Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The bell above the door jingles, and I glance up from the register to see Zoe—bright-eyed, college-age, clutching a tote bag that probably weighs more than she does. She beams like she’s already part of the team.
“Hi!” she says, breathless. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was awful.”
Mia, arranging carnations near the window, freezes. “Late?”
“Yeah,” Zoe says, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. “For my first shift. Luke said to come in at ten?”
The pruning shears snap shut in Mia’s hand. Slowly, she swivels toward me. “Luke said what?”
The look she gives me could peel paint. I rub the back of my neck. “I hired her.”
“You what?” The words are flat, low, the calm-before-the-storm kind of tone. Customers browsing the tulips two feet away are already starting to linger like they smell drama brewing.
“We need help,” I say, gesturing at the overflowing buckets of flowers crowding the aisle. “We can’t keep doing this ourselves. Zoe’s local, she knows her way around retail, and she starts today. Simple.”
Mia sets the shears down with surgical precision. “Simple,” she repeats, like the word tastes bitter. Then she turns to Zoe with a smile so tight it looks painful. “Zoe, right?”
Zoe nods.
“Perfect. Why don’t you wait just outside for a minute while Luke and I talk?”
Zoe blinks, caught between the sharp edge of Mia’s voice and the weight of her smile. “Oh, uh—sure.” She hurries back out the door, the bell jingling again.
The second it shuts, Mia rounds on me. “Are you kidding me? You hired someone without asking? Without even mentioning it?”
I fold my arms, keeping my voice even. “Because if I did, you’d say no. And meanwhile, we’re drowning.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” she fires back, stepping closer. “This is my shop. My mother’s legacy. And you think you get to bring in a stranger to—what—fix things I can’t handle?”
Her words hit harder than I expect. I grit my teeth, searching for control. “No. To help. There’s a difference.”
She throws up her hands. “You can’t just swoop in and take over like you know what’s best. That’s not how this works.”
I lean against the counter, jaw tight. “Then how does it work, Mia? Because so far, your way is you running yourself into the ground while Titan circles like a vulture. We need extra hands. Period.”
For a beat, the shop is quiet except for the hum of the cooler. She stares at me, her chest rising and falling, frustration written in every line of her body. Then, softer but sharper: “Every time you make a call like this, you chip away at what little control I have left. Do you get that?”
I open my mouth, then shut it again. The truth is—I don’t want her to feel like she’s losing control. I just want us to stand a chance.
Through the glass, I see Zoe fidgeting on the sidewalk, clearly wondering what kind of war she just walked into.
Mia sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She’s already here. I’m not sending her away. But Luke—” Her eyes cut into me. “This doesn’t happen again. We talk first. Always.”
I nod stiffly, swallowing the retort I want to make. Because for once, maybe she’s right.
But as she opens the door and waves Zoe back inside, all smiles again, I can’t shake the nagging thought: if I hadn’t pulled the trigger, we’d still be stuck, running ourselves ragged.
And I’m not sure if Mia will ever see that as anything but betrayal.
Zoe slips back inside, hovering by the counter like she’s not sure whether to grab an apron or duck for cover. Mia gives her the kind of reassuring smile that makes people believe in miracles. “Thanks for waiting. Why don’t you start by wiping down the display cases? The rags are under the sink.”
“Got it!” Zoe says, a little too cheerfully, and scurries off.
The moment she’s out of earshot, Mia drops the smile and pins me with a glare. “Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”
I lift a brow. “Humiliating?”
“Yes.” She crosses her arms, shoulders stiff. “You made me look like I don’t know what’s going on in my own shop. Like I’m just… window dressing while you make the decisions.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“Really?” She takes a step closer, chin tilted up like she’s daring me to deny it. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re running a one-man rescue mission and I’m supposed to smile pretty and keep quiet while you take over.”
My jaw tightens. “You think I like doing this? You think I want to be here, stepping on your toes?”
“Then stop.” Her voice sharpens. “Stop swooping in. Stop deciding for me. You don’t get to undermine me in front of staff—or customers—or anyone. Not in this shop.”
The word undermine digs deeper than I want to admit. I drag a hand over my mouth, counting to three. “Mia, I’m not trying to steal control. I’m trying to keep this place from collapsing.”
She shakes her head, frustration spilling into every gesture. “You don’t trust me to run it. That’s what this is about. You don’t think I can do it without you.”
Her words hang in the air like smoke, and part of me doesn’t want to agree. But that’s not the truth. Not exactly.
I turn slightly, leaning against the counter, pretending to study the order sheet just so I don’t have to look her in the eye. It’s not her I don’t trust. It’s me.
I promised Collins I’d keep an eye on things.
Steady the shop, make sure Mia didn’t drown under the weight of all of it.
And the thought of failing him—of letting this place crumble on my watch—sits in my gut like a stone.
I can handle Mia being angry at me. What I can’t handle is proving Collins wrong about me.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” I mutter, voice lower now.
Her arms drop, though the tension in her shoulders doesn’t ease. “Then stop giving me reasons to.”
I finally meet her gaze. There’s fire there, yes, but something else flickers underneath. Weariness. Maybe even a hint of hurt.
“You think I don’t see what you’re carrying?” I say before I can stop myself. “The orders, the customers, the bills… You’re spread so thin it’s a miracle you’re still standing. Hiring Zoe wasn’t about control, Mia. It was about survival.”
She exhales sharply, and for a second her expression wavers, caught between pushing back and letting the words land.
But then Zoe pops up from behind the counter, rag in hand. “Um… where should I start wiping?”
Mia blinks, the moment gone. She forces another brittle smile. “Anywhere’s fine.”
Zoe nods and hums to herself as she gets to work.
Mia shoots me one last look—half warning, half something I can’t quite name—before turning back to the flowers.
And just like that, the fight is shelved. Not solved. Just pushed to the corner, waiting to ignite again.
The shop finally finds its rhythm again. Zoe wipes down counters with cheerful determination, humming under her breath. Mia arranges bouquets with a precision that feels almost surgical. I keep my head down, trying not to replay our argument like a broken record.
But the air between us? Still electric. One wrong word and the whole place will go up in flames again.
The bell above the door jingles, and Mr. Adams from the bakery next door slips in holding a folded newspaper.
“Thought you two might want to see this,” he says, voice low, like he’s delivering bad news to a family.
He lays the paper on the counter and gives Mia a sympathetic nod before leaving as quietly as he came.
Mia wipes her hands on her apron and steps closer. My stomach knots the second I see the headline splashed across the front page:
Titan Floral Announces Bay Area Expansion—Promise of ‘Luxury Blooms at Half the Price.’
Mia’s fingers tighten on the edge of the counter until her knuckles pale.
I skim the article, heat rising in my chest. It’s exactly the kind of corporate fluff I expected—Titan swooping in like a knight in shining armor, promising premium quality at bargain prices.
All smoke and mirrors, but convincing smoke. The kind of pitch customers eat up.
There’s even a quote from Ms. Eldridge: “Small-town shops have heart, but Titan brings efficiency. We believe Bay Area families deserve both.”
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. The smugness practically bleeds through the page.
Mia yanks the paper out of my hands, eyes scanning fast. I can see the way each line hits her, like little cuts.
“She makes it sound like we’re some… charity case,” she mutters, voice thin. “Like we’re destined to fail, and Titan’s swooping in to save the day.”
“She’s baiting us,” I say. “Trying to rattle you.”
“Well, it’s working.” She drops the paper, shoulders shaking as she turns back to the workbench. She stabs stems into a vase too hard, petals snapping under the pressure.
Zoe glances between us, wide-eyed. “Um… should I, uh, go stock the ribbon display?”
“Yes,” Mia and I answer at the same time.
Zoe disappears, wisely staying out of range.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Mia, listen—Titan thrives on intimidation. But what they don’t have? You. This shop’s reputation. The loyalty your mom built here. That matters more than their shiny ads.”
Her laugh comes out sharp, bitter. “You sound awfully confident for someone who doesn’t even plan to stick around.”
The words land like a gut punch, because she’s right. Every time I try to reassure her, there’s that glaring hypocrisy: I’m promising stability when I don’t even know if I’ll be here next month.
I open my mouth, but she’s already turned back to her flowers, movements brisk, shutting me out.
The rest of the afternoon limps by. Customers come and go, Zoe asks too many eager questions, Mia answers with clipped politeness. I bury myself in invoices, anything to keep from watching her walls slam higher and higher.
By closing time, Zoe waves goodbye, arms full of leftover carnations Mia insisted she take home. The shop falls quiet, the kind of heavy silence that settles after a storm.
I duck into the back to lock up, and that’s when I hear it—Mia’s voice, soft but sharp-edged, drifting from the front.
“I just… I don’t trust him, Jake.”
My chest goes cold. I freeze, hand hovering near the light switch.
There’s a pause, then Jake’s voice through her phone speaker, tinny but clear. “You mean Luke?”
“Who else?” she whispers. “He keeps making decisions like I’m not even here. Hiring people, changing things, stepping all over me. And then he acts like I should be grateful.”
She exhales, shaky. “I don’t know if he’s trying to help, or if he’s just proving I can’t handle this without him. Either way, I can’t—” Her voice cracks, soft enough that I have to strain to hear. “I can’t trust him.”
The words slice cleaner than anything Titan could throw at me.
I step back, heart hammering, suddenly very aware of the creak in the floorboards and the sound of my own breathing. She can’t know I’m listening. Not now.
Because for all our fights, for all my frustration, a piece of me wanted to believe we were—what? Teammates? Maybe even finding our footing together?
But hearing her say it out loud—to Jake, of all people—settles one truth in my gut.
She doesn’t believe in me.
And if Mia doesn’t… maybe Collins was wrong too.