Breaking through the stone

The tension in the air was thick enough to slice with a knife.

Lorenzo had set up a meeting with the board of Hayes Enterprises to present the community's petition, and I was officially his guest. Standing at the front of the conference room, surrounded by men and women in tailored suits and expressions carved out of stone, I realized this was no simple board meeting—it was a battlefield.

Lorenzo, to his credit, looked every inch the warrior. Sharp suit. Cool composure. But as I sat to the side, clutching my notes and a printed stack of petitions, I couldn't help but feel like a flower caught in a hurricane.

"These are the facts," Lorenzo said, his voice steady, slicing through the silence. "Petals & Posies is not just a flower shop. It's a cornerstone of the community."

One of the board members, a hawk-eyed man with thinning gray hair, leaned forward. "A flower shop? Hardly a key to our portfolio, Lorenzo. We're talking about millions in profit from the real estate deal. That outweighs a few daffodils, don't you think?"

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, but Lorenzo didn't flinch.

"Numbers are part of the story," he replied, locking eyes with the man. "But so is reputation. If Hayes Enterprises pushes through with this acquisition, it will devastate a neighborhood that depends on small businesses like Petals & Posies. The media will have a field day."

Another board member, a sharp-looking woman with sleek black hair, spoke up. "And what's your personal interest in this, Mr. Hayes? You're awfully invested for a simple zoning dispute."

My breath caught. Lorenzo's eyes flicked toward me for a brief moment before turning back to the board. "My interest is in protecting the integrity of this company—and making decisions that go beyond profit margins."

It was an answer, but not the full one. I stared at him, trying to read between the lines, as the board continued to bombard him with questions.

Twelve Hours Earlier

The morning of the board meeting had started with a knock at my door—Lorenzo, looking uncharacteristically casual in a dark sweater and jeans, holding two cups of coffee.

"I hope you like cappuccinos," he said, stepping inside.

I blinked at him, still half-asleep. "This is... unexpected."

He smirked. "You're not going into that meeting unprepared, Lila. Today, we strategize."

We spent the next few hours at my tiny kitchen table, poring over notes, organizing petitions, and rehearsing arguments. Lorenzo was relentless, pushing me to anticipate every possible question the board might throw our way.

"They'll try to undermine you," he warned, his gray eyes fixed on mine. "They'll say your shop is small, insignificant. You need to show them it's the heart of something bigger."

By the time we wrapped up, I was exhausted—but oddly, I felt ready.

"Thank you," I said as he stood to leave.

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. "For what?"

"For believing in this. In me."

For a moment, he didn't respond. Then he gave a small nod, his expression unreadable, and left.

Back in the Boardroom

The meeting dragged on, the board volleying back and forth between concerns about profits and vague reassurances about corporate responsibility.

It wasn't until Lorenzo handed me the floor that I realized my palms were sweating.

"Ms. Summers has prepared a statement," he said, his voice firm. "I suggest you all listen."

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to me. I took a deep breath, my fingers trembling as I unfolded the paper in my hands.

"I... I know I'm not a big corporation," I began, my voice shaking slightly. "I don't have millions of dollars or a board of directors. What I have is a flower shop. A small, simple place where people come to find beauty, comfort, and connection."

The room was silent. Encouraged, I pressed on.

"Petals & Posies isn't just a business. It's where a young couple picked out their wedding flowers. It's where a grieving daughter bought a bouquet to honor her mother's memory. It's where people come to find a little light in a world that can feel so dark."

I glanced at Lorenzo. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something that looked a lot like pride.

"This shop isn't just about me," I continued. "It's about everyone who's ever walked through its doors. Taking it away wouldn't just hurt me. It would hurt them. It would hurt this city."

I set the petitions on the table, my heart pounding. "These are the signatures of over 500 people who feel the same way. Neighbors, customers, friends. They believe this shop is worth saving. And I hope, after today, you will too."

When I finished, the room was silent.

For a moment, I thought no one would say anything. Then the hawk-eyed board member from earlier cleared his throat.

"It's an emotional argument, I'll give you that," he said, his tone dismissive. "But emotions don't pay the bills."

Anger flared in my chest, but before I could respond, Lorenzo spoke.

"Maybe not," he said, his voice cold as steel. "But public opinion does."

The hawk-eyed man frowned. "What are you implying?"

"I'm implying that if this sale goes through, you'll be making headlines—not for profits, but for destroying a beloved local business. You think that's good for Hayes Enterprises' image?"

The room tensed. Lorenzo's words hung in the air, a challenge none of them could ignore.

By the time the meeting adjourned, I was drained. The board had promised to review the petitions and reconsider the sale, but there were no guarantees.

As we stepped out into the hallway, I turned to Lorenzo. "Do you think it was enough?"

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "You did everything you could. Now it's up to them."

"Thank you," I said softly. "For standing up for me. For all of this."

His gaze softened. "You don't have to thank me, Lila. This fight... it's not just yours anymore."

For a moment, we just stood there, the weight of the day hanging between us. Then, without thinking, I reached out and took his hand.

"Whatever happens," I said, "I'm glad you're here."

His fingers tightened around mine, his touch warm and steady. "Always."

*****

Back at the shop, the atmosphere was quieter, calmer. Piper had closed up early, leaving me and Lorenzo alone amidst the familiar scent of flowers and the soft hum of music playing in the background.

"Do you ever stop working?" I teased as I watched him type away on his laptop.

He looked up, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Do you?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "Touché."

For a while, we just talked—about the shop, the neighborhood, even our favorite flowers. I was surprised to learn that Lorenzo had a soft spot for orchids.

"They're resilient," he said when I asked why. "Delicate but strong. They adapt, even in harsh conditions."

I couldn't help but smile. "Sounds like someone else I know."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Are you calling me delicate?"

"I'm calling you strong," I replied, my voice soft. "Even when you don't have to be."

Something shifted in his expression then, a vulnerability I'd never seen before. For a moment, it felt like the walls he always kept up were beginning to crack.

"Lila..." he began, his voice barely above a whisper.

But before he could finish, the sound of my phone buzzing broke the moment.

I glanced at the screen—a text from Piper. "Call me. Now."

My stomach tightened. Something told me this wasn't good news.