Chapter 10 #2
“Yeah.” But I turned toward him instead of the door, rose up on my toes, and kissed him. Soft and quick, just because I could. Just because he was here and I was here and we were standing in a room full of wedding flowers he'd made with his own hands.
“What was that for?” he asked when I pulled back.
“Just because.”
His eyes went soft. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We walked out into the February sunshine, his hand in mine, the mountains sharp against the blue sky. The van was warm when we climbed in, and Holden didn't start the engine right away, just sat there for a moment, looking at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He shook his head, but he was smiling. That rare, unguarded smile I'd spent weeks trying to earn. “Just… thank you. For coming with me.”
“I wanted to.”
“I know.” He leaned across the console and kissed me, longer this time, his hand cupping the back of my neck. “That's what I'm thanking you for.”
We spent the rest of Sunday doing nothing.
Not nothing—I called it “aggressive relaxation,” which made Holden snort coffee through his nose, but close.
We picked up the dogs from my place and walked them through the park, the February air cold enough to see our breath but not cold enough to cut through the warmth I felt every time Holden's shoulder bumped mine.
We ordered pizza from the place on Main Street that had been there since Holden was a kid.
We started a baking show on Netflix, squeezed together on my small couch.
Holden kept reaching for me. His hand on my thigh during the show. His arm around my shoulders while we ate. His fingers threading through mine while we napped.
Like he couldn't quite believe I was there. Like he kept needing to check.
I let him. Reached back every time. Showed him with my hands what I'd already said with words.
Get used to it.
Holden
Tuesday afternoon, Jamie left for the dog exchange.
I offered to come. He said no—not unkindly, but firm. “I need to do this one myself,” he'd said, kissing me at the door. “First time seeing him since everything changed.”
I understood. So I stayed at the shop, found something to do with my hands, and tried not to watch the clock.
The wedding flowers had gone over well yesterday.
Mrs. Redding had called this morning to say Emma cried when she saw the bridal bouquet, that the arch had been everything she'd hoped for.
I'd accepted the compliment the way I always did, with a brief thanks and quick pivot to the next task.
But something about it stuck with me this time.
The quality of the satisfaction. Like maybe the work mattered beyond just being done right.
My grandmother would have understood that feeling.
She'd spent her whole life making beautiful things for other people's milestones.
Weddings and funerals, births and graduations.
She'd taught me that flowers were just the medium.
The real gift was attention. Noticing what people needed even when they couldn't say it.
Jamie had been gone forty-five minutes when the bell rang.
He stood in the doorway, no dogs, no leashes. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, but he was smiling.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” I set down the ribbon spool I'd been holding without cutting. “How'd it go?”
He crossed the shop without answering, didn't stop until he was pressed against my chest, his arms around my waist, his face buried in my flannel. I wrapped myself around him and held on.
“Good,” he said into my shirt. “It was good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jamie pulled back enough to look at me. The afternoon light caught his face, those eyes shifting green the way they did when he was happy. “He also apologized. For making me bad about myself. Said he took advantage of me being too nice to call him on his shit.”
Something eased in my chest. Not forgiveness on Jamie's behalf—that wasn't mine to give—but relief. That he'd gotten something he needed. That the door had closed properly.
“You're not too much,” I said. The words came out fierce. “You never were.”
“I know.” His smile was soft. “I'm starting to believe it.”
I bent down and kissed him. Slow, thorough, the kind of kiss that said everything I didn't have words for. His hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, and when we broke apart we were both breathing hard.
“Take me upstairs,” he said.
I flipped the CLOSED sign on the door and followed him up the stairs.
Later, we lay tangled together in my narrow bed.
Jamie's head rested on my chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. The afternoon light had gone gold through the thin curtains, and from somewhere outside came the distant sound of someone shoveling snow. The radiator clicked and hummed.
“Reid texted about the trivia league again,” I said. “Sign-ups close Friday.”
“Next month?”
“Yeah.”
Jamie was quiet for a moment, his hand still moving on my chest.
“We should do it,” he said. “You and me and Reid. We just need a fourth.” His eyes brightened. “Maybe Brandy would like to join us.”
He laughed, and I felt it vibrate through my whole body. My arms tightened around him.
“I'm terrible at trivia,” I admitted. “Reid wasn't lying about that.”
“I'm pretty good, so we'll balance out.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” He propped his chin on my chest, looked up at me with those eyes that saw too much and accepted all of it anyway. “We make a good team, remember?”
I thought about the past three weeks. The chaos and the quiet.
The mornings he'd shown up with coffee, the evenings we'd spent tangled together, the way he'd learned the rhythm of my shop and my life like he'd always been part of them.
The way I'd stopped flinching when he reached for me. The way I'd started reaching back.
I thought about wanting. About how it used to feel like a warning—the first step toward loss, the thing that guaranteed pain. I'd spent years keeping people at arm's length because wanting meant losing, and I'd already lost enough.
But this wanting felt different. Not wanting despite fear, but wanting through it. Letting myself have something even though I knew it could be taken away. Choosing the risk because the alternative, the empty apartment, the quiet that used to feel like peace had stopped feeling like enough.
“Yeah,” I said. “We do.”
He kissed my chest, right over my heart, then settled back against me. My arms tightened around him without thinking. Holding on, the way I'd spent years convincing myself I didn't need to.
I'd built a life around solitude. Told myself the quiet was what I wanted.
Turns out I'd just been waiting for the right person to fill it.
Jamie shifted against me, one hand splayed over my heart like he was keeping track of my heartbeat. I covered his hand with mine.
Outside, the February dark had settled over Prospect Ridge. Tomorrow there would be orders to fill, customers to help, a life to keep building. But right now, there was just this: his warmth against my side, his hand over my heart, and the quiet that finally felt like home.