Page 9

Chapter nine

R uby

I woke up warm. Wrapped in crisp white sheets that smelled like cedarwood and something unmistakably Damien—clean, grounded, a little guarded.

For a second, I didn’t move. I just let my eyes drift over the soft morning light slanting across the ceiling. There was a hummingbird outside the window, wings flickering like it was trying to keep time with my racing heart.

I smiled.

The pillow beside me was still warm. My fingers curled around it instinctively, pulling it closer like it could keep the dream going just a little longer.

But dreams don’t leave behind open laptops.

I sat up slowly, my smile faltering as my gaze landed on the screen glowing faintly on his desk across the room. The header of the email glared at me like a flashing siren.

“Damien, we’d love to have you lead our cardiac research initiative. Let’s reconnect soon—St. David’s, NYC.”

New York.

My stomach twisted. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, suddenly cold despite the lingering heat in the sheets.

I knew he had a past in medicine—brilliant, prestigious, heavy. But I hadn’t thought about what it would mean if that past came calling. If it wanted him back.

If he wanted to go.

The memories from last night flickered like firelight—his hands on my waist, the way he kissed me like I was the only thing anchoring him to this place, to this life. I’d believed it. Every breathless second.

But now?

Now I felt like a daisy growing in a borrowed garden. Lovely for a moment—but not meant to last.

I got up quickly, careful not to knock over the cup of water by the nightstand. My dress from yesterday was folded over a chair, the cardigan I’d brought slung beside it. As I got dressed, I kept glancing toward the laptop like it might suddenly change its message.

It didn’t.

I tiptoed into the hallway, holding my breath as if even the air might accuse me of reading too much into things. His house was quiet—too quiet. No sound of the kettle. No footsteps. Not even that low, rumbling hum he made when deep in thought.

He was gone.

Of course he was.

The front door creaked softly as I pulled it open. Morning sunlight spilled over the porch, and birds chirped like the world was perfectly intact.

But I wasn’t.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. Angry? Hurt? Embarrassed that I’d let my heart get tangled in something so uncertain?

Instead, all I felt was raw. Like a bouquet plucked too soon—beautiful for a moment, then left wilting in the sun.

I made it down the porch steps before I let out a shaky breath. My car was parked by the curb, thankfully untouched by the storm. I slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and gripped the wheel with both hands.

He hadn't said goodbye.

He hadn't left a note this time.

And yet, somehow, this felt like one.

I turned the key and pulled away from the curb, my chest aching in places I didn’t know had names.

I didn’t cry. Not yet.

Because somewhere deep inside, a part of me still wanted to believe he’d choose me.

That maybe, just maybe, last night hadn’t been temporary.

But as the clinic disappeared in my rearview mirror, so did the illusion that love could be enough to stop a man like Damien Cole from running when things got complicated.

He had a whole world waiting for him in New York.

And I was just a florist in a small town with a heartbeat too big for her own good.

…

I stabbed another daffodil into the arrangement with unnecessary force.

It tilted sideways, lopsided and defiant—just like my mood.

“You know,” Hazel said from behind me, “those flowers did nothing to deserve this kind of aggression.”

I didn’t turn around. “They’re fine.”

“They look like they’re bracing for a breakup.” Her voice was gentle, but teasing. Hazel always knew how to wrap hard truths in humor—like putting honey on a lemon.

I took a shaky breath and tried to adjust the crooked stems. My fingers trembled more than I wanted to admit. The scent of daffodils—sweet, hopeful—filled the air like a cruel joke.

Hazel walked up beside me, arms crossed. “Talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

She arched one perfectly sculpted brow.

I sighed. “Okay, fine. Something happened.”

She blinked. “You think?”

“We spent the night together,” I said quietly, pushing another bloom into place. “Not like that—well, okay, not just like that. We talked. We kissed. It felt like… something real.”

Hazel didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“I woke up alone,” I added, voice tighter now. “And his laptop was open.”

I didn’t have to explain. Hazel knew.

“The email?” she asked softly.

I nodded. “New York. Some cardiac research position.”

Her silence stretched, giving me room to unravel. “I gave him a piece of me last night,” I said. “A piece I don’t hand out easily. And now I don’t know if he’s already packed it up and taken it with him.”

Hazel’s gaze softened. She reached for one of the daffodils, gently readjusting it. “Sweetie, you didn’t give him something he didn’t already have.”

I blinked. “What?”

“That man’s had a hold on you for weeks. Maybe longer, if we’re being honest. Last night just made it real.”

My shoulders sagged. “But what if it didn’t mean the same to him?”

Hazel tilted her head. “Did he treat you like it didn’t?”

“No,” I admitted. “That’s the worst part. He treated me like I mattered.”

“Then maybe he’s scared. Doesn’t mean he’s gone.”

I let out a dry laugh. “He’s not exactly the king of communication. He leaves notes like he’s escaping a crime scene.”

Hazel smirked. “True. His emotional range is somewhere between a brick wall and an IKEA manual.”

I cracked a reluctant smile.

“But,” she said, her tone shifting, “you can’t make his choice for him. You can’t assume he’s already left just because the door’s open.”

I stared at the bouquet. “I just… I don’t want to need someone who might leave.”

Hazel was quiet for a beat. “You’re not weak for needing someone, Ruby. You’re human. Messy, brilliant, and full of too much heart—but human.”

I swallowed hard.

She nudged my arm. “You don’t have to chase him. But don’t hide, either. Don’t pretend it didn’t matter just because you’re scared.”

I looked down at my hands—still dusted with pollen, still trembling. “What if I fall harder than he does?”

Hazel stepped in front of me, cupping my face in her hands. “Then you’ll land, Ruby. You always do. But this time, maybe someone will be there to catch you.”

Her words sank in deep. I blinked back tears, nodding slowly.

Hazel stepped back and grinned. “Besides, if he bails, I know a guy who delivers cupcakes and revenge playlists.”

“Tempting,” I said, wiping my cheeks with a laugh. “But I think I need clarity more than cupcakes.”

Hazel leaned in, voice softer now. “Then ask for it. You’re allowed to want answers. You’re allowed to want him—if that’s what your heart is telling you.”

I looked at the flowers on the table—fresh, imperfect, beautiful in their chaos.

Maybe Hazel was right.

Maybe it wasn’t about whether Damien would stay or go.

Maybe it was about whether I was brave enough to stay true to what I wanted.

Even if it scared me.

Even if I had no idea how it would end.

…

The community center buzzed with energy.

Paper lanterns floated like fireflies from the rafters, fairy lights twinkled around the floral arch I’d rebuilt from scratch, and the smell of peonies and lemon frosting drifted through the open doors.

The Cedar Springs Spring Gala was officially in full swing, and I’d thrown myself into the final arrangements like my life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Careful with that garland!” I called across the room as two teens struggled with a tangled string of greenery. “We want whimsical, not strangled.”

I adjusted the hydrangea centerpiece on the welcome table for the fifth time, but my hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting. Not with the way my stomach flipped every time the door opened. Not with the knowledge that Damien might walk in—or might not.

“Ruby!” Eleanor’s voice rang out over the low hum of chatter and laughter.

I turned, startled. She stood on the stage in her signature purple blazer, holding a mic and beaming.

“I know we’re all eager to dance and eat too many cookies, but before we dive into the sugar coma, I want to take a moment to recognize someone who’s brought a whole lot of heart—and actual flowers—into our town.”

Oh no.

“Ruby Shea, would you step forward?”

I froze. Around me, people clapped and smiled. Hazel gave me a little shove from behind. “Go.”

Heart pounding, I walked toward the stage, my heels suddenly too loud against the hardwood floor.

“Ruby,” Eleanor continued, “your creativity, your spirit, and your flower shop have breathed new life into Cedar Springs. You remind us that beauty can grow out of anything—even a cracked sidewalk or a busted pipe.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

“But most of all,” Eleanor added, her voice thickening with emotion, “you’ve reminded us that hope blooms where it’s planted. And we’re lucky you planted here.”

The applause swelled. My face burned. I gave a little bow, blinking fast as I stepped back down.

Then I saw him.

Damien stood near the back of the room, just beyond the light, in his usual dark button-down and jeans that somehow managed to look both rugged and annoyingly perfect. He wasn’t clapping. He wasn’t smiling.

He was just watching me.

And I couldn’t read a single thing on his face.

I turned away, my heart thudding too loud in my chest.

The music resumed. People drifted to the dance floor. I tried to lose myself in checking candles and flower placements and cupcake trays—but I kept glancing toward the door. And every time I looked, he was still there.

Still watching.

Until he wasn’t.

“Hazel,” I whispered, scanning the room. “Where did he—”

The back door to the alley opened behind me.

I spun.

Damien stepped into the dim light of the shop, his broad frame momentarily outlined by the string lights along the loading dock.

My breath caught.

We stood like statues, the scent of roses and citrus swirling between us.

He didn’t speak at first. His gaze swept the room—my shop, now glowing, reborn.

“I didn’t reply to the email,” he said finally.

I felt the words hit me like a tremor. “Why not?”

He stepped closer. “Because I haven’t made up my mind.”

The air thickened.

“But I know one thing,” he added. “I’m not ready to leave you.”

My heart jumped and stumbled in my chest.

He looked tired. Raw. Real.

I stepped toward him—just one step—and stopped inches away. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for me, but didn’t.

“Then don’t,” I whispered.

Silence stretched between us, full of so many unsaid things. In my voice, I heard the hope—and the fear.

Because love wasn’t just about choosing someone once.

It was about choosing them every day.

And I wasn’t sure yet if he could.

But in that moment, I knew I could.