A rose between thorns

It had been a week since the chaotic wedding delivery. A week of adjustments, of small but significant changes that were both exhilarating and exhausting. I was beginning to adjust to the presence of Lorenzo Hayes in my life, though I hated admitting it. He'd dropped by the shop nearly every day since, offering unsolicited advice that I sometimes ignored, and other times, begrudgingly took.

But this morning was different.

The usual calm of my flower shop was shattered when the door slammed open with the force of a hurricane, and Lorenzo Hayes strutted in, as confident and impossible as ever.

"Morning," he said, his voice like a velvet whip.

"Is it?" I asked, not bothering to look up as I finished arranging a bouquet of lilies. "Considering it's only 8:30, I'm not sure 'morning' is the word for it."

"I'd say it's a fine morning," he said, walking past me with a small, teasing grin. "But you're not exactly the picture of joy."

I forced a smile, but it felt tight. "I don't do joy before coffee."

"I'd offer to bring you some, but I'm more interested in business today," he replied, eyeing the counter where a stack of invoices sat. He picked one up, scanning it quickly. "Your sales have been stagnant lately."

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," I muttered under my breath.

He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Instead, he put the invoice down and turned his attention back to me. "You know, you've been holding back on me. I've seen your potential, Lila. You could do so much more with this place."

I paused, looking up at him, unable to suppress a bitter laugh. "More? You think I'm not doing enough?"

He stepped closer, leaning his hand on the counter. "Not 'more' in the sense of quantity. You have quality. But you need better strategy. Better marketing. Better visibility."

I couldn't help it. I rolled my eyes. "And when do you think I'll have time for all of that? I'm the only one here who actually works in the shop, Lorenzo."

"Which is exactly why I'm here," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm offering you a partnership."

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. "A what?"

"A partnership." He repeated it slowly, like I was too dense to understand. "You run the flowers. I handle the business side of things. We get you the exposure you need. The customers. The deals."

I stared at him, my thoughts whirling. My gut twisted in knots, partly because of the way he said it—so confidently, like I had no choice—but mostly because... I didn't know what to feel. On the one hand, it was a dream. A business partner with resources, connections, and the expertise to take my flower shop to heights I'd never even dreamed of. On the other hand, it felt like a betrayal to everything I'd built with my own two hands.

"I don't need a business partner," I said firmly, my voice surprisingly steady. "I've done just fine on my own."

"You have," he agreed, his tone surprisingly soft. "But there's only so far you can go alone."

"I'm not going to sell out just to make more money," I retorted, trying to keep the edge of defensiveness from creeping into my voice. "If you think that's what I want, you're wrong."

Lorenzo studied me for a long moment, his gray eyes unreadable. "I'm not asking you to sell out. I'm asking you to grow. To take this place to its full potential."

I wanted to argue with him, to dismiss the idea out of hand. But the truth was, the thought of expanding my business had crossed my mind before. The flowers were my passion, my escape, but they also paid the bills. And though I loved the shop, there was a part of me that knew I couldn't keep going like this forever—stuck in the same old patterns, making just enough to scrape by, but never really getting ahead.

I wasn't a fool. I knew what I needed to do.

But that didn't mean I was ready to let Lorenzo into my life in such a deep way.

"Maybe I don't want that kind of growth," I said, straightening up and crossing my arms. "Maybe I like it the way it is."

"Do you?" He leaned closer, his voice low. "You're working yourself into the ground, Lila. I can see it. You're burning out."

"I'm not burning out," I snapped, perhaps a little too forcefully. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." He frowned, his gaze darkening with something I couldn't quite place. "You're tired, and it shows."

"Well, thank you for your concern," I said, my voice tinged with sarcasm. "But I'm perfectly capable of handling my own business, thank you very much."

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence between us. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, like he was waiting for me to crack, to admit that I needed his help. But I wasn't going to do that.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said finally, straightening up and turning toward the door. "But think about it. You don't have to do it alone forever."

Before I could respond, he was gone.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and sank into the nearest chair. My heart was still racing. My emotions were a tangled mess of frustration, confusion, and something else—something that felt dangerously close to guilt.

What was I really afraid of? Taking his offer would mean admitting that I couldn't do it all myself. And that terrified me.

*****

The next few days were a whirlwind of emotions. Lorenzo's offer kept hanging over me, like a shadow I couldn't escape. I tried to go about my usual routine—ordering flowers, arranging bouquets, making small talk with customers—but nothing felt quite the same. Every time I walked past him in the shop, I felt that pull in my chest. That urge to say yes. To take the plunge.

But I didn't.

Instead, I buried myself in my work, spending late nights at the shop, perfecting every detail. The shop had always been my safe place, my refuge from the outside world. I wasn't ready to give that up. Not yet.

And yet, the more I worked, the more I realized that I was running myself ragged. The long hours, the endless customer orders, the constant pressure to make ends meet. There wasn't enough time in the day to do it all, and it was wearing me down.

But every time I even thought about accepting Lorenzo's offer, I remembered the cold way he'd looked at me the first time we met. The way he made me feel small. And I couldn't shake the feeling that if I let him in, he'd just end up taking over everything.

I didn't need anyone to save me.

And yet, deep down, I knew I couldn't keep doing it alone forever.

*****

It wasn't until the next Monday morning that I finally made up my mind.

I had been up all night, working on a particularly tricky order for a corporate event, and I was running on fumes. I hadn't even bothered with coffee yet, and the thought of it made my stomach churn. I was so tired I could barely focus on the flowers in front of me.

That's when he walked in.

"Lila," Lorenzo said, his voice quiet, but with a tone that made my skin prickle. "I think we need to talk."

I looked up at him, my heart skipping a beat.

"I've been thinking," I began, my voice shaky. "About what you said. About the partnership."

"And?" He raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"I'm not saying I'm ready to sign anything," I said quickly. "But maybe... maybe we could sit down and talk about it?"

He studied me for a long moment, his gaze intense, and then, as though making a decision, he nodded.

"Alright," he said, his voice smooth. "We'll talk. But you'll have to promise me one thing."

"What's that?" I asked warily.

"That you'll be honest with me. About what you really want. No more running away from the truth."

My stomach twisted. I didn't know what I wanted anymore. But for the first time, I was willing to admit that maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to figure it out alone.

As we sat down later that afternoon, the tension between us felt almost unbearable. But it wasn't just the partnership anymore. It was something else. Something more fragile and dangerous. The space between us was charged with unspoken words. And for the first time, I felt like I wasn't sure where the line between business and something more blurred.

But that was a problem for another day. For now, I had to face the truth about myself. About what I wanted. And what I was willing to risk.

And maybe... just maybe... Lorenzo Hayes was a part of that equation.