Roses are red, violets are blue

Chapter 12: Baby's Breath

The morning was cool and quiet, with a soft breeze drifting through the open windows of The Petal Whisperer. The shop, though usually filled with the faint hum of conversation and the rustling of flowers being wrapped, felt unusually still. Lila stood at her workbench, surrounded by blooms of every shape and color. In her hands was a sprig of baby's breath, delicate and cloudlike, as though it had been plucked straight from a dream.

She held it between her fingers, its fragility startling. The tiny white blossoms clustered together, each one as light as air. She was arranging them into a bridal bouquet—a task she had done countless times before—but today, it felt different.

The scent of the flowers, faint and almost undetectable, stirred something deep within her. It wasn't the kind of memory that crashed over her like a wave. No, this one crept in quietly, unfurling slowly, piece by piece, until she was no longer standing in her shop but back in the past, in a moment she both cherished and dreaded to relive.

---

The sunlight streamed through the windows of the floral boutique, casting golden streaks across the floor. James was beside her, his hand casually resting on the small of her back as they surveyed the flowers on display. They were planning their wedding, a task that felt more like a celebration than a chore.

"What about these?" Lila asked, holding up a bouquet of peonies.

James tilted his head, pretending to consider them with mock seriousness. "Pretty," he said, "but too fancy. Feels like we're trying too hard."

Lila laughed, shaking her head. "Too fancy? James, they're flowers."

"Exactly," he said, leaning in to kiss her temple. "Flowers should feel effortless, like us."

"Effortless?" she teased, raising an eyebrow. "You do realize I've spent hours picking out color schemes, right?"

He grinned. "And you've done an amazing job, but we don't need to overthink this. Let's pick flowers that mean something."

It was then that the shop owner approached, holding out a small bundle of baby's breath. "This might interest you," she said. "It symbolizes everlasting love."

James's face lit up as he took the flowers from her. "Everlasting love," he repeated, turning to Lila. "Now this feels right."

Lila reached out, touching the tiny blossoms with the tips of her fingers. "They're so simple," she said softly.

"Simple," James agreed, "but beautiful. Just like you."

She felt her cheeks flush, but before she could respond, James handed the baby's breath to her, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

"These are perfect," he said. "They'll remind us that no matter what happens, no matter where life takes us, our love will always last."

His words hung in the air, filling the small shop with a weight that neither of them fully understood at the time.

---

The memory dissolved, leaving Lila standing in her shop, the baby's breath still in her hands. Her chest ached, as though the weight of James's words had traveled through time to find her. She placed the sprig on the workbench, her hands trembling slightly.

It was a cruel irony, she thought, how something so small and delicate could hold so much meaning. Baby's breath—everlasting love. She had believed in that once, believed it with every fiber of her being. And for a time, it had been true. Their love had felt invincible, like it could withstand anything.

But life had proven otherwise.

She sank onto the stool behind the counter, her hands resting limply in her lap. The shop, usually her refuge, felt unbearably empty. The silence pressed in on her, amplifying the hollow feeling that had taken up residence in her chest since James's death.

She thought about the wedding they never had, the vows they never exchanged. She had kept the binder with all their plans—color schemes, seating charts, floral arrangements—tucked away in the back of her closet. She hadn't opened it since the accident.

The ache in her heart deepened as she allowed herself to imagine what might have been. She could see it so clearly: the aisle lined with baby's breath, the delicate flowers weaving through her bouquet, the way James would have smiled at her as she walked toward him. She could almost hear his voice, steady and sure, as he promised her forever.

Forever.

The word felt heavy now, like a promise that had been broken by forces beyond their control.

Lila shook her head, trying to dispel the memory. She couldn't afford to dwell on what she had lost. There were orders to fill, customers to serve. Life didn't pause for grief, no matter how consuming it might be.

But as she turned back to the workbench, her gaze fell on the baby's breath, and the tears she had been holding back spilled over.

"I miss you," she whispered, her voice breaking.

The admission hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. She hadn't said those words out loud in months, hadn't allowed herself to acknowledge the depth of her pain. It felt dangerous, like opening a door she might not be able to close.

But in that moment, she didn't care. She let herself feel it all—the love, the loss, the hollow ache of a future that would never be.

She reached for the baby's breath again, cradling the delicate flowers in her hands. They were so light, so fragile, yet they had endured. They had been a symbol of everlasting love for countless couples, a reminder that love could transcend time and space.

Maybe, she thought, they could still mean that for her.

She carefully tucked the sprig into the bouquet she was working on, weaving it among the roses and daisies. It wasn't just a floral arrangement—it was a piece of her heart, a fragment of the love she had shared with James.

As she tied the ribbon around the bouquet, a small, almost imperceptible sense of peace settled over her. It wasn't enough to erase the pain, but it was a start.

And for now, that was all she could ask for.