A plain table became romantic with the right centerpiece.
A cold ballroom became warm with greenery and candlelight. A nervous bride could relax the second someone placed a bouquet in her hands.
After Adrian died, I couldn’t even look at a bridal bouquet without thinking about the one I’d chosen for myself.
I stopped accepting weddings.
For weeks, I handled birthdays, corporate events, and sympathy arrangements instead.
Anything but weddings.
Even hearing someone say the word “fiancé” could make my stomach tighten.
But eventually, I had bills to pay.
Grief did not stop rent from being due.
It didn’t pay suppliers or keep my shop running.
So three months after his funeral, I finally agreed to start taking wedding jobs again.
I told myself work might help.
That morning, another florist I sometimes worked with called in sick and asked if I could cover a wedding for her.
She sounded miserable.
“I know it’s last minute,” she said. “I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed you.”
I looked around my shop.
Buckets of roses sat near the cooler.
My assistant was already organizing deliveries.
Every part of me wanted to say no.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
A few hours later, I was arranging flowers at a reception venue I’d never worked at before when I saw a familiar woman near the entrance.
Colleen.
For a second, I thought grief was playing another trick on me.
Then she turned slightly.
It was definitely her.
I almost called out to her.
Then she saw me.
Her expression shifted from neither sadness nor surprise into something resembling fear.
She immediately turned away and disappeared down a side hallway.
That was strange.
Colleen and I hadn’t spoken much since Adrian died, but why would she hide from me?
I followed her.
“Colleen?”
She stopped.
For a second, she just stared at me.
“Meredith?”
“What exactly are you doing here right now?”
She looked nervous.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m working. I’m the florist.”
“Here?”
“Yes. Why?”
Before she could answer, a wedding coordinator hurried toward us.
“Ms. Colleen, we’ve been looking everywhere for you. The groom needs his mother.”
I stared at Colleen.
For a moment, that seemed to explain everything.
Adrian had an older brother, Julian.
Of course.
This must be his wedding.
Julian and I had always gotten along well.
He had been quieter than Adrian, but he was kind to me.
At holidays, he was usually the person helping me carry dishes into the kitchen while everyone else argued over football.
I won’t lie — it hurt a little that he hadn’t invited me.
But after Adrian’s death, I’d barely spoken to his family.
Maybe they thought a wedding would be too painful for me.
Maybe Julian had decided that seeing him stand at an altar would remind me too much of everything I’d lost.
I tried not to take it personally.
Then I noticed the corsage on her wrist.
I’d made it myself that morning.
It was for the groom’s mother.
Colleen glanced at me, then quickly followed the coordinator away.
I watched her leave.
Something still felt wrong.
I told myself that explained her strange behavior.
Maybe she’d simply felt awkward seeing me here.
Maybe she thought I would be upset.
Maybe she felt guilty that Julian was getting married only three months after Adrian’s funeral.
I forced myself back to work.
There were arrangements to finish. Candles had to be placed. The ceremony flowers needed one final check.
A few minutes later, I spotted her near the groom’s room.
This time, I almost walked away.
Of course she was there. Her son was getting married.
