Chapter 3 — A Bouquet of Misunderstandings
Lily
The morning light spilled into Ardent Blooms, painting the shop in soft, golden hues. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams, and the city’s distant hum filtered through the glass door—a comforting rhythm of life. Normally, Lily would have welcomed such a tranquil start, a day for lavender-scented mornings and weaving beauty into bouquets. But today, a knot of unease tightened in her chest.
Her gaze flicked to the lock on the front door—intact, secure—but it didn’t ease the persistent vulnerability that lingered since the break-in. The shop, her sanctuary, felt exposed, like a flower with its petals bruised by careless hands. She glanced toward the empty space on her shelf where the ledger had once rested. The absence left a hollow ache, a reminder of her failure to protect something so precious.
At her workbench, Lily worked quietly on a bouquet meant for a grieving widow. The soft fragrance of dahlias and pale pink roses mingled with eucalyptus, offering a fleeting sense of calm. “Dahlias for inner strength,” she murmured, brushing her fingers over the delicate petals. “Roses for remembrance.”
Behind her, Eve was sorting through a box of ribbons, her humming lively enough to cut through Lily’s brooding. “You sure you don’t want me to stay today?” she asked, her voice light but edged with genuine concern. “I can push back my editing marathon. Besides, nothing screams ‘artistic genius’ like snapping photos of flowers while wallowing in a pit of creative procrastination.”
Lily glanced over her shoulder, the corners of her lips curving into a faint smile. “I’ll be fine, Eve. Really. You’ve got deadlines to crush, and I need you to keep working on that portfolio. Just think—your masterpiece could be hanging in a gallery someday.”
“Or on the cover of a cereal box,” Eve shot back with a dramatic sigh, though her green eyes sparkled mischievously. “Fine, boss lady. But if anything weird happens, you call me, okay? I’m your go-to for petal-powered crises.”
“I promise.” Lily gave her a quick hug, the brief warmth chasing away some of the lingering shadows. Watching Eve leave, she straightened the ribbon around the bouquet and double-checked the delivery cards stacked on the counter. Today’s route was simple—three stops, each carefully noted.
The first stop went smoothly, as the recipient’s face softened into an expression of gratitude that lifted Lily’s spirits. At the second stop, an elderly man accepted his bouquet with a gruff nod, his misty eyes betraying a deeper emotion. The small successes helped steady her nerves. By the time she climbed the stairs of a modest apartment building for the third delivery, brisk autumn air tugging at her braid, she felt almost at ease.
The door opened to reveal an older woman whose kind eyes and trembling hands hinted at recent sorrow. “Thank you, dear,” the woman said, her voice soft as she cradled the bouquet as though it might shatter. “These are... perfect.”
As Lily walked back to her van, satisfaction bloomed in her chest. But when she unloaded the next delivery box at the shop, her heart plummeted. Her hand froze on the delivery card nestled among the flowers.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
The looping cursive on the card confirmed it. She had delivered the wrong bouquet. The arrangement with dahlias and roses, meant to comfort a grieving widow, had gone to the police precinct instead—a thank-you gesture for Officer Richards.
Panic surged. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, a gentle reminder from years past: “Attention to detail, Lily. Flowers speak for us, and we should be careful with what we say.”
She groaned, pressing her palms to her cheeks as heat rose in them. “How could I be so careless?”
Grabbing the correct delivery box, Lily locked up the shop and rushed to the precinct. The nerves thrumming in her chest peaked as she stepped into the stark, fluorescent-lit lobby—a world of cold efficiency and tension. The faint smell of cleaning solution and stale coffee prickled her nose, a sharp contrast to the lavender-scented warmth of her shop.
Hesitating near the front desk, she adjusted her grip on the bouquet, its soft blooms feeling incongruously fragile in the sterile space. Finally, she stepped forward. “I, um, I’m here to deliver these—for Officer Richards,” she said, her voice faltering.
The officer at the desk arched a brow. Before he could respond, a familiar figure emerged from the nearby hallway. Detective Callum Vexley strode toward her, his broad shoulders filling the room’s confines. His steel-blue eyes locked onto her, and for a moment, his expression softened into something unreadable. The air between them seemed to shift.
“Miss Ardent.” His tone was clipped but not unkind. “What brings you to the precinct?”
Her cheeks burned, and she clutched the bouquet tighter. “There was... a mix-up with a delivery,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I—I accidentally delivered the wrong bouquet earlier and wanted to make sure Officer Richards got the correct one.”
One of Callum’s dark brows lifted, and his lips twitched, as though suppressing a smile. “A mix-up, huh?”
“Yes,” she said, her embarrassment sharpening into defensiveness. “It happens. Rarely. But... it happens.”
He crossed his arms, his leather jacket creaking faintly. “So, what did we get instead?”
She hesitated, then sighed. “A bouquet of roses and dahlias.”
“Roses and dahlias.” The faintest hint of amusement played at the edges of his mouth. “Inner strength and remembrance. Pretty on point for this job, don’t you think?”
Despite herself, Lily let out a nervous laugh, the tension in her chest loosening slightly. “That wasn’t the intent, but... I suppose it fits.”
Callum’s amusement softened, and his gaze lingered on her a beat longer than expected. “Not everyone delivers flowers to a precinct. You’re... one of a kind, Miss Ardent.”
Her breath caught at the unexpected gentleness in his voice. As he reached for the bouquet, his fingers brushed hers—a fleeting contact that sent a spark of awareness through her. Meeting his eyes, she found them quieter now, less guarded. Something unspoken passed between them, a fragile connection that felt both grounding and disarming.
Callum cleared his throat, stepping back as though the moment hadn’t happened. “I’ll make sure Richards gets this. And next time, maybe double-check your delivery slips.”
His teasing tone caught her off guard, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Noted, Detective.”
As she turned to leave, laughter echoed faintly behind her. Glancing back, she saw Callum walking the bouquet to his colleague, shaking his head as if still processing the morning’s events.
Sliding into the driver’s seat of her van, Lily exhaled a shaky breath. The precinct’s starkness faded behind her as she drove back through the vibrant city streets, the warmth of life slowly filling her view. Yet, as she neared the shop, her thoughts lingered on Callum. There was something about him—a quiet strength beneath the clipped words, an undercurrent of something she couldn’t quite name.
For the first time in days, she felt a glimmer of hope, delicate but unmistakable, beginning to bloom.
