Chapter 3
Elara
“That would be five dollars forty-five.”
The woman fumbled in her purse, pulled out a few crumpled bills, and slid them across the counter. I took them, rang up the sale, and handed her a small bouquet wrapped in brown paper.
“Thank you so much,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice. “Have a nice evening.”
“You too,” she replied, already halfway out the door.
The bell chimed softly as it closed behind her.
I exhaled.
Not a dramatic sigh. Just a tired one, the kind that sank into my bones. I leaned my palms against the counter and stared around my flower shop, at the shelves I’d arranged myself, the vases I’d scrubbed until my fingers hurt, the blooms I prayed would sell before they wilted.
Nine months.
It had been nine months since everything fell apart.
Ken. God, even thinking his name made my jaw tighten.
Two years together. Two years of thinking we were solid.
Two years of trusting him. And somehow, after that night, everything else had started to unravel too, as if the universe had decided I didn’t deserve just one loss, but all of them at once.
I turned back to my desk and opened the stack of envelopes I’d been avoiding all day.
Rent. Electricity. Water. Supplier invoices.
Red ink. Bold letters. FINAL NOTICE.
My chest tightened.
I ran a hand through my hair and laughed quietly, humorless. I worked myself to exhaustion every single day. I woke up before sunrise to prepare arrangements. I stayed up until midnight balancing accounts that never balanced. I barely ate. I barely slept.
And still, it wasn’t enough.
The shop was dying. Slowly. Quietly. Painfully.
I wanted a break. Just one. One good thing. One month where I didn’t have to choose between paying rent and restocking lilies.
But life didn’t seem interested in giving me one.
I was just about to lock up when the bell chimed again.
I looked up, and my shoulders relaxed instantly.
“Hi, Mr. Jeong.”
He smiled warmly as he stepped inside, hands folded behind his back like always. Seventy years old, silver hair neatly combed, eyes still sharp and kind.
“Hello, Elara,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” I replied honestly, because somehow, with him, I always was. “I was just about to close.”
“Oh, I know,” he said apologetically. “Work kept me late. But I couldn’t go home without the flowers.”
Of course, he couldn’t.
Every single day, without fail, Mr. Jeong came in for one rose. Just one. Red, pink, sometimes white. Always fresh. Always paid for, even though I’d offered more times than I could count to give it to him for free.
I wrapped the rose carefully, tying the ribbon with practiced fingers.
“Here you go,” I said. “One perfect rose, for your perfect woman.”
He handed me the money. As usual, I didn’t argue.
“Thank you, Elara,” he said. Then paused, studying me. “Are you seeing someone?”
I blinked. “That’s a dangerous question, Mr. Jeong. I don’t think Mrs. Jeong would appreciate me stealing her man.”
He laughed, delighted. “Not for me. For my grandson.”
“Oh,” I said, smiling despite myself. “Your grandson.”
“Yes,” he nodded proudly. “I have quite a few. One of them would surely be interested in a beautiful young woman like you.”
“That’s very kind,” I said. “I’m sure your grandsons would be as handsome as you are.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Back in the day, I may have believed, but I’m all wrinkled up now.”
“If I may disagree,” I said gently, “you still look pretty good.”
He chuckled. “Flatterer. I must go, my wife will be waiting.”
“Please say hello to her for me.”
“I will. And think about my offer.”
“I’ll… think about it,” I promised.
He left with his rose, and the shop felt quieter without him.
I locked the door, flipped the sign to Closed, and leaned my forehead briefly against the glass.
Dating wasn’t even on my radar. Not after Ken. Not after that night. I had buried that memory so deep I pretended it didn’t exist. No more reckless choices. No more losing control.
Work was safer. Lonelier, but safer.
I headed home, unlocked my apartment, and closed the door behind me.
“Home, sweet home,” I murmured.
The silence answered back.
I went straight to my room and peeled my clothes off like they were weighing me down. Bra. Jeans. Everything. I didn’t bother folding; future me could deal with that. Present me needed hot water and silence.
The shower steamed up quickly, heat sinking into my skin as I stepped under it. I scrubbed harder than necessary, like I could wash off exhaustion, anxiety, and the faint, lingering feeling that my life was slipping through my fingers. Shampoo. Conditioner. I soaped until my skin tingled.
It helped. A little.
By the time I wrapped myself in my robe and padded back into the living room, my shoulders felt looser. I flopped onto the couch, remote in hand, staring blankly at the TV while flipping through options I didn’t actually care about.
That’s when the knock came.
I froze.
Another knock followed, firmer this time.
Great. My landlord.
I sighed, dragged myself off the couch, and padded to the door. When I opened it, my brain short-circuited.
“Wow,” the woman on my doorstep said, grinning. “You look thrilled to see me.”
“Jen?” I blinked. “Jen?!”
“The one and only.”
I squealed and threw my arms around her, robe and all. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting you,” she said easily. “What does it look like?”
“You didn’t tell me you were coming!”
“Well… surprise!” she said, lifting a bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
“God! It’s been ages,” I said, squeezing her into another hug.
“It has! I thought you were ghosting me because anytime I suggest we meet up, you always tell me you’re busy. Again. So I brought the party to you.”
I stepped aside. “Get in here.”
We collapsed onto the couch minutes later, wine glasses in hand.
“So,” I asked, “how are you? How’s work?”
She groaned. “Work is work. New projects, new headaches. I keep threatening to quit, but you know me, I love it too much.”
“Of course you do.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “And you?”
I shrugged. “Same chaos. Rent. Bills. Stress. The usual.”
She set her glass down. “Elara, if you need money…”
“I’m fine,” I cut in quickly.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she let it drop. I grabbed the bottle and topped off our glasses.
“What are we toasting to?” I asked.
“Good times,” she said.
We clinked glasses.
“I’ve missed you,” she said after a sip.
“I’ve missed you, too, Lara-Bee.” Her expression shifted. “Are you still thinking about that prick?”
By ‘prick’, I knew she was referring to my ex-boyfriend, Ken.
“Ken?” I scoffed. “God, no.”
“He really screwed you over.”
“Yeah. Walking in on your man cheating kind of does that.”
She shook her head. “What a fucking asshole.”
I laughed softly. “Tell me about it.”
“Good riddance,” She said, clinking her glass with mine.
“Hear, hear!”
She leaned closer. “Seems like that asshole did a number on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been months, Elara. You haven’t gone on a single date. No man in your life, and I know for a fact that you don’t do women.”
I nearly choked on my wine. “I’ve been busy.”
“Have you even had sex since then?” She asked.
I didn’t respond; I sipped my drink instead.
“Not even with your vibrator?” she pressed.
I groaned. “Jen.”
“Damn,” she said dramatically. “Your hymen must’ve rebuilt itself.”
“Stop!”
She laughed. “I’m serious. You’re a virgin again, it’s a miracle!”
“Stop being dramatic, Jen,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“This ends now, Lara-Bee. Give me your phone.”
“What…why?”
“Because I’m fixing your life. Give it.”
She snatched it before I could protest, fingers flying.
“Jen, what are you doing?”
“I’m doing you a favor.”
She turned the screen toward me.
A dating app.
“Nope,” I said immediately.
“Oh yes.”
“I am not…”
“You are,” she interrupted. “It’s almost Valentine’s. You’re not spending it alone on my watch.”
“I’m focused on work.”
“You can multitask. You’re hot, single, and overdue.”
I groaned and lifted my glass. “You make it sound like an oil change.”
Jen ignored me completely and turned my phone toward my face. “Okay. What do you think?”
On the screen was a photo of a guy smiling like toothpaste commercials paid his rent. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Pearly white teeth. Clean-cut. Harmless. The kind of man my mother would immediately ask about grandkids with.
“He doesn’t look… terrible,” I said cautiously.
Jen gasped. “I’ll take it.”
“I said, ‘doesn’t look terrible’, not ‘sign me up for emotional ruin.’”
She was already turning the phone back to herself, thumbs flying. “Too late. Momentum has been activated.”
“Jen,” I warned. “I don’t want to go on a date with him. Or anyone. I don’t want to go on a date, period.”
She didn’t even look up.
“Jen, I’m talking to you.”
“And I’m typing,” she corrected. “Very important difference.”
I leaned forward. “I have bills. I have inventory to reorder. I have spreadsheets that haunt my dreams.”
“Cool,” she said. “You’re still going.”
“Did you hear anything I just said?”
“I did,” she replied cheerfully. “I just ignored you.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re unbelievable.”
She turned the phone toward me again, grinning like she had just won the lottery. “Boom. Scored you a date.”
“What?” I nearly choked. “No. Absolutely not.”
“It’s tomorrow.”
“TOMORROW?”
“Yes. Efficiency is a gift.”
“I’m busy tomorrow!”
“Nope. You close at six. He’ll pick you up.”
My blood ran cold. “Pick me up?”
She blinked. “Oh. I forgot to mention that part. I gave him your address.”
“You what?”
“Relax. It’s a public place. You’ll survive.”
I stared at her, equal parts horrified and exhausted. “You cannot just hijack my life like this.”
She shrugged. “Someone had to.”
I sank back into the couch, rubbing my temples. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” she said smugly. “You’re just scared.”
I hated that she might be right.
“And listen,” she added, softer now, “you don’t have to marry him. You don’t even have to like him. Just go. Prove to yourself that you’re still… out there. And maybe, get some action, if you know what I mean.”
I sighed, long and defeated. “One date.”
She squealed. “YES.”
“One,” I repeated. “And if it’s terrible…”
“I’ll bring wine.”
“If he’s weird…”
“I’ll fake an emergency.”
“If he mentions crypto…”
“I’ll personally delete the app.”
“I don’t know about this, Jen,” I said.
“Aw, come on, Elara. Do this for me, please… pretty please,” she begged, batting her eyelashes playfully.
“Fine, I guess a single date wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I muttered.
“Yes! My girl is getting some D tomorrow.”
I shook my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” she said, lifting her glass, “here you are. Back in the game.”
I clinked my glass against hers, dread and curiosity swirling in my chest.
I stared at the ceiling, already exhausted, and oddly curious.