Chapter 7
JULES
I’m perched on the curb outside Willow Ridge Flower Market when Cara pops the lock and waltzes in like she owns the place. The bell above the door jingles, and I’m hit by that wedding-week aroma, green flower water, ribbon glue, and the sharp bite of nerves already in the air.
Cara sweeps past me, clipboard in hand, ponytail swinging like a metronome of control. “By the way,” she calls over her shoulder, “I’ve already roped Calvin into helping you. He’s on his way.”
I nearly trip on the welcome mat. “You what?”
She’s already halfway to the counter. “We need fourteen bouquets and a full-blown peony resurrection for the pews and tables. Maddie’s going to cry when she sees them tomorrow. You two are on arrangement duty.”
She checks her clipboard, clicking her pen like a general. “Florist’s scheduled to deliver the altar pieces and Maddie’s bouquet. Check.” She says it too fast, like speed can hide what she’s really doing.
“You want me and… him?”
She flings an apron at me with all the faux-innocence in the world.
I blink, catching the fabric. “I should strangle you.”
“Teamwork makes the dream work.” Cara’s smile goes wicked. “I would’ve done it myself, but wedding-planner bylaws forbid me from bleeding on the roses when I inevitably slice my thumb off.”
The bell jingles again. Calvin steps through, perfectly timed, dangerously relaxed in dark jeans and rolled sleeves. A sleek watch flashes at his wrist.
He offers a private apology smile, equal parts I’m here for you and I know Cara’s scheming.
He doesn’t bother fighting the tide.
Cara slaps a stack of hydrangeas onto the table with a theatrical flourish and winks. “If I don’t come back in an hour, assume I’ve been kidnapped by a hot barista. You two kids don’t burn the place down, okay?”
She sweeps out, leaving us in the humid swirl of petals and glue. Our eyes meet for a beat, then I look away and lift the top hydrangea, handing it to him.
“Glad you could make it, Mr. Stewart.” My voice is stable, though my pulse drums in my ears.
He drapes his jacket over a chair. Leaning in, I catch clean cologne with a tang of eucalyptus. He gathers a few hydrangeas and slides onto the workbench across from me.
“I’m just here to help. Lead the way, Ms. Avery,” he murmurs.
Forced teamwork, I tell myself, might not be the worst fate. I plaster on a grin, sharp enough to pass for sarcasm. “As long as you keep your hands off my daisies.”
I snatch a cluster of hydrangeas and snip their stems with more aggression than necessary, each clip crisp and decisive. Maybe symmetry can stand in for safety.
Across the table, Calvin works like he’s arranging Parisian wildflowers, relaxed and precise. His knuckles brush mine as he reaches for the ribbon.
“All business?” he teases, offering me the clippers like a peace offering.
I toss my hair, all practiced indifference. “Some of us take weddings seriously, not just as free marketing for your image.”
I jab a stem until it snaps, petals scattering to the floor.
Calvin tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes before he goes back to coaxing petals apart with maddening patience.
I cut another stem, eyes locked on the flowers instead of him. “Still in the rose business?”
He glances up.
“Still sending them out like candy to anyone who smiles your way?”
His grin widens. “Classics have their place. Especially for classic girls.”
I roll my eyes, grabbing a bundle of snapdragons. “Shame arranging flowers isn’t your art.”
I lift his half-finished bouquet, tilting it for inspection. “Aunt Mildred could use something like this for her boathouse centerpiece.”
His smile deepens. “Bring it on, Avery.”
I cut another stem with a snap, all attitude. He doesn’t flinch, just keeps coaxing beauty from chaos while I carve order from wild stems.
When he reaches over and adjusts one of my wayward blooms, the whole bouquet shifts, less rigid, more alive. “Perfection’s boring,” he says quietly. “It’s the quirks that make it worth looking at.”
That lands closer than I want to admit. I busy my fingers with ribbon, forcing a scoff. “Funny, I thought your empire had people for flower duty.”
His smile curves, unbothered.
The air between us crackles with what-ifs, sharp as loose stems. No amount of snipping can tame them. Heat rises in my cheeks, and I pull the ribbon tighter, just to distract myself.
“I prefer making things grow with my own hands,” he says at last.
I pull back, refocusing on the blooms. “Evan sends orchids. Something different.”
Calvin pauses mid-tie. “Orchids are exotic but fragile. Look at one wrong and it dies.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Right. Don’t be surprised if your imperfect blooms need rescuing too.”
He reaches over, steadying my wrist. “Relax your grip. Let them breathe.”
My breath catches. His touch is too gentle for my rough edges.
He lifts a ribbon, tying with care. “You’re stronger than an orchid, Jules.”
My fingers tremble. I spritz water over the leaves. “We should finish before Cara throws us out.”
Calvin ties a final knot, then lifts both our bouquets. “They work perfectly, together.”
My heart hammers. For a second, I nearly believe he’s talking about us.
I tuck a strand behind my ear, forcing a smile. “If you insist,” I say, lighter than I feel.
Under the fluorescent lights, the blooms blur into one.
Messy and surprisingly beautiful.
I look away, but the thought still hits. I’m fighting to keep Calvin irrelevant while he’s already circling the ache of making things right.
He’s making me laugh. Making me feel safe.
He brushes pollen from his wrists, watching me closely, too proud to ask, too honest to hide.
My scissor hand hovers over another rose when the bell above the door jingles, tinny and urgent.
A little boy lumbers in, maybe six or so, swallowed by an oversized green suit jacket, eyes brimming with tears. He clutches a mangled boutonnière that looks like it survived a lawn mower.
I almost rise to soothe him, but hold back.
Calvin is already moving.
He sets his bouquet aside and crouches with practiced ease. “Hey there, little man. Tough day for the flowers?”
The boy nods, lower lip trembling. Calvin offers a soft smile, carefully pries away the crushed petals, and lifts the boy’s chin. “You came just in time.”
I stop breathing as he plucks a lavender-tinged bloom from a leftover sprig and, with nimble fingers, shapes it into a boutonnière. He pins it to the lapel.
“There you go, little man. Official now, the bravest groomsman in Willow Ridge. Every hero deserves a second chance.”
The boy straightens, shoulders back and chin up, and whispers, “Thank you,” before scurrying out.
I stare, heart twisting. Not fair. You can’t be gentle with kids, look like that, and pretend you’re not a threat to my peace.
I catch Calvin’s eye, my sarcasm suspended for a heartbeat. “Still got a thing for strays, huh?”
He stands. A soft grin in place. “Only the ones honest enough to admit it.”
I don’t have the heart to jab. I pick up a sunflower, bright and unashamed, snapping its stem just to keep my hands busy.
“I watch Maddie with Riot and wonder how she keeps him grounded.”
He chuckles, genuine. “Maddie’s a force of nature, exactly what Riot needs to simmer his flame.”
The shop air feels thick with blooms and unspoken truths. I turn away, fluffing the yellow petals. My voice comes out smaller than I intend. “You make it too easy.”
He steps closer, eyes on the jagged stem in my hand. “Easy comes from doing the hard work,” he says softly, then meets my gaze.
“Jules, you have Evan, and I’d never try to take that from you. But after ten years, there’s still so much I never said. I understood why you left, but I never got to tell you how sorry I am… or how much I’ve missed you.”
His voice low and sure. “That’s the truth I couldn’t keep quiet anymore.”
Ten years. You waited ten years to tell me?
My fingers tremble as I thread the sunflower into a vase. My mind races. He fixes what’s broken, and here I am, on the edge of thinking he could fix this too.
I meet his gaze and, just for a moment, my wall wavers. I don’t step back. But the silence between us isn’t agreement. It’s the only shield I have left.
Calvin doesn’t push. He only straightens the bouquet in his hands, fingers lingering on the ribbon as if it’s something fragile. When his eyes lift back to mine, there’s no pressure, only patience.
Cara’s distant laughter drifts in from the sidewalk. I shake off the ache in my chest. “We only need a few more.”
He offers me a bouquet. “Lead the way, Maid of Honor.”
I take it, our fingers catching for half a second. Too brief to matter, but my pulse still stumbles.
The shop falls into a hush as the last bouquets depart, leaving only the cooler’s hum and the slow drip of water. I sink onto a low stool, ribbon in hand, staring at neat stacks of empty vases.
My thoughts whirl. Everyone here knows Calvin Stewart the brand. The man who turned a Willow Ridge heartbreak into a global empire, YouTube phenomenon, and podcast king. The strategist men fly across the country to “fix their lives.”
What they see is calm confidence.
But who is he when the lights are off? Does he let dishes pile in the sink? Order greasy takeout at midnight? Lie awake at two a.m. staring at the ceiling because his mind won’t shut off?
Does he even have ordinary problems?
Calvin settles beside me, arranging scraps of greenery with careful fingers. No performance. No rush. Just quiet focus. The scent of roses drifts between us, and for a moment I want to ask what he’s like when no one’s watching.
I remember his nature. He was always kind, emotionally aware, and naturally liked. He still is. And that’s what I can’t stand right now.
Stubbornness, maybe fear clamps my throat.
Instead, I blurt, “You really get a kick out of helping strangers, don’t you?”
His head tilts, brows tugging. “Excuse me?”
“I mean… that’s all you ever do, right? Help people.” The words trip over themselves, sounding clumsier than they did in my head.
He considers that, brushing a leaf from his lapel. “Yeah. I like it. Though the hardest people to help are usually the ones who think they don’t need it.”
My breath hitches, half apology and half confession. I clutch the bouquet tighter. “Some things never change, do they?”
His gaze sharpens, curious but kind. “I thought we were just making bouquets.”
I look down, fingers trembling against the stems. “We are.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then he says quietly, “Maybe not everything changes. But some things… some things might be worth a second look.”
My heart lurches. He’s not talking about flowers. Or weddings. Or bouquets. He’s talking about us.
I whisper, “A second look?”
Vulnerability softens his shoulders. His eyes find mine in the dim light, unguarded.
I force a nod and rise, brushing past the stool. “We should get going before Cara ropes us into her next stunt.”
He stands too, that same patient look still on his face. The overhead lights buzz as I untie my apron. For a heartbeat, I want to believe him.
But I don’t know if I can.
I don’t know if I should.
I fold my apron on the prep table. “Let’s go.”
Together, we head for the door, leaving behind the finished bouquets and even more questions.
Just then, the door swings open, missing my face by inches. The bell jingles, I stumble back, and of course, straight into Calvin.
His hands shoot out instinctively, but I elbow him to the side, like this entire mess is somehow his fault.
Right on cue, Cara sweeps in. Two lattes in hand, cheeks flushed with triumph.
She stops short, eyes flicking between us.
Stray petals. Crooked bouquets. An unmistakable cloud of emotional weirdness.
She lifts a single brow.
“So… did you two kill each other, or just the flowers?”
Her gaze drifts over the mismatched arrangements, then to Calvin’s sly smirk. If she senses what really happened, she doesn’t let on. She just grins. “Mission accomplished?”
Calvin leans against the worktable. “Building’s still standing.” He nods toward the counter. “And the flowers survived too.”
Cara’s eyes sparkle. She taps her temple. “See? You’re a great team. Too bad you can’t sort out your feelings as well as you sort out flowers.”
Heat floods. “Rude.”
Cara slides the latte in front of me, grinning. “Relax, Avery. No feelings police are coming.”
As if that’s my concern.
She takes a sip of her drink, watching me over the rim. “Besides, it’s more entertaining when you two either botch the job… or maybe when you don’t.”
I groan. “Do you ever stop meddling?”
“Not when it works,” she chirps. Then, clapping her hands, “Alright, lovebirds, back to business. Jules, we’ve got playlist drama to fix, and I need your half of the best-friend brain before Maddie goes full Wedding Kondo on my checklist.”
Calvin chuckles, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Guess I’ll count flower duty as a win. Not every day I get paired with Jules Avery.”
His eyes find mine before he turns and heads for the door.
The shop feels instantly emptier, like he carried all the air with him.