The storm begins

The next morning, I arrived at Petals & Posies earlier than usual. The streets were still quiet, with only the occasional early riser rushing past with coffee cups and half-zipped jackets. I'd hoped the silence of the morning would calm my nerves, but as I unlocked the door and stepped inside, a knot of unease twisted tighter in my stomach.

Lorenzo Hayes was due to arrive any minute, and I still wasn't sure what I'd gotten myself into.

I busied myself with the morning routine: watering the plants, fluffing the bouquets in the display cases, and sweeping up stray petals from the floor. My mind churned as I worked, replaying yesterday's conversation in my head.

Why had I agreed to this? A month of Lorenzo poking his nose into my business was bound to drive me insane. Yet, there was a part of me—a small, stubborn part—that was curious to see what he would bring to the table.

The jingling of the doorbell interrupted my thoughts.

I looked up from the counter to see Lorenzo walking in, right on time.

"Good morning," he said, his voice as smooth and controlled as ever.

"Is it?" I muttered, wiping my hands on my apron.

He arched a brow. "Someone's not a morning person."

"Not when I have surprise guests at the crack of dawn," I shot back.

"It's 9:00 a.m.," he pointed out, glancing at his watch. "Hardly dawn."

I gave him a look but decided not to argue. "So, what's your grand plan, Mr. Hayes? Going to swoop in with a PowerPoint presentation and tell me how to do my job?"

"I'm here to observe," he said simply. "At least for today."

"Observe?"

He nodded. "I need to understand your day-to-day operations before I make any suggestions. Think of me as a... consultant."

The word felt out of place in my cozy little shop, but I shrugged. "Fine. Just don't get in my way."

"Noted."

Lorenzo removed his coat, hanging it neatly on the rack by the door. Even in his rolled-up shirt sleeves, he looked completely out of place against the backdrop of soft pastel flowers and rustic wooden shelves.

I decided to ignore him as best as I could, focusing instead on prepping the day's orders. A regular customer had requested a bouquet of wildflowers for her niece's birthday, and I carefully arranged the stems, layering bright yellows, purples, and greens into a cheerful display.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Lorenzo watching me.

"Do you always work alone?" he asked after a moment.

I glanced at him. "Sometimes. I have an assistant who helps out a few afternoons a week, but mostly, it's just me."

"That seems... inefficient."

I bristled. "It works for me."

He didn't respond, but the look in his eyes told me he wasn't convinced.

As the morning wore on, customers began trickling in. An older woman came in looking for lilies to place on her late husband's grave. A young man nervously picked out roses for his first date. A mother and her toddler browsed the potted plants, the little girl giggling as she pointed to each colorful bloom.

It was a typical day, but with Lorenzo standing in the background like a shadow, everything felt different. His presence was a constant reminder that someone was scrutinizing every move I made.

At one point, I caught him scribbling in a small leather notebook.

"What are you writing?" I asked, unable to hide my suspicion.

"Notes," he replied without looking up.

"Care to share?"

"Not yet."

I narrowed my eyes at him but let it go. If he wanted to play mysterious billionaire, that was his prerogative.

*****

By lunchtime, the shop was quiet again, and I finally allowed myself a moment to breathe. I leaned against the counter, sipping my coffee and letting the warmth seep into my hands.

Lorenzo, of course, showed no signs of needing a break. He stood near the window, his gray eyes scanning the street outside as if calculating the world's movements.

"You don't slow down much, do you?" I asked.

"Time is money," he said, turning to face me.

I snorted. "You sound like a walking corporate slogan."

"And you sound like someone who doesn't value efficiency," he countered.

I rolled my eyes. "Not everything is about efficiency, Lorenzo. This shop isn't a factory—it's a place where people come to feel something. You can't rush that."

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze flickering to the flowers on the counter. "Feelings are a luxury most people can't afford," he said quietly.

His words caught me off guard. There was something in his tone—something almost vulnerable—that made me pause. But before I could respond, he straightened, the moment passing as quickly as it had come.

"Anyway," he said briskly, "let's talk marketing."

I blinked. "Marketing?"

He nodded. "Your shop has potential, but your outreach is practically nonexistent. How do you attract new customers?"

I shrugged. "Word of mouth, mostly. And I have an Instagram page."

He raised an eyebrow. "An Instagram page? That's your strategy?"

"What's wrong with that?" I shot back. "It works."

"For now," he said, echoing his words from yesterday. "But if you want to grow, you need to think bigger. Social media ads, partnerships, event hosting—"

"Event hosting?" I interrupted.

"Weddings, corporate events, charity galas," he elaborated. "Flowers are a key part of those occasions. If you position yourself as the go-to florist for high-profile events, you'll not only increase revenue but also build a reputation that draws more customers."

I stared at him, torn between annoyance and reluctant admiration. He made it sound so simple, but I knew better. Running this shop was already a full-time job. Adding event planning to the mix felt impossible.

"I don't have the time or resources for that," I said finally.

"Which is why you need help," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I sighed. "Let me guess—you're going to offer me more 'resources' in exchange for a cut of the profits?"

He didn't flinch. "If that's what it takes to get you to the next level, yes."

"I'm not interested in turning this place into a corporate cash cow," I said firmly.

"And I'm not asking you to," he replied, his tone just as firm. "But if you want to survive in this market, you need to adapt. Otherwise, someone else will come along and take your place."

The truth of his words stung more than I cared to admit.

*****

As the day wore on, I found myself grudgingly impressed by Lorenzo's insights. Despite his cold exterior, he had a way of analyzing problems with laser-sharp precision, and some of his suggestions—even the ones I hated—actually made sense.

But there was still something about him I couldn't figure out. Beneath the polished suits and sharp words, there was a shadow—a quiet tension that made me wonder what he was hiding.

It wasn't until the shop was closing for the day that I got a glimpse of what lay beneath the surface.

I was arranging the last bouquet of the day when a little girl and her father walked in, looking for a gift for her grandmother. The girl's eyes lit up as she wandered through the shop, her tiny hands reaching out to touch the petals.

Lorenzo watched her, his expression softening in a way I hadn't seen before.

"Do you have kids?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop myself.

His gaze flicked to me, guarded once more. "No."

The single word was loaded with something I couldn't quite name—regret, maybe, or pain.

I wanted to ask more, but the look in his eyes stopped me. Instead, I turned back to the little girl, who was now clutching a small pot of daisies.

"Good choice," I said with a smile, kneeling to meet her at eye level. "Your grandma's going to love those."

She beamed at me, her joy infectious, and for a moment, the tension in the room melted away.

*****

After the customers left, Lorenzo helped me close up the shop—though I suspected he didn't know the first thing about sweeping.

As he stood by the door, coat in hand, he turned to me.

"Think about what I said today," he said.

"I will," I replied, surprising myself with my sincerity.

He nodded, his gray eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before he turned and walked out into the evening.

I locked the door behind him, leaning against it as the weight of the day settled over me.

Lorenzo Hayes was like a storm—unpredictable, relentless, and impossible to ignore. And as much as I hated to admit it, part of me was starting to wonder if letting him into my world might be the best decision I'd ever made—or the worst.