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She stepped closer, her fingers skimming over the fabric. The way she looked at it—like it was something more than just a sign—sent a strange warmth through my chest.

“You did this for me?” Her voice was quiet, almost disbelieving.

I shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Thought it was time to make this thing real.”

For a second, she just stood there. And then, without warning, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.

The hug caught me off guard. Rose wasn’t the kind of person to do things just for the sake of it, which meant this wasn’t just a casual thanks. It meant something.

Her warmth pressed against me, her hair brushing my jaw as I hesitated for half a second before resting my hand on her back. She smelled like lavender and something sweet—maybe honey. It was a little thing, but it settled something inside me I hadn’t even realized was restless.

When she pulled away, she looked up at me, her eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. “This means a lot, Wells. More than you know.”

I swallowed, nodded. “Glad you like it.”

She turned back to her stand, exhaling and swallowing hard before diving into setting up her dried flowers. I watched as she carefully arranged the bundles, tying them off with twine, her movements methodical. There was something almost reverent in the way she handled them, like each one held a story.

The market came alive around us, people filtering in with that easy Sunday pace, stopping to browse the stalls. And then, just like last week, Rose’s stand drew attention fast.

I watched as she greeted customers, her face lighting up as she talked about her arrangements. People leaned in, nodding along, charmed by her warmth. Some asked for recommendations, others picked up bouquets like they were carrying home something sacred.

It didn’t take long before she had a full-on line. I caught glimpses of her between customers, the way she tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear, the way she smiled as she handed off each bouquet like it was meant for that person.

By midday, she was sold out—again.

She walked over to my stand, breathless, her cheeks flushed from the rush. “That was insane.”

“Told you,” I said, smirking as I wiped my hands on a rag. “You’re the main event here.”

She shook her head, laughing. “I don’t know about that, but…” She glanced at her empty crates, then back at me. “I think I’m starting to believe you.”

I leaned against a table, watching as she traced a finger over the Solace Blooms banner, that thoughtful look back in her eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, I found myself wondering if she was starting to see what I’d seen in her all along.

“Auntie Rose! Uncle Wells!” Wren’s excited voice rang out as she sprinted toward us, her little feet barely touching the ground. Blythe followed behind, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Wrenny!” Rose and I said in unison.

Wren came to an abrupt stop in front of us, her curls bouncing as she tilted her head. “Wait, where are your flowers?”

I crouched down so we were eye level. “Your aunt sold out. Isn’t that so cool?”

Wren’s face lit up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. She spun toward Rose, throwing her arms around her waist in a fierce hug. “I’m so proud of you!”

Rose let out a soft laugh, wrapping her arms around Wren in return. “Thank you,” she said, her voice quieter now, touched by the moment.

Blythe stepped forward, her eyes warm as she pulled Rose into a quick hug of her own. “I’m so proud of you for doing this.”

A faint blush crept onto Rose’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmured again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Then Blythe turned toward me, her expression shifting into something far more mischievous. “You.”

I raised an eyebrow and pointed to myself. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” She turned back to Rose. “Can you watch the produce stand while I steal Wells for a second?”

Rose glanced between us, clearly amused. “Of course.”