Chapter 10 Giving Her Flowers
Giving Her Flowers
Dom
Seren clutches a small cardboard tray, tucking it into her red wagon.
It holds the flower girl's crown and the boutonnieres, nestled in tissue.
She begged to carry a bouquet like the bride, but I convinced her that this is her own important mission.
She straightens her little backpack on her shoulders, which holds her water bottle, a few snacks, books, her crayons, and drawing pad, while I load up.
Flora's gravelly voice rises full of excitement. “Oh, Dominik, they’re just gorgeous!”
Her tusks frame her smile, stretching her weathered skin. Creases form around her deep amber eyes. The elderly troll cradles the wedding bouquet as if she were holding the bride—her many-greats-granddaughter—Lina herself.
Silver strands thread her deep purple hair, pulled back into a simple, low knot.
She dips her broad nose in the petals, drawing in their fragrance with closed eyes.
Her eyes flutter open, and she tucks the flowers back in their vase.
Her gaze drifts lovingly across the remaining bridesmaid bouquets and the large cascading bridal bouquet, dripping with enchanted flowers.
“You have such a gift, Dominik,” she whispers, stroking a finger over a petal.
Pride swells in my chest. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” I learned from the best. Flowers give me a sense of purpose. In their silent language, they convey love, beauty, appreciation, gratitude, sympathy, and healing.
I balance the two carts, pulling one and pushing the other. I lead the way while Seren trails behind with her wagon, excited to be my little sidekick.
“Are you enjoying your weekend, Seren?" Flora asks, hurry to match our pace. She's quick on her feet despite her age. "Do you like helping Mr. Wilcott with the flowers?”
Seren frowns. “Mrs. Pearl, who is Mister Wilcott?”
Flora and I laugh. Of course, she doesn't know my last name because she’s only ever called me Dominik.
We follow a pebbled path between mossy homes carved in the hillside until it opens onto a vast field, framed by mountains in the distance.
A vine-covered arch stands before dozens of white chairs, and white tulle fabric drapes from chair to chair, marking the aisle.
Once the ceremony is complete, their Goddess will bless the marriage—then flowers on the arch will begin to bloom.
Flora stands behind me, hands on her hips. “What do you think?”
The flowers chosen by the bride, surrounded by all this beauty—trees, the hills, and mountains, it’s going to be a beautiful wedding. “It’s a damn good view.”
“I know after you’re finished with it, it’s going to look spectacular, it’s just missing a final piece!” she proudly exclaims.
I smile. “I’ll let you know when I’m finished. If you girls have a few little wedding things you need help with, Seren would love to help. She’s excited to see the flowers all set up and the dress.”
Flora laughs. “Oh, she is going to love the wedding gown, it’s stunning! We'll let you get to work!” She turns to Seren, and together they head to her house—the temporary bridal suite.
The reception tent awaits nearby, the doorway flaps tied back to reveal white linen tables awaiting centerpieces, but I begin with the seating area. I place a pouch of rose petals on each chair before heading back to my truck to gather the remaining supplies and finish decorating the aisle.
“Can I help?” Seren asks, skipping to me from the house as soon as I walk into the tent. “I got a cookie, and I saw the dress, it’s so pretty!”
“You can help by keeping me company. Talk to me while you color or sing me a song.”
She nods seriously and plops down in the corner of the tent, dumping out her small backpack.
The tent morphs from cotton linens to dressed tables of roses, enchanted flowers, baby’s breath, calla lilies, and soft greenery—filling the space with color, beauty, and romance.
I move from table to table, setting the centerpieces in place, adjusting ribbons and candles until everything looks balanced.
I add stems to the largest floral arrangement on the bridal table when I hear Seren humming, digging into her crayon box.
“Are you married?” she asks out of nowhere.
I glance over my shoulder, her face pops up from her coloring, and back to the blue crayon at work.
“Me?” Obviously, she’s talking to me. I’m the only one here. “No.”
She nods, clutching a crayon in one hand. “You make pretty flowers. Would you make flowers for your wife?”
A quiet laugh escapes me, more from surprise than amusement. Kids ask the craziest things.
“Maybe I would,” I say, setting a white rose in place. “If I had a wife who loves flowers, I’d probably give her too many. Our house would be bursting with flowers.”
Seren giggles then hums thoughtfully, coloring again. “You can have a garden inside your house, too! Mom likes flowers, I think.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, straightening the last vase, “I think she does.”
“Do you think my mom will get married again? Will she have a party like this and a big dress too?”
The question comes softly but dives deep, right into the center of my chest. I set the last stem down and turn to her.
She’s still coloring, not paying any mind.
Just asking questions with her curious mind.
I know Jas has explained dating to Seren as meeting a new grown-up friend.
Her little feelings matter too, even if she doesn’t remember Aaryn.
I kneel beside her, my forearms resting on my knees. “I don’t know, kiddo,” I say gently. “But if she does, it will have to be someone really special.”
“Oh yeah, like a knight! And he’s friends with dragons, like Nim—he doesn’t fight them.”
“Absolutely.” I give her a serious nod, a broad grin slipping free. “It’ll have to be someone who loves both of you a whole lot. Keeps you safe. Makes you laugh and smile.”
Her hand stills, she looks up, her large eyes searching my face.
“Like you?” she questions.
I clear my throat, hoping to ease the sudden tightness in my chest, and manage a small smile. “Something like that.”
Satisfied with my answer, she goes back to her coloring, humming a new tune. I should be used to her questions by now, but my brain is still processing this last one. She’s right, though. Jas could use more flowers in her life, and I do care about both of them. I always will.
I stand and brush my hands on my jeans before moving to the wedding cake—created by Poppy.
Three tiers of white frosting, edged in a periwinkle blue ribbon.
It’s beautiful, but the Moon Lilies and peonies Lina picked will make it shine.
I take my time placing each bloom along the edge.
The pale blue petals shine in the light like glass, bringing out the deep violet color within.
By the time I finish, the tent looks like something out of a dream. I check back on Seren. She’s sitting cross-legged, tongue poking out in concentration at whatever she is drawing.
“Done,” she announces proudly, holding it up.
“Let me see.”
I crouch beside her again. The two figures are easy to recognize.
One taller, one shorter, but both smiling under a big yellow-blue sun.
She drew my locs with a black crayon straight up and down like uncooked spaghetti, and Jasmira’s curls look like a pile of wet spaghetti.
There is a cluster of dotted colors in one of my hands with green straight lines. It’s adorable.
“It’s you and Mommy,” she says, pointing her finger at the drawing. “You’re giving her flowers.”
Kids are living proof that they see everything, and even at a young age, they start to put things together. The three of us were jagged pieces, sharp, but over time, smoothed out to fit in what we have now.
I reach out, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Beautiful picture,” I say. “You’ve got real talent, you know?”
She beams at me, giggling.
“I think this earns a spot on the fridge frame,” I say, picking it up to analyze. “What do you think?”
Everything is stowed in the truck, and Seren is ready to go. Her latest masterpiece resting in her lap, legs swinging. I drive back toward town, planning to stop by my shop before taking Seren to the café.
“Mom!” she calls as she runs inside, the bell over the door jingling. I quickly hustle, grabbing the bouquet off the seat, following behind her.
Jas glances up from behind the counter, an open book in her hands. Her hair is down today—wild and free. I like it. I’ve never once seen Jas lose control. Truly unleashed like my wolf.
“Hey, you two,” she says, voice warm. Her gaze bounces from Seren’s beaming face to mine. “Were the flowers everything you hoped for?” She wipes her hands on a small tea-towel with tiny yellow flowers.
“They were. I have some pictures I can share with you later.”
She smiles and nods excitedly, tapping her fingertips together. “I can’t wait to see them, but what’s with your hands?”
She pivots to the side to look, but I turn my body so she can’t see. “So impatient,” I tut, giving her a coy smile.
Seren hops out of her chair, handing Jas the picture she drew. “Dominik made flowers for the wedding and put blue ones on a cake! And the princess dress! MOM—it was so pretty!” Seren exclaims, giving us a dimpled smile. “And I drew him giving you flowers. Did you know his last name is Wilcott?”
Jasmira laughs, her eyes flicking to mine, “Did you now?”
I bring the bouquet out of hiding, and I’m feeling more aware of what my hands are doing, how close I’m standing. My throat is dry. “Yes, these are for you. For the café or home, if you want.”
“They’re beautiful, Dom,” she breathes, leaning in, inhaling deeply. Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “The purple and blue are beautiful together.”
I rub the back of my neck, my smile tight. My heart slams against my ribs. My wolf lurks beneath my skin, standing on the edge, claws scraping at me from the inside.
I’ve never given her flowers outside of a special occasion, which is shitty of me.
She’s transformed the café with greenery and flowers, life sprouting from every nook and corner.
“I'm channeling my inner gardener,” she told me the day she bought a cart of plants from my shop. But I’m a florist, doing what florists do.
Friends give friends flowers. Don’t they?
Her gaze lingers on me for a moment before she steps forward, giving me a tight hug. “Thanks, Dom.”
My arms wrap around her, her arms circling my waist, and my face settles in her hair. The scent of fresh strawberries floods my senses—my wolf simultaneously purring and snarling. “Always.”
She gushes over them with Seren before grabbing a vase from the cabinet. I help Seren pick her crayons—different shades of purples and blues—to draw the bouquet, while Jasmira arranges the flowers next to the pastry case, in the sunlight.
She smiles, making the three of us a hot cocoa, marshmallows piled high like a snow-capped mountain. And just like that, we fall into the silent moments we were made for.