The Surprise She Never Saw
It had been a week.
Seven days since Celeste and Adrian got trapped in the Lancaster family home.
Seven days since Adrian stood in front of her, eyes full of sincerity, and said, "I'll make you fall in love with me again."
And true to his word, he had tried.
Every. Single. Day.
From coffee deliveries with sticky notes that read "you take yours with two sugars and sarcasm", to curated playlists slipped into her inbox titled "Songs You Rolled Your Eyes At But Secretly Liked," Adrian was relentless—but in the softest, sweetest, most Celeste-specific way.
Eleanor had taken to calling him "the lovesick Labrador."
Celeste, for her part, tried not to be affected. She failed miserably.
He showed up to her office with takeout from her favorite Korean place.
He sent handwritten notes with actual wax seals, calling back to the time she binge-watched period dramas and said she wanted a love letter delivered with a falcon.
("No falcons available," he had written. "But pigeons are being trained.")
And every evening, like clockwork, a flower would arrive.
Not just any flower—each with a carefully chosen meaning, a nod to her lifelong fascination with floriography.
· Day 2: A yellow camellia – "longing for you."
· Day 4: A pink peony – "bashful love."
· Day 6: A daisy chain – "innocent beginnings."
He didn't ask for anything in return.
But on the seventh day—tonight—he planned something more.
Something big.
Something... Celeste.
?
The entire vineyard glowed with fairy lights. Not the store-bought, tangled kind—but delicate, gold-threaded strands wrapped around trees, looped through the pergola, and trailing down the trellis like stardust.
There was a long, rustic wooden table under the stars, set for two. Soft instrumental jazz played through hidden speakers—specifically, the playlist Celeste once made on a lazy Sunday in their first year of marriage and claimed Adrian never listened to.
Lining the pathway were hundreds of white tulips and pale pink carnations—her mother's favorite combo, which Celeste always said reminded her of home.
At the center of the table sat a tiny potted forget-me-not.
The same flower he gave her during their university years, when she failed her Philosophy exam and cried in the library for an hour straight.
Adrian adjusted his sleeves, pacing under the warm lights. His heart beat hard, like it was trying to claw its way out of his chest.
He checked his watch.
Ethan arrived instead, stopping short at the sight of the setup. He blinked, taking in the candlelight, the flowers, the bottle of Celeste's favorite wine breathing in the decanter.
"Whoa," Ethan said, low and stunned. "You went all out. This is... honestly, Sinclair, this is romantic. I feel like I just walked onto a K-drama set."
Adrian didn't laugh.
He adjusted a fork that didn't need adjusting and muttered, "It's not enough."
"You're seriously doing this for Celeste?" Ethan asked, still shocked. "I thought everyone said you were still hung up on Emily."
Adrian looked at him, jaw tight. "That's what everyone thought. Including Celeste."
"And now?"
"Now," Adrian whispered, "I just want one more chance to make her happy. Even if it's just for tonight."
Ethan let out a long whistle and plopped into one of the chairs. "You know she might not come, right?"
Adrian didn't answer.
But the silence said it all.
?
Adrian was still standing. Still watching the entrance of the vineyard like a soldier waiting for a war that had already ended.
"She's not coming, man," Ethan said gently. "You've been killing yourself all week. Maybe she's not ready."
Adrian clenched his fists. "But I told her this mattered."
"You told her it mattered to you," Ethan pointed out softly. "Maybe she's afraid it matters too much to her."
That one hit too close.
Adrian sat down slowly, shoulders sagging. The sparkle of the lights above him felt colder now, almost mocking.
"I love her, Ethan," he said quietly. "And I was so stupid... I thought I didn't deserve her. I thought she wanted someone else. I spent three years trying not to fall too deeply because I didn't want to hurt her."
"And now?" Ethan asked.
"Now," Adrian said, eyes distant, "I'd burn everything I have just to hold her hand again like it still means something."
There was silence for a long moment. Only the distant hum of crickets and soft music remained.
Ethan stood and gave Adrian a gentle pat on the back. "You did good. This... all of this? She'll find out. Maybe not tonight. But she'll know. And when she does... she's going to remember exactly how much you love her."
Adrian nodded silently, still staring at the empty chair across from him.
He didn't cry. But something inside him cracked.
He stayed there until the candles melted low and the music faded into the stars.
?
Meanwhile, in Celeste's apartment...
Celeste stared at the dress hanging by her door.
She had seen the invitation. The flower he sent that morning had held a note:
Tonight, 8 PM. The vineyard. One last bouquet for the girl who changed my world.
She wanted to go.
God, how she wanted to go.
But her heart... it wasn't ready.
Not because she didn't love him.
But because she loved him too much, and she was terrified that if she went, she'd never find the strength to let go again.
She didn't know what he had prepared.
But her chest ached anyway.