CHAPTER 19
The First Small Step
Brad — POV
Brad showed up the next day with no plan.
That was new.
He didn't have flowers to buy. Didn't have an excuse prepared. Didn't have a speech rehearsed in his head.
He just walked into the flower shop because he had told himself he would keep showing up — and he was done breaking promises to her.
The bell rang.
Kathy looked up.
She didn't smile.
But she didn't tell him to leave either.
That was enough.
"You're here," she said.
"I said I would be," he replied.
She went back to arranging flowers.
Brad stood near the counter, not sure what to do with himself. His hands hung at his sides — useless, uncertain.
The silence wasn't comfortable.
But it wasn't hostile either.
It was just... there.
After a few minutes, Kathy sighed.
"If you're going to stand there, at least make yourself useful."
Brad blinked. "Useful how?"
She pointed to a stack of boxes in the corner. "New shipment. Needs to go to the back room."
Brad looked at the boxes.
Then at her.
"You're giving me manual labor," he said.
Kathy raised an eyebrow. "You said you wanted to be honest. This is honest work."
A pause.
Then Brad nodded. "Okay."
He carried the boxes to the back room.
One by one.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He wasn't good at it. His expensive shoes squeaked on the tile floor — a high-pitched sound that seemed to announce every awkward step.
His shirt got dust on the sleeves. He dropped one box slightly — not enough to break anything, but enough that Kathy noticed.
His knuckles had gone white from gripping too hard.
He was trying. That was the problem. He was always trying too hard.
"You're terrible at this," she called from the front.
"I know," he replied.
"Most billionaires hire people for this."
"I'm aware." He wiped dust off his sleeve. "But the Gorge house doesn't need me today. Portland doesn't need me today. This does."
She didn't say anything else.
But when he came back for the last box, he caught her watching him.
Not mocking.
Just... observing.
Like she was trying to figure him out again.
Brad set the last box down and wiped his hands on his pants.
"Anything else?" he asked.
Kathy studied him for a moment.
Then said, "Sit."
She pointed to a small stool near the counter.
Brad sat.
Kathy went back to her flowers.
They didn't talk for a while.
The shop was quiet except for the soft sound of scissors cutting stems and water dripping from fresh bouquets.
It wasn't comfortable.
Not yet.
But it wasn't unbearable either.
After a while, Kathy spoke without looking up.
"You didn't have to come today."
"Yes, I did," Brad said.
She glanced at him. "Why?"
He thought about it.
Then said, "Because I told myself I would. And I'm tired of being the person who doesn't follow through."
That made her pause.
She set down her scissors.
"You're really trying, aren't you?"
"Yes," he said simply.
Kathy looked at him for a long moment.
Then —
just barely —
the corner of her mouth lifted.
Not a smile.
Not forgiveness.
Just a crack in the wall.
"That's new," she said quietly.
Brad nodded. "I'm trying to be."
The silence that followed felt different.
Lighter.
Kathy went back to her flowers.
Brad stayed on the stool.
Neither of them said "I forgive you" or "everything is fine."
Because it wasn't.
But for the first time since everything broke —
it didn't feel like it was getting worse.
And right now, that was enough.