IN BLOOM

CHAPTER ONE

Dinner with a stranger

One-person POV — Leah Amari

If my mother mentioned my failed engagement one more time, I was going to drown her in peonies.

Not literally. I’d just spent the morning arranging sympathy bouquets, and that much death in one day would be excessive. But still. For someone who claimed to be “letting the past go,” she sure liked dragging mine into every conversation.

“Just dinner,” she’d said, her voice way too bright on the phone. “You’ll like him. He’s charming, responsible—he owns buildings.”

Buildings.

I owned three stacks of unpaid invoices, a stubborn ivy plant that refused to bloom, and a flower shop on the verge of eviction.

I didn’t need buildings. I needed peace.

So why was I sitting in this dimly lit restaurant, waiting for a man I’d never met, wearing a dress I hadn’t touched since Jason?

Ugh. Jason.

I took a slow sip of water and promised myself I’d survive this.

Five more minutes, and I was leaving.

Exactly at the five-minute mark, the host returned—with him.

He was taller than I expected. Dark hair, expensive suit, and the kind of posture that made you sit straighter just by being near him. He looked like the type of man who hadn’t been late for anything in his life—until now.

“Leah?” he asked, scanning the table.

I raised an eyebrow. “Depends. Are you here for a hostage situation?”

He cracked something like a smile. “Blind date.”

“Same thing.”

He sat down, and for a moment, we just looked at each other. No sparks. No violins. Just two strangers sizing each other up across a candle-lit table.

“Daniel Carter,” he said, offering a polite nod. “My grandfather insisted.”

“Leah Amari. Same story, different parent.”

He studied me a second longer, then nodded at my untouched wine glass. “Waiting for someone else?”

“Just praying this drink kicks in before the awkward small talk starts.”

He smirked. “Too late.”

I took a sip of the wine and let the silence stretch. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t scroll through his phone. Just sat there—watching me like he had nowhere else to be, though I’d bet money he did.

“I thought men like you didn’t do blind dates,” I said finally, more to fill the air than anything.

He shrugged, casual. “I don’t.”

“But here you are.”

“My grandfather is persistent. And manipulative.”

“Well, at least we have something in common.” I smiled dryly. “My mother gave me the whole ‘you never know what could happen’ speech.”

“And?”

“And I came to prove her wrong.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him. It was a low sound, quick and unexpected—like it surprised even him.

A server came by to take our orders. I picked the pasta special. He asked for grilled salmon, no sauce. Of course.

When the server left, I twirled my water glass slowly and said, “So. Real estate, right?”

Daniel nodded. “Commercial development. Hotels. Office towers.”

“Skyscrapers for people who don’t know what to do with all their money.”

“You say that like you’re not sitting across from one.”

I tilted my head. “So you admit it.”

“I admit I have money. Not that I don’t know what to do with it.”

“And what do you do with it?”

He paused. “I build things. I fix what’s broken. I stay busy.”

Spoken like someone running from something.

I didn’t say it aloud, but maybe he saw the thought in my face. He looked away, jaw tightening just slightly.

“And you’re a florist,” he said, steering the subject away from himself.

“Was,” I said. “I quit my job last year.”

“Why?”

“To plan a wedding that didn’t happen.”

The words fell out faster than I meant. A beat of silence followed. I didn’t owe him the story—but I didn’t care to hide it either. His gaze flicked to mine, unreadable but steady.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a second.

I gave a half shrug. “I opened my own shop instead. Small space. Decent location. Fewer tears than wedding planning. So technically I'm still a florist”

“And business?”

“Barely staying afloat.” I smiled faintly. “That’s the real romance story.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me. Not unkindly. Just… curious. Like I was a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together.

“You’re more honest than I expected.”

“I’m more tired than I expected,” I replied.

That got another small smile out of him. The second one tonight. I was beginning to think he rationed them.

We ate. The conversation slowed, but didn’t stall.

He told me about his company, in short, vague phrases—contracts, deadlines, numbers. Nothing personal.

I told him about my shop, the joy of peonies in June, and how eucalyptus water smells like peace. He didn’t laugh, but his mouth curved, and I caught him watching me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

There was no flirting. No fireworks. But there was… something. A strange comfort, like talking to someone you’ve known in another life. Someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions, and wouldn’t judge the answers.

By the time dessert came, I wasn’t ready to leave—but I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay, either.

As we walked outside, the city air wrapped around us. Cooler now, smelling faintly of rain and exhaust and that street vendor who always overdid the onions.

“I’ll call a car,” Daniel said, checking his phone.

I shook my head. “I’m a big girl. I can get home.”

“I’m sure you can. But humor me.”

I let him. Mostly because my heels were too high and I wasn’t ready to end this odd, quiet evening just yet.

As we waited, I glanced at him. “So, how do we report back to our meddling relatives? Fake a tragic breakup?”

He glanced down at me. “You want to lie to your mother?”

“I think I deserve to, after tonight.”

He smirked. “Let’s tell them we were perfectly polite. Boring. No spark.”

I nodded. “Safe and accurate.”

Another pause. The car pulled up, headlights flaring against the sidewalk.

He opened the door for me. I hesitated.

“It wasn’t the worst night,” I said softly.

His eyes held mine. “It wasn’t.”

I slid into the seat, pulling the door closed behind me.

As the car drove away, I glanced once in the rearview mirror.

Daniel Carter was still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching the street like a man who didn’t know whether he’d just lost something—or found it.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

It was one dinner.

A blind date I never wanted.

Nothing was going to come from it.

But the pounding in my chest said otherwise.