Love in Bloom

A sun-drenched morning in the city. The soft hum of traffic and the scent of fresh croissants filled the air as Ava Morales stepped out of her car, heels clicking on the cobbled pathway of The Delacour Estate—one of the city’s most exclusive wedding venues. Dressed in a cream blazer and high-waisted trousers, clipboard in hand, Ava exhaled slowly. This was one of her biggest clients yet: a celebrity couple whose wedding would be splashed across magazines and gossip sites alike. The pressure was on. She glanced at her schedule. “Florist arrives at 9:00 a.m.,” she murmured. “Which means—” “—you’re Ava Morales,” came a voice from behind. Startled, Ava turned and was met by a man holding two large buckets filled with blooms—peonies, delphiniums, soft blush roses—so vibrant it looked like he was cradling spring itself. “I’m Ethan. Ethan Thompson. I’m your florist,” he said with an easy grin. Ava blinked. Not what she expected. Tall, sun-kissed skin, a rolled-up button-down with floral tattoos peeking out from one sleeve, and eyes so green they could rival the stems he was holding. “You’re early,” she said, composing herself. “I’m always early,” he replied, setting down the buckets with care. “Flowers like to breathe before the chaos.” She allowed herself a small smile. “A florist with discipline. That’s rare.” “And a planner with manners? Even rarer,” he shot back with a wink. Ava raised an eyebrow but couldn’t hide her amusement. **Inside the ballroom of the Delacour Estate. They walked into the grand hall where sunlight spilled through crystal chandeliers. Ava gestured toward the long head table and the archway where the couple would exchange vows. “Let’s talk setup. The bride wants cascading florals in shades of ivory, blush, and hints of lavender. She showed me a reference photo from a royal wedding—so no pressure.” Ethan set down his floral crate and knelt beside it, unfurling his sketchbook. “I brought a few concepts based on the notes your assistant sent. But tell me—what's the bride like?” Ava paused. “She’s sweet, surprisingly grounded. She wants elegance, but not overdone. Think…romantic garden dream, not Versailles.” Ethan nodded, flipping to a detailed sketch. “What about this? White peonies, quicksand roses, trailing clematis on the arch. I can layer in some eucalyptus to add movement.” She leaned over to examine the drawing—and caught a whiff of cedar and something herbal, like rosemary. “That’s...really good,” she said. He looked up, his face close to hers now. “Just good?” “Okay, very good,” she admitted. “Maybe even impressive.” He chuckled. “I’ll take that.” There was a pause. Just long enough to notice how the morning light caught the streaks of copper in his hair. She stood upright quickly. “So,” she said, turning brisk. “Let’s go over the flower delivery schedule.” They strolled past the rose garden, Ava pointing out where the cocktail hour would be held. She noticed how Ethan’s eyes scanned everything—the curve of the hedges, the texture of the stone path, the way the breeze moved the treetops. “You really see things, don’t you?” she asked. He glanced sideways. “I try to. Flowers don’t just sit still—they live in the space. If the setting’s off, the whole arrangement feels...forced.” Ava looked impressed. “I never thought of it that way.” “You plan with people. I plan with petals. But it’s still storytelling,” he said, pausing near the fountain. She smiled. “That’s poetic for a guy with clippers in his back pocket.” He pulled them out and waved them. “These? These are my pens.” They both laughed. **Back inside, near the altar. Ethan began arranging a mock sample for the ceremony arch. Ava watched as his hands moved confidently through the stems, layering blooms with instinctive care. “You’ve done a lot of weddings?” she asked, sitting nearby. “Enough to know every couple has their own rhythm. Some want tradition. Others want fireworks. Some just want peace.” “Peace,” she repeated quietly. “That’s rare these days.” He glanced at her. “You sound like someone who needs it.” Ava hesitated. “Let’s just say...I plan fairytales for a living, but I’m still waiting for mine.” There was a softness in his eyes now—not pity, but understanding. “Maybe yours starts today,” he said simply. She felt heat rise to her cheeks and busied herself with her notes. Before the moment could stretch too long, her phone buzzed. She answered briskly. “Yes? Okay, I’ll meet them outside.” She hung up and turned to Ethan. “The bride’s family just arrived. I have to check on the seating arrangements.” Ethan stood. “Go ahead. I’ll keep arranging. Don’t worry—I won’t mess with your masterpiece.” Ava smirked. “You better not. Or I’ll have you buried in peonies.” He grinned. “Not a bad way to go.” **Ava walking away, glancing back. As she stepped out, Ava stole a look over her shoulder. Ethan was trimming stems, focused but relaxed, like he belonged among the blooms. She smiled to herself. Maybe...just maybe...this wedding wasn’t the only story beginning.