Chapter Four: The Girl with Haunted Eyes

The moment he stopped in front of my counter, I finally noticed the little girl clinging tightly to his hand. She had been standing quietly beside him the whole time, like a shadow I hadn’t even seen until just now.

She couldn’t have been older than four or five, dressed in a tiny navy coat with shiny buttons and caramel-brown boots that matched her curls. But what truly caught my attention wasn’t her outfit; it was the way she looked up at me with wide, solemn eyes. Eyes that mirrored his. I’d seen cold before. But this... this was something else. She looked like someone who had already learned too much about silence.

“Can I help you?” I managed, forcing my voice to come out even.

The man—Alexander, I would later learn, nodded once. “I’d like to place a bouquet order for next week. Something custom.”

“Of course,” I said, straightening. “Any specific occasion?”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. “A remembrance.”

My fingers paused on the notepad. “Got it. Any preferences on colors or flowers?”

He listed them precisely, lilies, white tulips, a few forget-me-nots in soft blue, tied together with silver ribbon. His voice was calm, measured. Almost rehearsed. But I could tell the arrangement meant something to him. Something deep. I could already imagine how beautiful it would be. Delicate. Elegant. Haunting.

“Whoever’s getting this is lucky,” I said before I could stop myself. “It sounds like... something made with a lot of thought.”

There was a flicker in his gaze. “She was.”

Was.

My throat tightened, but I nodded, pretending I hadn’t noticed the past tense.

While we spoke, neither of us noticed the little girl had wandered off.

Until we both heard it, glass shattering.

I flinched.

My eyes snapped toward the sound, and my heart skipped when I saw her standing near one of the shelves, frozen in place, a now-broken vase lying at her feet. Flowers spilled out like a scene from a painting gone wrong.

The little girl looked scared.

Not “oops, I broke something.” scared.

No.

She looked... terrified. Eyes wide. Shoulders tense. Like she was waiting for the next disaster to happen.

I dropped my pen and rushed toward her.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said softly, crouching down. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

She didn’t respond. Her tiny arms wrapped around herself.

“Careful,” I murmured. “There’s some glass near your shoes. Mind if I help you?”

I reached out slowly. Gently.

She had tears welling up in her eyes. 

My chest ached.

“It’s okay,” I said again, keeping my voice light. “No one’s mad. Trust me, I break stuff here all the time. Maya calls me a walking tornado.”

Still no reaction.

“I’m Claire,” I tried again, smiling at her. “And you are?”

She blinked up at me.

Then, so quietly I almost missed it, she whispered, “Amelia.”

I grinned. “Amelia. That’s such a beautiful name. You know what? You just broke one of my least favorite vases. That thing’s been begging for retirement. So, really, you did me a favor.”

Her lips twitched—just a little.

“Tell you what. If you promise not to tell Maya I said that, I’ll show you the secret stash of flower candies we keep under the counter.”

That earned me a small giggle.

An actual giggle.

I felt a warm rush of relief, and something else. Something I couldn’t name.

When I glanced back, the man, Alexander was staring at us.

And not just casually.

His expression was one of pure disbelief. Like he was watching something impossible.

I stood slowly, brushing my hands on my apron. “Is everything okay?”

He blinked and nodded once. “She hasn’t spoken in... months. She hasn’t laughed either.”

His voice was soft. Distant. Like he wasn’t fully here.

I stared at him, my heart tugging in places I didn’t expect. “Oh.”

I shouldn’t have asked. But the words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Why?”

His jaw tightened.

“I’m sorry,” I rushed to add. “That’s none of my business.”

He exhaled, long and slow. “No, it’s fine. I just... I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Of course.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped forward and gently scooped Amelia into his arms. She rested her head against his chest, her tiny hands fisting his coat. I was about to apologize again, but stopped myself.

What was I thinking? I didn’t even know this man. I barely knew his name. And here I was, poking into his life like some overly curious town gossip.

Still... something about the way he looked at Amelia made my chest ache.

Protective. Heavy. Like he carried the weight of two people.

I returned to the counter, finalizing the bouquet details. “And where should we deliver it?”

He gave me an address across town, in one of the newer developments near the lake. It figured. The place oozed money. Even his handwriting, scrawled across the order form, looked expensive.

“Name for the order?”

“Alexander Sinclair,” he replied.

Of course it was.

Somehow it suited him. Sharp, clean, polished.

Just as he turned to leave, the back door swung open and Maya stepped out, brushing her hair out of her face. “He’s finally asleep. That boy could win a gold medal in asking why the moon doesn’t have flowers.”

Her eyes landed on Alexander and Amelia. “Oh. Company.”

“They were just leaving,” I said, walking around to join them.

Amelia turned back and reached for me.

Without warning, she wrapped her small arms around my waist in a tiny, tight hug.

I froze.

Then melted.

I bent slightly, hugging her back. “You come visit me anytime, okay?”

She nodded shyly.

When I glanced up, Alexander was watching again.

Stunned.

But he nodded politely, and together, they walked out the door.

The bell chimed behind them.

And just like that, they were gone.

For the rest of the evening, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About Amelia. About that look in his eyes. Not fear. Not anger. Just... weight.

Later that night, we had a mini sleepover in the living room. Me, Maya, and Aiden curled up in blankets, popcorn bowls between us. Aiden was already out cold on his dinosaur pillow. Maya was mid-rant about a weird customer from earlier that day when I got up to grab more popcorn.

That’s when I heard it.

The TV, still playing softly in the background, cut to a breaking news segment.

My hands froze around the popcorn bowl.

“Blackwell Enterprises announces major East Coast expansion... with plans to open a new regional headquarters right here in Maine.”

My heart dropped.

“Construction begins in—”

I turned up the volume.

“In the town of Bloomridge, a quaint but growing town just outside Portland—”

No.

No, no, no.

I nearly dropped the bowl.

Maya looked up. “Claire?”

I didn’t answer.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not here.

Not in the one place I thought he’d never look.

The one place I’d built a life.

A new life.

Far away from him.

Far away from all of it.

And now?

He was coming here.

Lucas Blackwell.

To the same town where his son lived.

Where I lived.

I gripped the edge of the counter, trying to breathe.

No.

This can’t be happening.