?”

Sam picked up his glass and took a long gulp, licking the froth from his upper lip. “I reported the doctor,” he replied, swirling the glass around. “He was absconding for weeks, later found and given a ten-year custodial sentence. The same punishment applied to her but she was able to avoid it by paying a hefty fine.”

“You called the police on your wife?”

“I didn’t have to. After the doctor confessed the truth— that she had lured him into her scheme with money and sexual favours — the police had a warrant against her too. I filed for divorce again and it was easily granted, owing to her offences.”

“Did she lose her job?”

“She committed fraud. What do you think?”

I processed the information over a swig of my drink. “Your son was a witness to the nasty business?”

“No, we moved out and were living with my parents at the time.” He gave me a fleeting nod. “I did get sole custody, if you’re wondering.”

“You always said that a broken home is one of the worst things to happen to a child.”

He looked at my face. I turned my head and met his eye. The indescribable connection made my stomach tight.

“I missed you every day.” His voice dropped below the noise of the pub. “The way you cared, the way you put others before yourself, the way you asked after Kurt all the time, as if he were your own…”

Abruptly breaking the gaze, he returned to his beverage. “But I now know there are worse things than a broken home that can happen to a child,” he added. “Wish I had known sooner that leaving him with his volatile mother in London while I moved to Birmingham for my new contract would be damaging for him. Wish I had been quicker to figure out that the reason he fell ill so often was his mother’s wrath. I thought that it would be good for him if Jean and I remained together, despite the pain it brought me. But it turned out to be quite the opposite.”

“You’re raising him alone?” I asked after some thought.

“Yes. His mother has visitation but Kurt doesn’t respond too well to them.”

“And…” I hesitated. “You’ve been single since?”

My query elicited a gruff snicker from him. “I’m not very eligible. Divorced dad, busy career, messed up personal life, still in love with a girl who seemed to have vanished into thin air…”

He sipped his drink. “What about you? Do you have anyone?”

I shook my head in answer. A heavy silence hung between us as we nursed our respective drinks. There were other people at the bar now, though our corner position allowed us some space and privacy. I clasped my hands together, wishing they were not turning colder by the minute.

“How…” I pushed aside the hesitation and forced myself to form the question. “How is my mother?”

Sam swallowed his mouthful. “Repentant,” he answered. “She admitted what she did to you after Jean poisoned her mind. I was shocked at the revelation. I hadn’t the least idea that she had swayed your own family against you. Your mother loved you so much, you were the model daughter. I was furious and horrified to learn about her cruelty to you.”

I stared inside my glass. She was a gullible woman whose husband left her for another woman when I was two years old. Of course she looked down upon me after what I did.

He heaved a deep sigh. “She told me to let her know if I ever found you—”

“No,” I barked, my pulse suddenly quickening. “Don’t you dare. She said she was no longer my mother. I never want to see her again. Don’t you dare tell her about me.”

“I won’t, definitely not against your will. But she doesn’t hate you anymore, Melissa. Certainly hates me and Jean, but not you. I don’t think she ever did, she was probably just blinded by her anger.”

“I can never forgive her for the things she called me,” I bit out. “You cannot love or hate people at your convenience.”

“I was the reason behind what she did to you.”

“You were never mean or insulting to me. But she, my own mother, slapped me in front of a room full of people, said that I was just like my father, and turned me out of home.”

He saw my hand curl tight around the glass. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We don’t have to talk about this. But I hope you know that I’m not going to give you away.”

 When I offered no response, he looked away and took a long sip of his drink. “Did you want to talk about anything? I don’t think catching up is what you had in mind when you planned this meeting.”

“What makes you think that?”

A grim smile appeared on his lips. “Aren’t I lucky that you’re even tolerating me after how things ended between us?”  

I finished my drink and sought Ryan’s attention. Before Sam could reach for his wallet, I handed the bartender a twenty, slipped on my jacket, and stepped down from the stool. Sam rose to his feet, downing the remainder of his drink and thanking Ryan.

“Would you fancy a walk?” I asked. “It’s mercifully not raining tonight.”

“It does rain an awful lot here.” He put on his coat and motioned for me to lead the way. The narrow lane behind the pub was quiet and lonely, a stark contrast to the bustle inside the establishment. We walked together in silence, our breaths and footsteps echoing in the crisp air.

“I have something to tell you,” I said, my gaze on the ground. “The very last time you called me all those years ago and I wanted to see you—”

“Missy—”

“No, listen. I wasn’t going to beg and plead with you to not leave me. I was much too proud for that. There was a more serious reason why I wanted to see you.” Folding my arms around myself, I kept my eyes low. “I had found out just the other day that I was four weeks pregnant and I—”

“What?” Sam froze, his square shoulders turning limp. “You were what?”

“Pregnant,” I repeated quietly. “With your child.”

The world stood still for a long minute, resuming only when Sam yanked me to himself.

“You…” His gaping mouth fumbled for the words. “You were pregnant?”

I nodded over a shaky breath. Sam’s hands were trembling when he held up my face.

“Dear god,” he gasped. “You and I… We have a child?”

“We would.” I squeezed my eyes shut, steeling myself for the next words. “If I hadn’t miscarried.”

The utterance of that term awakened memories I had locked away in a deep, dark corner of my soul— clinging onto my pregnancy as his parting gift to me, being resolute about raising the child alone as I ceased every contact with Birmingham before moving to Aldlake for the new job, slowly coming to terms with my new reality, picking out names and making plans for the months to come, and then one morning, losing the last link to the man I loved in excruciating pain and bleeding. I spent a week in bed with a raging fever, slowly bleeding away and calling out for Sam in my stupor, until Rachel stepped in and took me to the hospital, where I spent another week hooked to antibiotics and being monitored for sepsis.

But no amount of medical care could save my heart from shattering once more. The world had ended for me, pushing me into a black hole of gloom and despair. Losing the baby was like losing Sam all over again, almost as a sign that we were not meant to be together.

“No.” His hands slackened, dropping to his sides. When I opened my eyes, I found his face ashen. “No…”

He moved away from me, walking to the other side of the alley to punch his fist against the wall. Then he spun around to look at me again.

“Did your mother know?” he asked, his chest rapidly rising and falling. He gritted his teeth when I shook my head. “She turned you out not knowing that you were pregnant?”

“She’s a devout, conservative woman. She’d have killed me if she knew.” I slid my hands inside the pockets of my jacket. “Better a dead daughter than a daughter that participates in adultery and bears an illegitimate child.”

“Why didn’t you get in touch with me again?” He demanded. “You still had my contact information. You knew where I lived. You knew which universities I visited. I didn’t disappear like you did.”

“You stopped answering my calls after Jean found us together. I wasn’t feeling like myself since the beginning of that week, and the home test I took two days later was positive. Yes, I did try to call you again but to no avail. The next day, you called me to announce that we couldn’t be together anymore, that you were withdrawing the divorce petition, and you didn’t want to listen to anything I had to say because it would only make things harder for you. Two days later, I got examined at a women’s health centre, confirming my pregnancy. I called you again despite knowing it was futile. That very evening, I returned home to find your wife filling my mother with exaggerated lies.”

I faced away from him, closing my eyes to douse the sudden anger rising within me. “What were you going to do if you knew any of that? You were right— it would only make things harder for you.”

“But I loved you, cared about you. I’m not heartless. Despite my own problems, if I had any clue what was happening on your end, I’d have jumped in to protect you and gone ahead with the divorce like I originally intended to.”

“No, you wouldn’t, because you thought you were going to lose your son and Jean was suddenly the concerned, dutiful mother, and your family would always come before me. I was crushed, but I was also angry. I did not want your sympathy.”

Sam remained silent. When I glanced over my shoulder, he looked like a man stabbed in the gut and left on the edge of a precipice to teeter between life and death. “Today you wish you had known,” I said. “Back then you’d have thought that I was trying to trap you.”

“Trap me? I’m the one that trapped you. I ruined your life.”

Strong hands cupped my shoulders and turned me around. “How far along were you when you miscarried?” he asked, a deep frown on his forehead. I gulped hard.

“Three months.”

“Why did it happen?”

“I’m not sure, it was sudden. But depression and high blood pressure were stated as possible causes.”

“Oh… Missy…” His hands fell at my waist, his lips moving against my forehead. The emotions that I was battling so long crashed over me.

“I’m sorry…” My voice choked. “I wanted the baby so much. It was a part of you taking form inside me. I was so careful all the time, but I couldn’t save it…”

“Shh…” He engulfed me in his arms, his heart racing. My body melted against his with a familiar ease, as if no time had passed between us. “You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s all my fault. I’m probably the lowest piece of filth. You were only twenty-one, and I left you alone with no support… simply because I believed a lie.”

“If you hadn’t come to Birmingham, you wouldn’t have met me, Jean wouldn’t have got the opportunity to deceive you, and your son wouldn’t have to be away from you.”

“And I wouldn’t have known that I was married to a serpent until my son was damaged beyond repair. I also wouldn’t have experienced true love for the first time.” He looked down at my face. “The truth is, even if I knew who you were, I’d probably still have fallen for you. Because you were right for me, you were good to me. I never regretted what happened between us but I’ve regretted losing you for four painfully long years.”

“I couldn’t believe my eyes when you stumbled into my shop that day…”

“Neither could I. For a moment I thought I was imagining things when I turned around and saw you. But finally seeing you after years, alive, safe, and so beautiful amid the flowers, I felt like I was falling in love with you all over again.”

I watched his eyes fill to the brim. “Like a hand had reached out from the past and grabbed my heart,” he carried on, his voice faltering. “And I didn’t want it to let go.”

When I put my arms around him, he crushed me to his chest, so tight that my broken pieces seemed to fall into place. A tiny flicker of hope bloomed in my chest, calming the storm that had ravaged my soul for a long time.

“I’m glad,” I rasped. “that there was nothing wrong with Kurt. That you had him to keep you going through the rocky times.”

“And who did you have to keep you going? Not me, not your family, not even the fruit of our love. You gave up the life you could’ve had, suffered in silence, grieved on your own, while I was dealing with the devious machinations of the woman my son is hapless enough to have for a mother.” His hand came up to stroke the back of my head. “You must hate me so much.”

“Sam…”

“I hate myself… How could I be so blind? How could I—?”

On an impulse, I craned my neck and pressed my lips against his, the contact taking me back to the day we shared our first kiss under a wind-driven downpour. Sam inhaled raggedly and opened up to my onslaught, his potent, seeking lips claiming mine with desperate fervency. Yearning unfurled inside me like the morning glory seeking the sun, the appetent, endearing caress reminding me of what intimacy felt like.

“You’ve lost quite a bit of weight,” I pointed out.

“Yeah.” He brushed a knuckle across the rim of his eye. The finger came back slick. “I’m lucky I didn’t lose my sanity along with it.”

“Do you still play chess?” I asked, wondering if he still won competitions as one of the world’s top hundred players.

“If playing with Kurt in the living room counts, then yes, I do.”

“Oh.” My heart sank a little but I did not dwell on it. “Has he acclimated to his new environment here?”

“Mostly.” Sam stroked my cheek. “Making friends is still a challenge for him, and after the divorce, he is even more attached to me than he always was. But overall, he’s doing very well.”

“Who’s with him if you’re having long hours?”

“I have neighbours whose lad goes to the same school as him. They are a great help.”

His smile was watery. “He thinks your shop is cute.” 

My throat constricted. “I could’ve never imagined her stooping so low, just out of spite for me.”

“Not for you,” he gently amended. “For me. I’m surprised she didn’t poison my coffee.” His eyes lit up. “Speaking of which, did you ever learn to make decent coffee?”

I shrugged. “Not really.”

“Good.” His lips met mine again. “I miss your terrible coffee.”

With a shuddering breath, I circled my arms around his neck, the years falling away under the yellow glow of the streetlight as his protective embrace held me captive. “I thought of you all the time,” I whispered against his lips, the confession hanging in the air, sounding alien to my own ears. “I missed you so much…”

“Are you sure?” he queried brokenly. “Aren’t I just a bringer of bad memories for you?”

“And good memories too. You were the only man I wanted to make any kind of memories with.”

–

–

–

–

His lips drifted down my jaw, nuzzling my neck with delicate caresses— so faint, they were whispers. They travelled back up and found my mouth again, sealing us in a numbing, bruising kiss. A kiss like that was a beginning, the seeds of healing taking root where so long there had only been barrenness.

5

The tinkle of the bell made me take my eyes off the thorns I was trimming from the rose stems and peer above the counter. Kelly pushed open the door, crossed the threshold, and dropped her backpack on the floor. Graham had a basketball game that afternoon. It had been drizzling incessantly for the past two days, forcing the game to be held at an indoor court.

“Skipped the game?” I asked, my voice punctuated with the snipping of the shears. The flurry of customers had ended an hour ago, sparing me some time to focus on a relaxing floral arrangement. Kelly freed her blonde bob from the hairband, flipping the outer edge of the countertop to walk in. “Didn’t feel up to it,” she said, watching me at work while twisting her hair band between her fingers. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No, that’s fine.” A quick glance at her slouchy posture gave me pause. “Are you alright?”

She nodded weakly, the kind that always betrayed her feeble attempt at a lie. I moved my gaze back to the flowers in my hands.

“Go upstairs and take a nap if you want,” I offered unaffectedly. “You look tired.”

Pulling her tresses back with her hair band, Kelly sighed. “I feel awful,” came her quiet admission. “I stayed up till late getting my things sorted for when school reopens, and then this morning…”

She came closer to me and leaned against my back. “Remember that afternoon two years ago?” she asked. “Mum was away for the week, and I came home from school to…”

To find blood on her underwear, I thought to myself as she trailed off. The first time was always rough, full of confusion, panic, and a heavy sense of doom inside. She had come into the shop and sobbed in my arms until I took her home, got her everything she needed to be comfortable, and distracted her with a book before Graham returned from practice and suggested a movie night inside their giant tent.

The memory of that day brought to my mind the harrowing time I had coping with my miscarriage and Kelly’s innocent attempts at offering me solace, sometimes with a bowl of food that her mother sent for me, and sometimes with a book or a hug. I would never cry in front of Rachel, but every time Kelly or Graham hugged me, I let go and bawled uncontrollably.

I felt for Rachel. When you had a town and a family to run, the latter was often easier to make compromises with. I had grown up in a similar home— no father figure, busy, working mother, and the children left to their own devices. At least her children had me to fill in the gaps whenever possible.

“Yes,” I replied. “What about it?”

She shrugged her shoulders in response. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. It was so bad.”

“Is it bad now? Do you need anything?”

She shook her head. “The bottle of painkillers is in my bathroom cabinet, if you need it,” I said anyway. “You know never to take more than two at once, right?”

Kelly answered with a nod. “The heating pad is under the sofa,” I added. “For anything else, look under the bathroom sink.”

“Can I watch TV in your living room for a little bit?” she implored. “I don’t have anything else to do right now.”

When I nodded, she trudged towards the door leading up to my apartment and disappeared from view. A moment later, the door opened again.

“Hey, Missy,” she called out, reentering the shop with a pile of mail in her hands. “I think someone left you a present.”

“Present?” I frowned. “What present?”

Wiping my hands on my apron, I rose to my feet. Kelly had a small, square box wrapped in plain craft paper.

“No name,” she rued, looking up at my startled face. “Do you have a secret admirer?”

It was no secret to me, because I recognised that handwriting.

“Open it,” she urged, nudging my arm. I did, carefully unwrapping the box and opening it to discover a small glass dome that held…

My breath caught.

“Is that a tulip?” Kelly hunched over the dome. “It is… but it’s blue.”

I pressed my fingers to my lips, my eyes and my throat burning. It was indeed a perfectly preserved blue tulip, from my mother’s garden in Birmingham. My favourite flower, one you could find nowhere else.

The right man will know.

He knew. He always knew.

“I had no idea that a blue tulip existed.” Kelly picked up the dome, her eyes wide and wondering. “Is it real?”

Yes, it was real. As real as my love for the sender.

My eyes fell on the small, folded piece of paper inside the box. I unfurled it, the words appearing cloudy.

Missy,

I think you can tell where that flower comes from. I picked it over three years ago, meaning to give it to you if I ever found you again. It’s been preserved to retain its original colour, shape, and texture, much the way my love for you has been preserved against all the odds. In this moment, when I struggle to find the words to beg forgiveness for my wrongs, when I burn in pain and anguish for not being with you at your most vulnerable hour, for never knowing about the child we created and lost, I’m comforted by the knowledge that you are still here, listening.

I wish I could turn back time and change it all but the foolish mortal that I am, I cannot. What we can do is change the future— if you’re willing to give me another chance. Because I want to be the man you deserve, and cherish you for the rest of my life.

Reach out if and when you’re ready. I’ll always be here.

Yours, until the end of time.

~Me

That one word, his unique style to sign off every message to me, broke the barrage of emotions I had been holding back. I sank onto the stool, repeatedly tracing the words through the tears. Kelly set down the dome on the counter and came closer.

“Why are you crying?” She put her hands on my shoulders. “What happened?”

“Nothing…” I shoved the note inside the pocket of my apron and hastened to wipe off the stream of tears. “Nothing…”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m great. Did your mother leave you any lunch?” Springing up from the stool, I safely packed away the glass dome back inside the box, choosing to take my time to figure out its ideal location. The bedside seemed fit, where I could gaze upon it at the start and end of each day. “Otherwise, you can help yourself to the loaded nacho soup I made.”

Her face lit up. “I love your loaded nacho soup.”

“Good.” Picking up my bunch of roses, I gently gave her a nudge with my hand. “Go on and heat yourself some lunch.” I eyed her sternly. “Don’t burn down the house.”

“Please.” She went out the door and thudded up the stairs. “I have my guitar class at three. Mum said she’ll be home by five today.”

Her announcement gave me an unexpected idea. I reached into my pocket for my phone. The drizzle showed no sign of ceasing for the rest of the day. I made up my mind to close early and tell the twins that I planned to have a quiet evening to myself, digging into the stack of books I had recently bought. But books were the last thing on my mind.

The evening at the pub four days ago had been filled with tears, reminiscences, and impassioned confessions of love and longing. Words had spilled out like ink on a blank page as we unravelled our shared history and the happenings of the years in between. With every passing moment, I had felt him capturing my heart all over again with how refined, gracious, and solicitous he still was, despite all he had been through. And when he had kissed me goodnight while dropping me home, it seemed to reignite our spark with an intensity that belied the years and defied all reason.

Mrs Adamson had not ceased telling everyone that in the four years that I had been at the shop, I looked happy for the first time.

It was not only my life that had undergone an emotional rollercoaster of a ride, leaving me bruised and broken and questioning everything I once held dear. Sam had endured storms of his own, laying down his happiness for the sake of his child. Our pain had been private, an endless nagging ache that we could bare to no one. But there we were anyway— stronger, wiser, and more in love than ever.

A flutter began inside me as I pressed his number, my heart throbbing to the beat of each ring. I had not felt excitement since the last evening I spent with him, unaware that I was pregnant or that it would all abruptly end that day.

Now, under the watchful gaze of destiny, it could start anew.

“Sam,” I said the moment the ringing stopped, without giving him a chance to speak first. “Are you busy?”

“I just got out of a meeting,” he said. “Are you alright? Why does your voice sound hoarse?”

My eyes drifted to the box that held the tulip. “I got your present.”

“Oh.” He swallowed. “And…”

“When does your last class end today?” I asked.

“Let me check.” A small interlude followed. “Half past four. Why?”

“Is Kurt going to be alright for a few hours if you’re late?”

“Kurt isn’t home. He’s gone camping with my sister’s kids. Why—” His voice turned a shade richer. “Am I supposed to be late?”

His knowing undertone ignited a dormant flame in my stomach. Kurt was not home— a vital detail that could result in a change of plans.

“Would you drop by my place after class today?” I offered. “I’ll make chicken habanero puffs and your favourite blackberry jam pastries.”

I could picture his eyebrows flying up. That used to be our usual afterhour snack at a small bistro in Birmingham, discussing books, history, economics over banter, stolen kisses and not-so-subtle coquetry until they evicted us at seven.

“You will make that?” he asked. I nodded to myself.

“You get hungry after work.”

“You know I do.” His voice dropped another shade. “Very hungry.”

Closing my eyes, I tried to keep my breathing steady. “I’ll also make coffee. Does that sound good?”

A long pause later, his voice crackled back to life. “Only if you add whiskey to make it better.”

I smiled, wondering if I had just become the luckiest woman in the world who had found true love once, and now, by some underserved grace, had found it again.