Karaoke Virgin & The Florist's Midnight Lesson

The last customer had left hours ago, but Elias still lingered in the cool, fragrant hush of Petals & Thorns. Nineteen, slender, and painfully untouched, he moved between the coolers with the quiet care of someone who preferred flowers to people. His fingers, long and gentle from years of wiring stems and stripping thorns, brushed over velvet rose petals as he straightened buckets for tomorrow. The neon Open sign had been flipped off at eleven. The only light now came from the single pendant lamp over the prep table in the back room, casting a warm amber pool across scattered greenery and his own nervous reflection in the glass cooler doors.

He had never even kissed anyone. The thought sat in his chest like a stone every time a pretty customer smiled at him too long. Especially her.

The bell above the front door chimed.

Kara stepped inside like she owned the night itself. Twenty-eight, bold-mouthed, and still wearing the tight black dress and fishnets she performed in at the smoky karaoke bar three blocks away. Her dark auburn hair was tousled from the stage, lipstick slightly smudged, eyes glittering with leftover adrenaline and something sharper. She carried the faint scent of whiskey, cigarette smoke, and expensive perfume.

“Emergency,” she announced, voice husky from singing. “I need the sluttiest, most dramatic bouquet you can throw together in ten minutes. My date was a disaster. I want to send her flowers that say thanks for wasting my time, here’s something that’ll die slower than your personality.”

Elias’s heart slammed against his ribs. He wiped his hands on his apron, suddenly aware of how flushed his face felt under the low light.