Page 2 of Forget-Me-Nots and Apricots

Yet, despite the apparent emptiness, I could sense it clearly: someone had been there. Someone had been watching.

Swallowing hard and summoning every ounce of determination, I squared my shoulders and forced my way inside, shutting the door firmly behind me. I wasn’t one to be frightened easily, but tonight, under the shroud of that inexplicable feeling, everything felt undeniably different.

Chapter Two

Sleepdidn’tcomeeasythat night.

I’d always been a light sleeper, a habit drilled into me by parents who believed in being prepared for anything. But something about the way I felt walking into my apartment—like eyes were still lingering on me even after I shut the door—left my nerves frayed.

I double-checked the locks, then checked them again. When that wasn’t enough to shake the unease, I pulled a heavy chair in front of the door, just for good measure. Rationally, I knew I was probably overreacting. This city was filled with people. Someone looking my way wasn’t the same as someone following me.

Still, I didn’t sleep much.

By the time my alarm blared, I had only gotten a couple of restless hours, but I rolled out of bed anyway. Petal & Thorn wouldn’t open itself, and I had work to do.

The walk to the shop was brisk, the crisp autumn air carrying the scent of fallen leaves and early morning rain. The streets were quieter at this hour, only a handful of early risers bustling toward work, the occasional Beta or Omega nodding in passing. I kept my pace steady, ignoring the occasional Alpha scent that drifted by. Most of them had little interest in an Omega who didn’t bow her head or flash them an inviting look.

Good.

By the time I reached the shop, Jamie was already there, waiting by the front door with a cup of coffee in each hand. His curly brown hair was flattened slightly on one side, like he’d just rolled out of bed, and he squinted at me as I approached.

“You look like hell.”

I snatched my coffee from his grip. “Good morning to you too.”

Jamie followed me inside as I unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. “I mean it. You’re usually grumpy in the morning, but this is next-level grumpy.”

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“Bad dreams?”

I hesitated, shrugging off my coat and hanging it behind the counter. “Something like that.”

Jamie didn’t press, but I caught the way he studied me from the corner of his eye as he set up the register.

I put the stems into the vases like assembling bouquets for impatient royalty. Jamie was already elbow-deep in petals and leaves, and I don't need to catch his eye to feel his anxiety. The whole shop smells like someone threw a garden party for wildflowers and forgot to invite the air.

"I'm drowning," Jamie says, not quite a joke. His sleeves are rolled up, and he's working fast but not fast enough to hide the strain in his shoulders. I move to the next arrangement, pretending not to notice.

"The twins' birthday is always like this," I say. "Three more years and they’ll be too cool for flowers."

He laughs, a short breath of relief. "I'm holding you to that." We don't stop working. His hands move through ribbons and wrappings like he’s trying to get the chaos to dance to his rhythm, and I admire him for it.

"We need fifteen more by noon," he says, glancing at the order sheet. "Think we'll make it?"

"Of course. As long as we don’t stop to eat or breathe." I toss him a roll of green floral tape, and it arcs between us, a green stripe against the vivid mess.

His smile flickers. "Maybe we should've hired more help for today."

"It's more fun to suffer," I say, knowing it doesn’t reassure him but hoping it eases the edge.

He picks up a sunflower and spins it in his hand like it might launch him out of his worry. "Easy for you to say," he mutters, but there’s warmth in his voice.

"We'll be fine, Jamie." I lower my voice like I'm letting him in on a secret. "You're a natural at this."

"Tell that to my fingers," he says.. He bends back over his work, the orders rising like a wave around him, threatening to break.

I look at the shop, every counter an explosion of colors and textures, each bouquet a tick on the clock reminding us of time slipping by. It feels alive, like it could swallow us whole if we slow down, but I find a thrill in it. Jamie, not so much. I see him zeroing in on one arrangement, shutting out everything else, but the knot in his brow shows he's not quite at peace.

---