Chapter 3 Unfinished Conversations

By midweek, The Bloom Room had started to look like the heart of Rosebay again. The new paint was warm and buttery, the dusty windows now gleamed in the sun, and the scent of fresh lilies had returned to the air like a promise.

But Olivia was struggling to focus.

Lucas had been coming in every day, just as he promised. He brought coffee, tools, and silent strength. They worked side by side-measuring, nailing, painting-but rarely talked about anything that truly mattered.

The awkwardness sat thick between them like invisible fog. They danced around it with jokes and sarcasm, but Olivia could feel the truth pressing on her chest every time their hands accidentally brushed.

Something had to give.

That afternoon, as the light streamed in through the bay window and painted golden streaks across the worn floor, Olivia finally broke.

"Lucas... can we talk?"

He was standing on a ladder, fixing a loose light fixture. He glanced down at her, face unreadable.

"I thought we were," he replied.

"Not really," she said softly. "Not about what matters."

He exhaled through his nose and stepped down from the ladder, wiping his hands on a rag.

"You mean the part where you left and never looked back?"

There it was. Raw. Bare. Unfiltered.

Olivia swallowed. "Yes."

Lucas leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

"You disappeared, Liv. You didn't say goodbye. You didn't even leave a note. I found out you'd gone from your grandmother."

"I know," she whispered. "And I'm sorry."

He scoffed, looking away. "Sorry? That's all?"

"I was twenty-two, Lucas. I thought if I stayed here, I'd never become the person I wanted to be."

"And who was that?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "Someone who forgets the people who loved her?"

Her throat tightened. "I didn't forget you."

"Could've fooled me."

Olivia stepped closer. "Do you think it was easy? That I just packed a bag and danced into a new life? I cried every night the first month in New York. I missed the ocean, the bakery, the quiet. I missed you."

Lucas didn't answer.

She continued. "But I also needed to know who I was without all of this."

He finally looked at her-really looked.

"And did you find her? The girl you were looking for?"

Her voice cracked. "I thought I did. I was in love, or at least I thought I was. I had a job I thought mattered. But it all fell apart. He cheated, and I let him break me. I stopped trusting myself. So I ran again."

Lucas's jaw flexed. "So why come back now?"

"Because this is where I feel whole," she said. "This shop. My grandmother. And you."

The silence that followed was heavy but not cruel.

Lucas moved slowly, stepping just close enough that she could smell the cedar on his skin.

"I waited for you, Olivia. For years."

Tears welled in her eyes. "I didn't know."

"You wouldn't," he said. "Because you didn't ask."

The hurt in his voice was sharper than any accusation.

"I'm not that girl anymore," she said. "I'm not running. Not this time."

Lucas looked down at her hand, which had subtly moved closer to his on the counter. Their fingers weren't touching-but they were close.

"Then prove it," he said quietly.

She raised her eyes to his. "How?"

"Stay."

Her breath hitched.

"I don't know what staying looks like yet," she admitted. "But I want to find out."

Lucas gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

Then he stepped back.

"We've got shelves to build," he said, the softness in his voice returning. "And if you're staying, we need to fix that back window before the wind breaks it."

It wasn't a declaration of love.

It wasn't a kiss.

But it was something. A beginning.

And for now, that was enough.

Later that night...

Olivia stood in the flower shop after he left, staring at the photo on the wall-her grandmother, holding baby Olivia, surrounded by blooms.

"He waited," she whispered aloud. "And I broke his heart."

She remembered the way Lucas used to look at her when they were teens-how he'd carve little wooden hearts and leave them in her mailbox. How they'd kissed once behind the church after prom, lips shy and trembling.

She hadn't forgotten.

She'd just buried it all under years of ambition and noise.

Now those memories bloomed again-fragile, real, undeniable.

That night, Olivia opened an old journal she'd kept in New York, flipping through pages of heartbreak and loneliness. She stopped at one particular entry:

"I wonder if Lucas ever waited. I wonder if he hates me. Sometimes I dream of the sea and wake up crying."

She closed the book and whispered into the quiet room, "I'm sorry I left you."

A knock startled her.

She opened the door to find Lucas holding a small wooden box.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Your grandmother ordered it months ago. I just found it in my shop's delivery records. Said it was for you."

Olivia opened the box to find a hand-carved sign: "Petals Bloom Again."

Her throat tightened.

"She really believed I'd come back."

Lucas gave her a small smile.

"She always said you just needed time."

Their eyes met again-less guarded this time, more open.

"Goodnight, Olivia.

"Goodnight, Lucas."

And when she closed the door, her heart wasn't as heavy as it had been. Not fully healed.

But not broken anymore