Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The papers are still spread across the counter when I walk back in, rain dripping off my jacket. Titan’s offer sits in the middle, smug in bold print like it already owns us. Partial ownership. Repairs covered. Strings knotted so tight you’d choke before you noticed.
Mia’s perched on the edge of the workbench, arms folded, pretending to be calm, but her knee bounces like it’s trying to drill through the floor.
“We should at least consider it,” she says, the words clipped, like they cost her something to say.
I shake my head before she even finishes. “Not happening.”
Her eyes narrow, sparks snapping between us. “So that’s it? You just decide for both of us?”
I move closer, tapping the contract with my finger hard enough to leave a smudge. “It’s not a decision. It’s common sense. Titan doesn’t invest in people—they devour them. You sign this, you won’t own your shop anymore. You’ll be their puppet.”
Her lips twitch, sharp and mocking. “Funny. That’s exactly how it feels when you waltz in here telling me what I can and can’t do.”
The jab lands deeper than she knows. Or maybe she does know—Mia’s always had a way of hitting the nerve that already aches. My jaw tightens, but I keep my voice steady. “I’m not Titan. I’m trying to protect what your mom built. What you built.”
Her arms fold tighter, like she’s bracing against me. “Or are you just trying to prove you’re the hero this time? That you can swoop in and fix everything you left broken?”
The air goes brittle. My pulse stutters. I glance down at the contract, pretending to read words I already know, just to avoid the way her eyes pin me in place.
She’s not wrong.
Every choice I make in this shop is shadowed by the night I chose to walk away years ago. Leaving Collins Flowers when she needed me most—it still burns. And I can’t tell if my stubbornness now is about protecting the business… or about scrubbing clean the guilt I can’t seem to shake.
“I’m not doing this for me,” I say finally, voice rough. “I’m doing this because Titan doesn’t get to win. Not here. Not with us.”
Her voice lowers, quieter than before. “You make it sound simple. Like we could just stand against Titan and win. But what if I can’t, Luke? What if I mess this up? What if I lose everything my mom left me?”
The words land in me heavier than any accusation could. I take a step closer, careful not to spook her, careful not to press too hard. “You won’t lose it. Not while I’m here.”
She searches my face, like she’s weighing whether to trust me. The storm outside rattles the glass, but in here the only sound is her unsteady breath.
And I want to tell her everything—the real reason I left, the weight I still carry, the truth about why being back here feels like finally exhaling. But all I can manage is, “You matter, Mia. Every decision, every choice—it’s yours. I’m just here to fight alongside you.”
Her lips part, like she’s surprised by the gentleness instead of the bite she expected. The air between us shifts, not sharp this time but fragile, a thread tugging us closer.
The next morning, the shop feels like it’s breathing again.
The rain’s finally let up, though the sidewalks outside are still slick, shining in the early light.
Mia’s at the counter with Zoe, arranging fresh buckets of roses as if nothing can topple her, not storms, not fatigue.
She’s a force—messy bun skewed sideways, sleeves rolled up, determination radiating off her.
And for the first time since I came back, it doesn’t feel like I’m trespassing here. It feels like I belong.
The bell above the door chimes and Grace bustles in, cheeks pink from the cold. She waves her phone like it’s a sword. “Have you two seen this?”
Mia wipes her hands on her apron. “Seen what?”
Grace drops her phone onto the counter. A bold headline flashes across the screen: Titan Floral to Launch New Flagship in Downtown Greenhaven. Grand Opening This Fall.
My stomach drops.
Mia leans closer, scanning the article, her face draining of color. “They’re opening it here? In our backyard?”
Grace nods grimly. “It’s not just any store. They’re calling it a ‘destination floral market.’ Gourmet coffee, event rentals, workshops—like a community hub. They’ll pull every customer within twenty miles.”
Mia’s hand grips the edge of the counter so tightly her knuckles pale. I step in before the silence stretches too long. “Let them build their flashy hub. This town doesn’t want a chain. They want you.”
Her eyes flick to mine, searching, doubtful. “Do they? Or do they just want whoever has the best deals and the prettiest windows?”
I swallow hard. She has a point. Titan doesn’t just compete—they crush. “We’ll fight smarter. Play to our strengths.”
Grace crosses her arms, protective, like she wants to shield Mia from the weight. “Strengths don’t mean much if Titan undercuts every price and offers free lattes with bouquets.”
The shop suddenly feels smaller, like the walls are pressing in. But I catch the way Mia bites her lip, a familiar tell from when she was younger and trying not to cry over scraped knees. She won’t admit it, but she’s terrified. And I hate that she feels like she has to carry it all alone.
“I won’t let them take this from you,” I say, steady, certain.
The words hang there, heavier than I meant, but I don’t take them back. Because I mean every one.
Grace gives me a long look, then mutters something about needing to check her email and heads toward the back, giving us space.
Mia lets out a shaky laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You always swoop in with promises like you can just muscle the world into place.”
“I don’t muscle,” I say, and the corner of my mouth quirks. “I strategize. There’s a difference.”
That earns the smallest smile from her, quick and fleeting, but enough to keep me standing here instead of unraveling.
The bell over the door chimes again. Zoe peeks in from the stockroom. “Mia? This just came for you.”
She holds out an envelope, plain white, no return address.
Mia frowns, wiping her damp hands before tearing it open. One sheet of paper slides free, the words typed in stark black letters:
“Titan isn’t just competing. They’re sabotaging your suppliers. Watch your orders.”
Mia goes still, her eyes darting over the page once, twice, like she can’t trust them to be real. Then she looks up at me, her voice barely above a whisper. “Luke… what if it’s true?”
A chill runs down my spine. The storm outside may have passed, but standing here, watching her clutch that letter like it’s a lifeline, I know we’ve only just stepped into the real fight.
The letter burns a hole in my pocket all night. I can’t shake the words, can’t stop replaying the look on Mia’s face when she read them—fear tangled with defiance. It’s the kind of look that makes me want to dismantle the whole world if it means protecting her.
So at dawn, before the shop opens, I’m at Delaney’s Wholesale.
The air in the warehouse is sharp with fertilizer and damp soil, forklifts beeping as they cart pallets of potted ferns and flats of tulips.
I’ve been here a hundred times, years ago with Mia’s mom.
It always felt like the backbone of the shop—steady, dependable.
Now, I scan every corner like I’m expecting to find Titan’s fingerprints smeared across the walls.
“Luke Matthews,” Delaney himself calls from behind a counter stacked with invoices. He’s older, broader in the middle now, but his eyes still crinkle when he smiles. “Didn’t think I’d see you back here after all this time. Come to place an order?”
“Not exactly,” I say, lowering my voice. “Something’s been… off with our deliveries. Shortages, wrong substitutions. I need to know if that’s just bad luck or if someone’s pulling strings.”
Delaney leans back, frown deepening. “You’re asking if Titan’s been leaning on me.”
I hold his gaze. “Are they?”
He hesitates, and that hesitation is answer enough.
“They’ve got deep pockets,” he admits finally. “Promised me a steady contract if I gave their orders priority. Said nothing about cutting anyone else off, but… shipments get rerouted, stock goes ‘missing.’ Hard to prove anything.” His jaw works like he hates himself for saying it out loud.
The muscles in my shoulders tighten. “And you went along with it?”
“Luke—this is my livelihood. Titan comes in waving six figures, what do you expect me to do? I’ve got kids in college.” His voice rises, then softens. “I never wanted it to hurt your shop. Mia’s shop. But Titan doesn’t play fair, and I can’t afford to be the guy standing in their way.”
I should be furious. And part of me is. But mostly I just feel the weight of it—the inevitability. Titan doesn’t just buy flowers. They buy people.
“Thanks for being straight with me,” I mutter, sliding the letter across the counter. He barely glances at it before shaking his head.
“You didn’t hear this from me,” he says, lowering his voice. “But if you really want proof, check with Bloom & Vine. They’ve been cozy with Titan lately. Too cozy.”
Rival florist. The name hits me like a stone. Bloom & Vine has always been competition, sure, but friendly competition—the kind where you wave across the street during parades, borrow ribbon in a pinch. If Titan’s bought them off, this is worse than I thought.
By the time I leave, my jaw aches from how tightly I’ve been clenching it. The morning sun glares off the windshield of my truck as I climb in, pulling out my phone. My thumb hovers over Mia’s contact.
She deserves to know. She deserves the truth.
But she also deserves not to be dragged through every grimy detail of Titan’s underhanded games. She’s already carrying so much—her grief, the shop, the storm damage. Do I really add sabotage and bribery to that stack?
The phone buzzes in my hand before I can decide. Mia’s name flashes across the screen.
I answer. Her voice is brisk, a little brittle. “Where are you?”
“At Delaney’s. Why?”
A pause. Then: “Because if you’re investigating this alone, Luke, you’re an idiot. Wait for me.”
The line clicks dead before I can protest.
And even though frustration prickles under my skin, something else threads through it too—a dangerous flicker of relief. Because if Mia’s coming with me, maybe this fight isn’t mine alone to carry.
The bell above Delaney’s Wholesale door jingles just as I’m shoving my phone back into my pocket. Mia barrels in, damp hair curling at the edges like she sprinted through mist. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her expression sharp enough to cut.
“You couldn’t wait ten minutes?” she says, marching straight toward me. “Ten minutes, Luke. That’s all I needed to lock up the register and tell Zoe where I was going. But no, you had to play lone ranger.”
I can’t help it—my mouth quirks. “Technically, the lone ranger had Tonto.”
She glares at me like I’ve sprouted an extra head. “You think this is funny?”
“A little.”
Her eyes narrow, but the corner of her lip twitches, betraying her. She hates that I can still make her almost-smile even when she’s furious. I tuck that little victory away.
“Look,” I say, lowering my voice, “Delaney basically admitted Titan’s leaning on him. They’re buying priority shipments. It’s dirty, but not illegal. And—”
“And you were just going to deal with that yourself?” She crosses her arms, chin lifting. “I’m not a porcelain doll, Luke. You don’t get to shield me from this. The shop is mine too.”
The words sting, though I don’t think she means them as a jab. More like a reminder: she’s tougher than I give her credit for.
“I know it’s yours,” I say quietly. “That’s why I was trying to—”
“—protect me.” She finishes for me, rolling her eyes. “Classic Luke. You vanish for years, then show back up and decide I need saving from every corner of my own life.”
There’s bite in her tone, but there’s something else too—something weary. I step closer, enough that I can see the faint smudge of pollen still clinging to her sleeve from this morning’s flowers.
“I’m not trying to take over,” I say. “I just… don’t want you carrying this weight alone.”
Her breath hitches, almost imperceptible, and for a moment the fight drains from her. But then she shakes it off and thrusts a finger toward the exit. “Fine. If you’re so intent on not leaving me behind, then we’re in this together. What’s next?”
I blink. “You’re volunteering to sleuth with me?”
“Don’t call it that,” she says, pushing past me toward the door.
We end up back in my truck, heading toward Bloom & Vine. The silence hums between us, and for once it’s not combative. Just charged.
“You know,” she says after a beat, “you’re terrible at undercover work.”
I glance over, raising an eyebrow. “Undercover?”
“You stride into Delaney’s like you’re about to interrogate him under a swinging lightbulb. If you’re trying to be subtle, maybe don’t glower like Batman.”
I laugh, the sound surprising even me. “Batman gets results.”
“Batman also works alone,” she shoots back. “And broods. A lot. Which, okay, maybe checks out.”
“Wow. Remind me again why I picked you as my sidekick?”
She smirks, and suddenly it feels like we’re fourteen again, bickering in her mom’s kitchen over who got the last slice of pie. The tension eases, laughter slipping in through the cracks.
But underneath it, something shifts in me. Watching her—jaw set, eyes blazing, refusing to be sidelined—it hits me how wrong I was. She doesn’t need protecting. She needs partnership.
I grip the wheel tighter, because the thought terrifies me almost as much as it thrills me.
At a red light, she studies me, head tilted. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say too quickly.
Her brow arches. “You were staring.”
“Just… surprised.”
“By what?”
“That you’re here. That you’re not running from this.”
She leans back in her seat, expression softening in a way I don’t see often. “I’ve been running for months, Luke. From grief, from the shop, from—” She stops, swallows. “I’m done running. If Titan wants a fight, they’ve picked the wrong florist.”
Something lodges in my throat. God, she’s incredible. Fierce, resilient, standing tall even with the storm still at her back.
And for the first time since I came home, I let myself admit it: being beside her doesn’t just feel like belonging. It feels like hope.
The light turns green. I press the gas, heart pounding harder than it should for a simple drive across town.
“Okay then,” I say, my voice low. “Let’s see what Bloom & Vine is hiding.”