Sierra's POV
The scent of flowers and earth was Sierra's safe place. It was a smell of peace, a home she had built with her own hands. She had named it 'Sierra's Blooms'. She hummed along to the soft indie music playing from the speaker, her fingers skillfully twisting a wire around the stems of a deep purple orchid, securing it into a beautiful bridal bouquet.
"So, he actually said, 'Can you make it look less… floral?'" Chloe's voice was a dry crackle from the phone on the workbench, set to speaker. She sounded confused and amused by the question.
Sierra laughed with a genuine and soft voice that still sometimes surprised her. "I kid you not. I told him I specialized in 'botanical structural artistry' instead, and he booked the premium package."
"A genius and a businesswoman," Chloe declared. "See? Who needs a man when you can just rebrand common sense for idiots?" We both laughed at that.
Cling, cling. The bell above the front door rang, a sign of a welcome distraction.
"Customer," Sierra murmured softly, wiping her hands on her green moss apron. "Hang on, Chlo."
"Go get 'em, tiger. Money talks, bullshit walks."
Sierra walked away from her workshop into the main shop, a smile already gracing her lips. "Welcome to Sierra's Blooms, how can I—?"
The words died in her throat.
The air suddenly grew cold—it solidified, becoming a thick, unbreathable substance. The world, so vibrant and safe a moment before, now narrowed to a single, impossible point.
He stood just inside the door, blocking the afternoon sun. Damian.
Five years. Five years of silence, of rebuilding, of convincing herself the jagged pieces of her heart had healed into something new, if not whole. It all shattered in an instant.
He was older. The boyish sharpness of his jaw had hardened into an uncompromising line. His shoulders, always broad, seemed to carry a heavier weight beneath the exquisitely tailored charcoal-gray coat. But his eyes… those stormy gray eyes that had once looked at her with love, then with cold neglect, were now fixed on her with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. They were the same, yet profoundly different. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a deep, unsettling stillness.
"Sierra," he said, and her name on his lips was a ghost from a life she'd buried.
Her hand flew to the workbench beside her, gripping the cool wood for support. Her heart was a frantic, trapped bird beating against her ribs. Breathe, she commanded herself. Just breathe, Sierra, she told herself.
"What are you doing here, Damian?" Her voice was a whisper, stripped of all the warmth it had held just moments ago. She tried her best to keep her composure but failed.
He didn't move closer, as if understanding that his mere presence was a shockwave. "I didn't know this place was owned by you. I need a red rose bouquet."
From the phone on the bench, Chloe's tiny, frantic voice called out, "Sierra? What's going on? Who is it?"
Damian's gaze flickered to the phone, then back to her, a little shocked because he knew whose voice that was.
Sierra forced her limbs to move. She walked on unsteady legs, trying to keep her composure once again, to the bench and picked up the phone. "Chloe, I have to go. I'll call you back."
"Sierra, wait—!"
She ended the call. The silence that followed was deafening.
"How many red rose stems do you want in the bouquet? Do you need a greeting card?" She tried to say it nicely, but it came out cold. She went back to her workshop station to prepare the bouquet.
"I need 100 stems of red roses with black wrapping paper. And please add a card that says 'Happy Birthday'," he said.
I know he's my customer, but knowing he bought a bouquet with a card like that made my heart sting. I should have forgotten him a long time ago, but why does the image of him giving flowers to another girl still hurt me? This will probably go to her eventually. The girl who ended our relationship.
"How's life recently?" he asked suddenly. I didn't answer immediately, rather pondering his question for a moment. After a few seconds, I answered, "Fine." That's all I managed to say.
"Hmm," was his only answer.
I tried to wrap up his bouquet as fast as I could, and after another hour of unsettling air, I managed to get it done. "Here is your bouquet, sir. It's two hundred and fifty dollars," I said, trying to sound professional. He gave me his card, and I took it to proceed with the payment. While I was busy with the payment, he added, "How long have you been staying here?"
His question made my heart drop. Why would he ask such a thing? Does he even care? What's the purpose of his question? A lot of questions popped up in my mind because of that. I chose to keep quiet and didn't answer his question until I finished the payment. "Here's your card, sir. Thank you. I hope your partner likes it." He took the bouquet with a puzzled face and left the shop.
Damian's POV
"David, stop the car," Damian said to his driver. Today was his little sister's birthday, and she wanted to celebrate by having a party at a new club in town. Of course, Damian was invited to the party, and she demanded his presence or she would go crazy again, whining about why he didn't come. For Damian, it wasn't her birthday that annoyed him, but the girls who would be at the party; they would all try to talk to and seduce him. More than anything, he hated being seduced by girls who only wanted his money and status. Damian was a well-known tycoon in his city. He could choose any girl he wanted, yet he was still single after all these years.
He walked out of his car and into the florist. His sister hated flowers in general but liked roses; she said they reminded her of her ex-sister-in-law. Her bond with her ex-sister-in-law was special in a way that couldn't be explained. With his tall and broad-shouldered frame, he opened the door of the florist. He froze in the doorway, blocking the afternoon sun after realizing who the owner of the shop was. "Sierra," he murmured. Sierra didn't seem to notice that he had called her name. His stormy gray eyes were fixed on her blue ones with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. He looked at her with such a deep stare, for him she doesn't change, no, she do change, her slender body seems more tempting, her eyes is calling him, he can drown into it for a long time, but he come to his sense
"Sierra," he said again, firmly. The air felt suffocating to him, yet he did a good job concealing it.
"What are you doing here, Damian?" Her voice came out as a whisper.
He didn't move closer, as if understanding that his mere presence was a shockwave. "I didn't know this place was owned by you. I need a red rose bouquet," Damian said, trying to make the situation better but failing.
"Sierra? What's going on? Who is it?" a voice suddenly asked. It was Chloe, Sierra's best friend. Damian knew her from when they used to have double dates. Hearing her voice shocked him, especially after all these years.
He saw Sierra walk to the bench and pick up the phone. "Chloe, I have to go. I'll call you back," she said.
"Sierra, wait—!" Chloe's call got cut off by Sierra.
After a few minutes of silence, she asked, "How many red rose stems do you want in the bouquet? Do you need a greeting card?" I watched her go back to her workshop station. "I need 100 stems of red roses with black wrapping paper. And please add a card that says 'Happy Birthday'," I added.
"How's life recently?" After contemplating, he managed to ask one question. He suppressed his desire not to pull her into his arms and kiss her right there. He had been looking for her everywhere, but it had been in vain. And after all that hard work, here she was, standing in front of him.
"Fine," an answer finally came after a few seconds. I wanted to ask more questions, but all I could blurt out was, "Hmm."
We stayed in silence for another hour until her voice broke it. "Here is your bouquet, sir. It's two hundred and fifty dollars." Her voice was like a melody in my ear. The voice I'd missed. I gave her my card, and she took it to proceed with the payment.
"How long have you been staying here?" I asked another question, but she didn't answer. "Here's your card, sir. Thank you. I hope your partner likes it," was all she said. I wondered how long she had been living in this city. Why had it been so hard to trace her all this time? And what did she mean by my partner? Who was she referring to? I took the bouquet and left, a puzzle forming in my mind.