CHAPTER 7
She Sees Me
Brad — POV
Brad started going back more often than he planned.
At first, he told himself it was random.
Then it became "coincidental."
Then he stopped labeling it at all.
Because at some point, pretending there was a reason felt more dishonest than just admitting there wasn't one he could explain properly.
The flower shop became part of his routine in a way nothing else had.
Not scheduled.
Not optimized.
Not productive.
Just... there.
And he kept returning to it anyway.
That afternoon, he stood outside for a second longer than usual before walking in.
The bell above the door rang.
Kathy looked up from behind the counter immediately.
Like she had been expecting it.
That alone made something in him pause.
"You're getting predictable," she said lightly.
Brad stepped closer. "Am I?"
"Yeah," she replied. "I can almost guess the time now."
He didn't respond right away.
Instead, he looked around the shop.
Same calm space. Same scent of flowers. Same soft light through the windows.
And her.
Always her.
"I didn't plan on that," he said finally.
Kathy leaned on the counter. "Most things like this don't get planned."
He tilted his head slightly. "Like what?"
She gave him a small look. "You know."
Brad didn't answer immediately.
Because he did know.
But naming it felt unnecessary.
Dangerous, even.
Instead, he changed direction. "How's business?"
Kathy sighed. "Alive. Barely. Depends on the week. Flowers are emotional purchases. People only buy them when life happens."
"That sounds unstable," he said.
"It is," she replied. "But it's mine."
That word again.
Mine.
Brad noticed how often she used it.
Not in a possessive way.
In a grounding way.
Like ownership mattered more than size.
He watched her for a moment longer than usual.
"You like control," he said quietly.
Kathy raised an eyebrow. "That sounded like a diagnosis."
"It wasn't," he said. "Just an observation."
She smiled slightly. "And what makes you think that?"
"You don't like help," he said. "Even when you probably need it."
Kathy didn't deny it right away.
That was new.
Instead, she shrugged. "Help usually comes with strings."
Brad felt that line hit something he didn't expect.
Strings.
He knew something about those too.
Kathy moved around the counter, adjusting a few flowers in a vase.
"So," she said casually, "you always come here just to ask questions about my personality?"
"No," he said.
"Then why do you keep coming?"
The question landed differently this time.
Not playful.
Not teasing.
Genuine.
Brad looked at her.
And for a moment, the simplest answer felt impossible to say.
Because it wasn't logical.
It wasn't structured.
It wasn't anything he could present in a clean sentence.
So he defaulted to something safer.
"I like it here," he said.
Kathy didn't accept that immediately.
She studied him.
Longer than usual.
Like she was trying to read something under his words.
That made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't explain.
Not because she was intrusive.
Because she was accurate.
"You're not good at lying," she said suddenly.
Brad blinked once. "I'm not lying."
Kathy tilted her head. "Not fully. But you're also not telling the truth."
That silenced him.
She leaned on the counter again.
"You always stop halfway," she added. "Like you're afraid of finishing the sentence."
Brad felt something tighten slightly in his chest. He rubbed the back of his neck — a habit he thought he had killed years ago.
No one said things like that to him.
No one noticed the hesitation.
No one cared enough to.
"I don't think that's accurate," he said carefully.
Kathy smiled faintly. "It is. But it's okay."
That confused him.
"It is?"
"Yeah," she said simply. "Everyone hides something. I just don't like when they pretend they don't."
Brad looked at her longer than he intended.
Because she said it like it was normal.
Not accusing.
Not judging.
Just... accepting.
That was new.
Uncomfortable.
And strangely grounding.
He glanced toward the flowers on the counter.
Then back at her.
"You're very direct," he said.
Kathy laughed lightly. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's unusual," he corrected.
"In your world?"
"In most worlds I've been in."
She nodded slowly. "Yeah, I can imagine that."
Silence settled between them for a moment.
Not heavy.
Just steady.
Then Kathy straightened slightly.
"You want to know something?" she asked.
Brad looked at her. "Yes."
"I think you're tired," she said.
That made him pause.
Not physically.
Not in the obvious sense.
But something deeper.
"Everyone gets tired," he replied.
Kathy shook her head slightly. "Not like that. You look like someone who never stops thinking even when everything is quiet."
Brad didn't answer immediately.
Because she was right.
And he didn't like that she was right.
Kathy walked back behind the counter.
"You don't have to explain it," she added softly. "I'm just saying what I see."
What I see.
That phrase stayed with him.
Because it wasn't based on assumptions.
Or money.
Or reputation.
Just observation.
Just her.
Brad exhaled slowly.
"You see a lot," he said.
"I have to," she replied. "People don't always say what they mean. But they show it."
He nodded once.
Slow.
Careful.
Then he said, "And what do you see in me?"
The question came out before he could stop it.
The shop got quieter in his mind after he said it.
Kathy didn't answer immediately.
She looked at him for a long moment.
Not playful now.
Not teasing.
Just honest.
Then she said, "Someone who's trying really hard to be simple... but isn't."
Brad didn't move.
Didn't respond.
Didn't interrupt.
Because that was the first time someone had said something about him that didn't feel like a guess.
It felt like recognition.
Kathy continued gently, "You're not complicated in a bad way. Just... guarded. Like you're always waiting for something to go wrong."
Brad's fingers tightened slightly at his side — a small clench, barely visible, but there.
She noticed.
Of course she did.
But she didn't push it further.
Instead, she added softly, "You don't have to fix that here."
That line stayed with him longer than anything else.
Because no one had ever said that to him before.
Not fix it.
Not change it.
Not use it.
Just... don't fix it here.
For a moment, Brad didn't know what to do with that kind of space.
So he did the only thing he could manage.
He nodded.
Once.
And stayed.