Chapter Fourteen
Over the next three days, they kept their distance, each absorbed in their work, focused on meeting the deadline that would set her shop up for success.
The retail shelves were filled with carefully curated inventory, and the window displays took shape, already drawing longing and appreciative glances from passersby. A robin’s egg blue shingle engraved with “Camellia’s Creations” and accented with antique gold paint—courtesy of Eric Stoll and his wife—now hung across the sidewalk. While the building’s facade couldn’t be painted until the weather warmed, the sign made one thing clear: the old apothecary shop had transformed into something new.
On Saturday morning, her flower shipment arrived. Cammie spent hours processing the fresh blooms, arranging them carefully in her new walk-in cooler, which would keep them fresh for at least four days longer than her old setup ever could.
By Sunday, the internet service was finally activated, allowing Cammie to set up her computer and customer service counter. She spent hours logging into her accounts and organizing her new network. When everything was in place, she opened her order program to double-check she had a solid plan for the coming week.
The day before, Gwen had arranged a lunch meeting with the Hickory Falls event committee, who wanted to host a grand reopening for her shop. Cammie had asked them to wait until Saturday, giving her time to catch up on orders and stock her live arrangement coolers so she’d have flowers ready for walk-in customers.
She had already sketched out a flower order for her wholesaler but wanted to ensure she was prepared for the week before submitting it. Opening her calendar, she froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs as panic surged. Before she could stop herself, a scream tore from her throat.
By the time Allen reached her, panic had fully consumed her. Her breaths came shallow and rapid, each one a desperate fight against the rising hysteria. Terror flickered across his face as his hands moved instinctively, smoothing over her arms and into her hair, searching for injuries. Her inability to speak only heightened his alarm. Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks, her body trembling violently as she struggled for air.
Finally, Allen crouched in front of her, his gaze locking onto hers, tortured but steady. “Cammie,” he said softly, his voice a calming anchor, “I don’t know what’s upset you, but you’re okay. You’re safe. Whatever it is, you’re not alone. I’m here to help. The girls, heck, the whole town is here to help.”
His voice stayed gentle but firm as he continued, “I need you to focus on me. I’m going to hold you now. If that’s not what you need, shake your head, and I’ll back off.”
When she didn’t resist, Allen slowly wrapped his arms around her. One hand traced gentle circles down her back as he whispered soft reassurances. “You’re safe. You’re not alone. Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”
Cammie hadn’t experienced such an out-of-control panic attack in years—nearly two, in fact. Normally, she needed solitude, curling up in a ball to ride it out. People touching her typically made it worse. But Allen… Allen was different. His touch didn’t make her want to scream. His embrace didn’t feel suffocating. His voice didn’t grate on her nerves.
Instead, she focused on the warmth of his gentle touch, the cadence of his voice. Slowly, the fear and anxiety began to loosen their grip. Air still came hard, but it no longer felt impossible. The crushing weight on her chest eased. The world no longer felt unbearable.
Tears of panic gave way to quiet tears as her breathing steadied. Letting out a shuddering sigh, she leaned into Allen and let herself cry—just cry—and, for the first time, it felt okay.
Allen had no idea what had triggered Cammie’s panic, but he felt the shift in her as she wept, and he instinctively held her tighter. The moment was terrifying in its intensity, yet he was grateful to be there for her. He knew a thing or two about panic attacks—though his own weren’t as frequent or severe as some of his brothers-in-arms, he still understood their grip. Whatever had sent her spiraling, he was determined to help her through it.
By the time Cammie calmed down—what felt like hours later—Allen hadn’t once let her go. There was no frustration in his touch, no impatience in his demeanor. He hadn’t told her to calm down or to breathe, those well-meaning but useless platitudes. He’d simply held her, soothed her, and reminded her she wasn’t alone.
She appreciated his comforting presence, but it disturbed her. No one had ever managed to soothe her like this before. It made her feel vulnerable, exposed—and foolish all at once.
No one had ever been able to touch her during a panic attack and actually help—not even Judson, her lifelong friend and former fiancé. The fact that she’d found comfort in Allen’s arms was deeply unsettling, shaking her resolve to keep him at arm’s length. She had told herself they could remain nothing more than cool, distant acquaintances, but now her heart whispered there might be something more—if only she gave it a chance. Until this moment, her head had been winning, its list of cons stacked firmly against any potential relationship.
Stepping back, she wiped her face, needing the space to gather her thoughts. As she turned away to blow her nose—an act her mother would have deemed unladylike and mortifying—she braced herself for the conversation she knew was coming.
Allen tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned against the antique oak counter he’d delivered days ago, confident it fit her vision of old-world charm. Silent and patient, he waited.
When she finally turned back, her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. “I’m sorry. I know I scar—”
Before she could finish, Allen placed a finger gently under her chin, guiding her gaze to his. Blue eyes, filled with concern, met hers with unwavering intensity. “Never apologize to me for your feelings. Especially when you’re scared or overwhelmed. You’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t need or want an apology—I just want to understand so I can help.”
His hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away a fresh tear with a tenderness that sent her heart reeling.
She pressed her palms against his chest in a half-hearted attempt to protest as he pulled her back into his arms. “No, don’t. If you keep holding me, I’ll just keep crying.”
“Then cry,” he said softly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. His arms wrapped around her, strong and solid, holding her together when she felt like she might fall apart. “If the tears keep falling, it just means they’ve been bottled up for too long.
A shaky laugh escaped her. “But I don’t even know why I’m crying this time. I think you’re being too nice, and I don’t know how to handle it.”
“If kindness makes you cry, Cammie,” he murmured, his voice gentle but resolute, “then I hope you’re ready to cry a river because I have no intention of ever being anything else to you.”
Her heart twisted at his words. It wasn’t just his kindness—it was the way he meant every word, every touch. It was too much. He made her feel safe, but safe wasn’t what she needed. Safe led to complacency, to leaning on someone else. And she couldn’t afford to fall into that trap again.
But she didn’t pull away. Not yet. Instead, she let herself stay in his arms, just a moment longer, even as a quiet voice inside her warned that she couldn’t let this happen. Not with him.
Because if she opened her heart to Allen, if she believed in him and he let her down, it would shatter her completely.