Chapter 3: After Hours
973 Words
The last rays of sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Delacour Estate as the staff packed up for the day. The clinking of glassware, the low hum of conversation, and the occasional laugh echoed softly across the ballroom, growing quieter by the minute.
Ava Morales stood alone near the ceremony arch, her tablet in hand. Everyone else had gone home. She should have too—but something about this moment felt too still, too perfect to interrupt.
She looked up.
The arch had taken form over the day—lush with draping greenery, ivory roses nestled between soft blush peonies, and small bursts of lavender to match the bride’s palette. Even unfinished, it was breathtaking.
She didn’t notice she was smiling until she heard a voice behind her.
“I caught you admiring my work.”
Ava turned, startled.
Ethan stood in the doorway, holding a crate of unopened gardenias and wearing a bemused expression. His shirt sleeves were still rolled, collar slightly loosened, hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it one too many times.
“I thought you left hours ago,” she said.
He shrugged, walking toward the arch. “I like working when the place is quiet. No pressure. No clipboard checklists hovering.”
“I don’t hover.”
“You definitely hover.”
She laughed in spite of herself, setting her tablet down on the nearest table.
“You could use a little hovering,” she teased. “Maybe then your delivery invoices would be organized.”
Ethan shot her a look. “Touché.”
He began gently placing the gardenias into a low bucket of water, careful not to bruise their delicate petals. Ava moved closer, watching the ease in his hands.
“I never asked,” she said after a beat. “How did you get into floristry?”
Ethan glanced at her, then back to the flowers. “It started as a side job. I was working at a nursery during college, helping my aunt with arrangements on weekends. One day she got sick before a wedding gig, and I had to handle it myself.”
“And you didn’t screw it up?”
“I did,” he said with a dry laugh. “The bouquet came out lopsided and I forgot to mist the centerpieces. But the bride cried anyway. Said they were perfect.”
Ava smiled. “Sometimes it’s the imperfections that make it memorable.”
Ethan nodded. “I liked that. Creating something people carry with them—even if it only lives for a moment.”
He paused, then added more quietly, “It gave me a reason to keep going.”
Ava looked at him, the atmosphere suddenly heavier. She wanted to ask what he meant. She wanted to reach across that invisible line they’d both been dancing around all day.
Instead, she asked, “You’ve never considered doing something else?”
“Plenty of things,” he said, standing. “But none of them feel like this. Flowers don’t lie. People do.”
She blinked at the sudden shift in his tone. “Someone lied to you.”
He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at the gardenias in the bucket, as if they held an explanation.
“There was someone,” he said at last. “We were together for three years. We were... serious. Talking about opening a shop together. Making it official.”
Ava’s voice was soft. “What happened?”
“She said she loved me. Said she wanted the same future I did. But then she left,” he said. “For someone else. Someone with more... security. More stability.”
Ava’s chest ached. “I’m sorry, Ethan.”
“It was a long time ago,” he said, brushing it off. “But it makes you think twice. About trusting people again. About building anything that can be torn down.”
She nodded slowly. “I get that.”
“Do you?” he asked, meeting her eyes now.
Ava hesitated. “My parents divorced when I was nine. My mom raised me alone. She used to tell me, ‘Don’t count on anyone but yourself.’ I guess that stuck.”
Ethan studied her face like he was reading between the lines.
“And yet here we are,” he said, gesturing around. “Planning a wedding for two people betting everything on each other.”
“Maybe that’s why we’re so good at it,” she said. “We believe in the idea of love—even if we don’t think it’s for us.”
Ethan smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You ever think it could be?” he asked.
Ava looked at him.
“Sometimes,” she said quietly. “In moments like this.”
Silence fell again—this time softer, more vulnerable.
The lights in the ballroom dimmed automatically, casting a warm golden glow across the space. The arch behind them shimmered in the dusk light, shadows dancing across the blooms.
Ethan stepped closer.
“I should finish the arch tomorrow,” he said, voice low. “Wouldn’t want to keep the bride waiting.”
Ava nodded, heart quietly thudding. “Of course.”
He began to turn away, but stopped.
“Thanks for staying late,” he added.
She smiled. “Thanks for the gardenias.”
He walked off toward the service hallway, but before disappearing behind the door, he glanced back.
“Ava?”
“Yeah?”
“They’re my favorite, you know. Gardenias.”
“Why?”
He paused, then said, “They mean ‘secret love.’ Figured it was fitting.”
And then he was gone.
Ava stood alone in the quiet ballroom, the arch glowing behind her, and something unspoken blooming quietly in her chest.
- Writer
