Chapter 10 - The Garden that Lasted
One year later.
The sun was rising over Grand Avenue, painting the morning sky in soft hues of peach, gold, and pale blue.
Sullivan’s Flowers was open.
The new three-ply laminate glass window gleamed under the early light, displaying a massive, breathtaking arrangement of rare green orchids, white peonies, and long-stemmed red roses.
Inside, the shop had been expanded. The back wall had been knocked through, connecting the old floral shop to a massive, sunlit iron-and-glass conservatory that housed rare tropical imports, olive trees from Sicily, and a dedicated workspace for community floral workshops.
Toby, now a full-time store manager wearing a clean canvas apron, was busy unloading fresh crates of South American imports near the walk-in cooler.
Maggie stood behind the counter, wearing a simple white linen dress, her hair braid falling over one shoulder. She was twenty-four weeks pregnant, her hand resting gently against the warm, round curve of her stomach.
The brass bell above the door rang with a bright, familiar sound.
Vincent walked in.
He was wearing a dark charcoal suit, carrying a large leather briefcase in one hand and a wooden crate filled with fresh, soil-dusted organic vegetables from their Oak Brook estate in the other.
He set the crate on the counter, walked around the wood frame, and wrapped his broad arms around Maggie from behind, resting his chin softly against her shoulder, his heavy hands resting over hers on her belly.
"How is the baby moving today?" Vincent asked softly into her ear.
"He likes the orchids," Maggie smiled, leaning back against his strong chest. "He kicks every time I cut a stem."
Vincent smiled, pressing a deep kiss against her neck. "He's a Moretti. He knows quality."
He reached into his suit coat, pulled out a single, long-stemmed, perfect Grand Prix red rose—deep, velvety, four inches across the bloom—and set it on the cutting mat in front of her.
Maggie picked up the rose, smelling the rich, sweet fragrance of the petals.
She looked at her husband—at his dark, handsome face, his sharp suit, and the quiet, absolute peace that now filled his eyes whenever he was inside her shop.
"That will be fifteen dollars, Mr. Moretti," Maggie said smoothly, pulling a pen from her apron.
Vincent pulled out his leather wallet, extracted a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and laid it neatly beside the rose.
May you like
"Keep the change, Mrs. Moretti," Vincent whispered, leaning down to kiss her lips. "I intend to buy flowers here for the rest of my life."
Maggie smiled against his lips, holding her rose in one hand and her husband in the other, while the morning sun spilled through the bank-grade glass, illuminating a shop filled with life, purpose, and a love that would never wilt.
