My Garden 7

The days following Alexander Kane’s visit felt heavy, as if his offer had seeped into the very air of the shop, intertwining with the scent of tulips and fresh-cut stems. I’d always prided myself on knowing exactly what to do, whether it was arranging a last-minute bouquet or handling a cranky customer. But this? This was different. The stakes weren’t just my pride or a day’s earnings—it was the legacy of my family, my identity.

I worked longer hours, losing myself in the rhythm of my hands. Stripping thorns, trimming stems, arranging petals. Tasks that usually brought me peace now felt like distractions. Evelyn’s biting words and Alexander’s measured tone played on a loop in my mind.

“Ms. Miller, pride can blind us to opportunities.”

I shook my head as if the memory were a cobweb I could brush away.

The bell above the door chimed, and Claire walked in with her signature energy. She carried two steaming cups of coffee and plopped one onto the counter.

“Okay, Soph, spill,” she said, leaning on her elbows.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, feigning innocence as I adjusted a bouquet.

“You’ve been brooding for days. And don’t deny it—I’ve known you long enough to spot the signs. What’s going on?”

I sighed, setting down the shears. “You remember I told you about Alexander Kane?”

“The billionaire who showed up here? Hard to forget.”

“His assistant came by,” I explained, frustration creeping into my voice. “She wasn’t exactly subtle about her opinion that this shop needs ‘help.’”

Claire’s eyebrows shot up. “Help? As in, corporate interference? Oh, hell no.”

“That’s what I told her,” I said, pacing behind the counter. “But she had a way of making me feel like I’m barely holding this place together.”

“First of all, that’s complete crap,” Claire said firmly. “You’ve kept this shop alive through thick and thin. Your mom would be so proud.”

Her words should have been comforting, but they only reminded me of what was at stake.

“But what if they’re right, Claire?” I admitted, my voice quieter. “The rent is climbing, and fewer people are coming through the door. I don’t want to lose this place, but I don’t know if I can keep it going on my own.”

Claire’s face softened. “Soph, this shop is your heart. But that doesn’t mean you have to do everything alone. Maybe Kane’s offer isn’t the devil’s deal you think it is.”

I wanted to argue, but I didn’t know how. She had a point, but so did the knot of fear in my chest.

That night, I closed up the shop and lingered by the counter, staring at the photograph of my mom that hung on the wall. In it, she was beaming, standing proudly in front of the shop, her arms full of tulips. I could almost hear her voice: Don’t be afraid of change, Soph. Change keeps us growing.

The invitation to Kane Industries’ charity gala sat unopened on the counter. With a sigh, I picked it up and slid my finger under the flap. Inside was an elegantly designed card, its lettering embossed in gold.

A chance to secure the shop’s future, Kane had said. A chance to meet people who could help on my terms.

I didn’t trust him, not entirely. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that ignoring this opportunity might be a mistake.

---

The gala was a spectacle. Glittering chandeliers cast soft light over the expansive room, and the air buzzed with the sound of polished conversation. I smoothed my black dress, wishing I felt half as confident as I looked. Claire had insisted on doing my hair, and while I’d protested, I couldn’t deny she’d worked her magic.

The moment I stepped inside, I felt out of place. These weren’t my people. They were executives and socialites, their laughter too polished, their smiles too perfect. I clutched my small clutch tightly, reminding myself why I was here: for the shop.

I spotted Alexander almost immediately. He was standing near the bar, his broad shoulders impossible to miss. He looked every bit the billionaire, his tailored suit fitting him perfectly.

“Ms. Miller,” he greeted me as I approached, his expression neutral.

“Mr. Kane,” I replied, my voice steady despite the nerves tightening in my chest.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said, offering me a glass of champagne.

“I wasn’t sure either,” I admitted. “But I figured I should hear what you have to say.”

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. “I respect that. Most people wouldn’t be so direct.”

“I’m not most people,” I said, my tone sharp but not unkind.

His lips twitched, as if he were holding back a smile.

Alexander led me to a quieter corner of the room, away from the crowd. “I know you have reservations about my offer,” he began. “But this gala is full of people who believe in supporting businesses like yours. You could find allies here.”

“Why do you care so much about my shop?” I asked bluntly.

His gaze softened, just a fraction. “Because businesses like yours matter. They’re more than numbers on a spreadsheet.”

Before I could respond, a woman approached us. She was tall, poised, and unmistakably polished.

“Alexander,” she purred, placing a manicured hand on his arm. “You’ve been avoiding me all evening.”

His expression tightened, though he remained polite. “Not now, Evelyn.”

Her sharp gaze flicked to me. “And who is this?”

“Sophia Miller,” I said, refusing to let her intimidate me. “I own the flower shop in town.”

“How charming,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension.

Alexander’s jaw tightened, but I didn’t need him to defend me.

“It’s more than charming,” I said evenly. “It’s a family legacy that’s been part of this community for decades.”

Evelyn’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered. “Well, I suppose everyone starts somewhere.”

I turned to Alexander, ignoring her. “If this is the kind of company you keep, maybe I was wrong to come here.”

His eyes flashed with something I couldn’t quite read, but I didn’t wait for a response. I turned and walked away, my head held high.

I didn’t know what the future held, but one thing was clear: I wouldn’t let anyone belittle the legacy my family had built.