The soft hum of rain against glass filled the air like a lullaby. Outside, the streets of Willow Bay glistened with puddles, reflecting pastel shop signs and the faded gold lettering of Petal & Bloom, the small flower shop tucked at the corner of Maple Street.
Inside, Amelia Hart stood behind the counter, her hands gently coaxing a bundle of lilies into a vase. The smell of wet soil and fresh blooms wrapped around her like an old, familiar blanket.
The shop was quiet, except for the low hiss of the kettle and the steady rhythm of rain tapping the window. She liked mornings like this — quiet, predictable, safe. Life, she'd decided, was easier when it didn't surprise her anymore.
It had been three years since she'd come to Willow Bay, escaping the city, the memories, and the ache that refused to fade. People said time healed, but Amelia had learned the truth: time only softened the edges.
She adjusted a ribbon, stepped back, and forced a small smile. "Perfect," she murmured, though the word rang hollow.
The doorbell chimed softly, breaking the stillness.
A man stepped in, brushing rain from his jacket. He was tall — not in the intimidating way, but with the kind of presence that filled a room quietly. Raindrops clung to his dark hair, and his grey eyes flickered around the shop before landing on her.
> "Morning," he said, his voice low and warm, carrying that faint rasp of someone who didn't talk much. "Sorry to intrude. I was just looking for something... durable."
Amelia blinked. "Durable?"
He smiled faintly, as though amused by her confusion. "For my mother. She forgets to water things. I need something that can survive her love."
That made her laugh — a soft, surprised sound she hadn't heard from herself in months. "Then you need succulents," she said, leading him to a shelf near the window. "They don't mind a little neglect."
He studied the plants carefully, his hands tucked in his coat pockets. There was something deliberate about the way he moved — thoughtful, precise.
> "Do you name your plants too?" he asked suddenly.
Amelia tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Only the ones that live."
> "Then maybe I should buy three. I might need luck."
He picked up a small pot, his fingers brushing hers as he handed it over. The touch was brief — barely a second — yet it sent a quiet ripple through her chest.
> "I'll take these two," he said after a pause. "And a small bouquet. Something cheerful."
"For your mother?"
> "No," he said, then after a beat, "for her nurse. She's been patient with us both."
Amelia wrapped the flowers with practiced grace, tying a pale yellow ribbon around the stems. "You have good taste," she said softly.
> "Or maybe good guidance." He glanced at her nametag. "Amelia Hart," he read aloud. "Nice name."
"Thank you." She hesitated, unsure why his attention made her heart trip over itself. "Do you live nearby?"
> "For now," he replied. "I'm working on the library renovation. It's… a bit of a mess."
Amelia smiled, the name sparking a faint memory. The old Willow Bay Library had been closed for years — a relic of dusty books and ivy-covered bricks. "That place deserves a second chance," she said.
He met her eyes then, really looked at her. There was something in his expression — tiredness, maybe, but also a quiet determination. "Don't we all?" he said softly.
Before she could reply, the bell above the door rang again. A deliveryman entered, dripping wet, holding a box of new seedlings. In the brief distraction, the stranger — Ethan Cole, she would later learn — thanked her, took his plants, and disappeared back into the rain.
When she looked up again, he was gone. All that remained was the faint scent of rainwater and eucalyptus, and the sound of the bell still swaying in the doorway.
For a long moment, Amelia just stood there, watching the empty street. The drizzle had turned into a steady rain, blurring the world into soft gray and silver.
She didn't know why she felt suddenly… lighter. Or why a man she'd just met had left her heart beating faster than it had in years.
Outside, a gust of wind scattered petals across the sidewalk — tiny pink confetti swept away by the rain.
And in that quiet corner of Willow Bay, something in Amelia's heart stirred — fragile, hesitant, but alive.