Chapter 4 If Walls Could Speak, They'd Tell Her to Stay

The doorbell above Petals & Posies let out a cracked jingle as Olivia pushed it open again the next morning. She carried a fresh coffee in one hand and a box of old shop receipts in the other. The smell of must and dried petals still clung to the air, but there was something else today-movement.

She froze in the doorway.

Lucas was already inside.

He stood near the front windows, sleeves rolled to his elbows again, sunlight catching in the strands of his tousled brown hair. He was prying off a warped window frame with a crowbar, his face set in focused concentration.

She blinked. "Lucas?"

He glanced over his shoulder, unfazed. "Morning."

"You're here early."

"You're late," he replied, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She arched a brow but didn't argue.

Instead, she crossed the room, set her things on the counter, and watched him silently for a moment.

"I didn't ask you to help."

"You didn't have to."

He yanked off the last piece of frame and stepped back, surveying his work. "The wood rotted from the inside. Rain's been seeping in for years. Surprised the whole window hasn't collapsed."

Olivia nodded, unsure what to say. There were so many things between them-apologies, regrets, memories with jagged edges. But all she could manage was, "Thanks."

Lucas shrugged and moved toward the back.

She followed.

The back room was just as she'd left it-cluttered and untouched. A broken sink faucet dripped into a rust-stained basin, and an old wooden table leaned unevenly against the wall. Lucas dropped his tool bag onto the table and pulled out a hammer.

"I figured we could start here," he said.

"We?" she echoed.

He looked at her then. "I'm not here to watch you fix it alone."

A lump rose in her throat.

It wasn't about the shop. She knew that. Not really.

They spent the next few hours elbow-deep in repairs.

Lucas unscrewed fixtures, sawed new shelf brackets, and pulled a dusty tarp off the side window. Olivia reorganized dried seed packets and old customer order forms, sorting them into piles by season. Slowly, they moved in rhythm. Comfortable silence stretched between them, punctuated by soft music from her phone and the occasional creak of settling wood.

But it wasn't awkward anymore.

It was... easy.

Normal.

Dangerously familiar.

At one point, she glanced up and caught him watching her again.

"What?" she asked.

He tilted his head slightly. "You still scrunch your nose when you're concentrating."

She rolled her eyes. "You still think you know everything."

"I don't," he said quietly. "Not anymore."

They took a break on the front steps just before noon.

Lucas handed her a bottle of water and sat beside her, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sea kissed the sky.

"Place looks better already," he said.

"It's still a mess," she replied.

"Yeah, but it's your mess now."

She smiled faintly.

They sat in silence, letting the breeze wash over them.

"I used to dream about this," Lucas murmured.

She turned to him, startled.

"About what?"

"About you coming back. Sitting here again. Laughing at me. Putting sunflowers in the window like you used to." He shrugged, almost sheepishly. "You'd hum while you worked. Always off-key."

She laughed softly. "I still do."

"Yeah," he said, voice softer. "I noticed."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the weight of a decade dissolved.

It was just two people, side by side.

Maybe not the same.

But not strangers, either.

Back inside, they tackled the display counter. Olivia pulled out a box of old price tags and floral tape while Lucas measured the space for a new front panel.

She leaned against the counter, brushing hair from her face. "You really didn't have to do all this."

He didn't look up. "I'm not doing it for you."

The words hit like a slap. Her smile faltered.

Lucas glanced up quickly. "I mean-I am helping you. But I'm also doing it for her. Your grandmother. She was good to me."

"She loved you like a son."

"Sometimes, I think she loved me more than my own mother did."

There was no bitterness in his voice-just quiet truth.

Olivia swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"She never blamed you."

"I still do."

Lucas put the hammer down. "Don't. People survive in different ways. You left to survive. Doesn't make you selfish."

"Feels like it did."

He stepped closer, his presence steadying. "Olivia, you were nineteen. The world swallowed you whole. And you still came back."

Her breath caught.

"I came back because I lost everything else," she said.

"No," he said gently. "You came back because this was always yours."

Later, while reorganizing a box of dried petals, Olivia found a photograph tucked inside.

It was her and Lucas-maybe seventeen, sitting on the roof of the shop, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist. She didn't even remember the picture being taken.

Her thumb traced the edges.

So much of her wanted to crawl back into that moment. Before Daniel. Before heartbreak. Before running.

Before regret.

She slipped the photo into her pocket and didn't say anything to Lucas.

Not yet.

That evening, after they'd packed up the tools and swept the floors, Lucas lingered in the doorway.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.

Olivia hesitated.

"Yeah," she said finally. "Same time."

He didn't move.

"Liv-"

She looked up.

"Why now?" he asked. "Why are you letting me in again?"

She bit her lip, searching for the right answer.

"I'm not letting you in," she said honestly.

"Not yet."

He nodded, accepting it.

But then she added, almost whispering, "But I'm not locking the door, either."

Lucas smiled faintly, then left with nothing more than a nod.

And Olivia stood in the empty shop, her heart beating faster than it had in years.

Maybe this wasn't just about reopening a store.

Maybe this was about reopening herself.