Love in Bloom

Chapter 2: Tangled in the Details

The next morning brought overcast skies and the scent of rain hanging heavy in the air. Ava Morales didn’t mind. Cloudy days kept her focused—less sun meant fewer distractions, fewer chances to lose herself in daydreams.

She didn’t have time for daydreams today.

The Delacour wedding was officially less than two weeks away, and while she had triple-confirmed everything from the custom cake design to the monogrammed napkins, there was one item still pending on her checklist: final floral confirmation.

Which meant… him.

Ethan Thompson.

She found herself arriving earlier than usual—clipboard tucked under her arm, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Not because she was eager to see him again, of course. No, she told herself, this was purely professional.

The venue staff let her in, and she stepped into the grand hall.

There he was.

Ethan stood near the altar platform, sleeves rolled, hands wrist-deep in a bucket of white garden roses. A soft instrumental playlist played from a small speaker beside him. The floral arch frame had been set up, and a cascade of greenery already began to spill across it like a curtain of soft vines.

Ava paused in the doorway. For a moment, she simply watched.

He worked like someone in love—with the process, not the product. Every motion was purposeful. Precise. Gentle. Like the flowers deserved respect.

“I didn’t know florists started this early,” she said aloud, breaking the quiet.

Ethan glanced over his shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t know planners hovered.”

Ava laughed, stepping closer. “I’m not hovering. I’m inspecting.”

“Ah. Should I be worried?”

“Depends. Have you done anything criminal to those roses?”

“Only loved them a little too much,” he said, smirking.

She raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like something out of a bad Hallmark movie.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Their eyes met, a beat too long. Then Ava shook her head and lifted her clipboard.

“Let’s get back to the real world,” she said. “I have questions about the delivery order. I noticed the hydrangeas aren’t listed for the centerpieces?”

“I made a last-minute substitution,” he replied, wiping his hands on a linen towel. “They were looking a little wilted. I replaced them with ranunculus—same color palette, better structure. They’ll hold through the night.”

“You changed the arrangement?” Ava said, blinking. “Without consulting me?”

Ethan’s brow lifted, just slightly. “I made a professional call.”

She exhaled. “Look, I get it. You’re the artist. But I have a client expecting a certain vision. If anything’s going to change, I need to know first.”

His jaw tightened. “Right. Next time I’ll ask permission before rescuing your table from sad, dying flowers.”

Ava crossed her arms. “Sarcasm noted.”

Silence fell, dense as the clouds outside.

For a moment, it felt like they were standing on opposite sides of a very long table—him all instinct, her all order.

Then, something shifted.

Ethan sighed and looked down at the roses in his hands. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I just... care. Too much, maybe. About the little things.”

Ava’s tone softened. “So do I.”

Their eyes met again—this time without the edge.

“I’ll add the substitutions to the shared doc,” he said quietly. “You’re right. No surprises.”

“Thank you,” Ava said. “And... they’re beautiful, by the way. The ranunculus.”

His lips curved into something gentler. “You noticed.”

“I notice everything,” she said, almost as a tease. Almost.

**

It began to rain lightly around noon. Ava sat under a white canopy tent set up for vendor meetings, reviewing layout sketches when Ethan walked over, holding a coffee in each hand.

“Peace offering?” he said, handing her one.

She looked up, surprised. “You remembered my order?”

“Hazelnut, half sugar, extra foam. You muttered it yesterday while checking your email.”

Ava blinked. “You pay that much attention?”

“Always.”

She took the cup. “Well, thanks. I was starting to lose feeling in my fingers.”

They sat together under the canopy as the rain began to patter more steadily, soft and rhythmic against the canvas above.

“I didn’t mean to come off as... controlling,” she said after a pause.

“I didn’t mean to come off like a know-it-all,” he replied.

A beat.

Then laughter—light, awkward, shared.

“I guess we’re both a little intense,” Ava said.

Ethan nodded. “But you’re good at what you do.”

“So are you.”

They sipped their coffee in comfortable silence.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” she asked suddenly. “Weddings, I mean.”

He looked thoughtful. “Sometimes. The expectations. The pressure. But I like the beginnings. The moments when everything’s still possible.”

“That’s the romantic in you,” Ava teased.

Ethan smiled faintly. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like seeing people choose each other, despite everything.”

Ava looked at him, really looked. “You’ve been through something.”

He didn’t answer right away.

“There was someone,” he said finally. “A long time ago. She chose someone else.”

Ava’s chest tightened. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, but the gesture was too casual to be honest. “Happens to the best of us.”

A breeze rolled in with the rain, carrying the faint scent of lavender and rosewater.

Ava sipped her coffee again, eyes distant.

“I think that’s why I love what I do,” she said. “Even if it’s not my story yet, helping others write theirs—it gives me hope.”

Their eyes met across the small table, the world quiet around them.

For a second, the air was charged again—not just with chemistry, but something deeper. A pull. A thread.

Ethan looked away first.

“I should get back to wiring the arch,” he said, standing.

“Right. And I have... linens to confirm,” Ava replied, rising too quickly.

They stood for a moment, unsure of what to say. Then:

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said.

“Anytime,” he replied.

And just like that, they parted again—two people carrying their pasts like invisible luggage, slowly stepping into something they hadn’t yet named.