The florist was just locking up when I walked in.
It wasn't part of the plan not that I had one but I saw the flowers from across the street as I stepped out of Navarro constructions and thought of her. That was happening a lot lately. Random things reminded me of Mira. Coffee, sunlight, the smell of vanilla. Even quiet moments that used to feel empty now carried her name somehow.
I ended up picking a bouquet of white tulips mixed with pale pink roses. They were simple and elegant. They were the kind of flowers that didn't scream for attention but still made you stop and look twice.
By the time I got home, the house smelled faintly of sugar and cinnamon. I followed the scent to the kitchen and stopped at the doorway.
She was standing there barefoot, hair loosely tied up, wearing one of my shirts. It was the exact light gray one I'd been searching for since morning. Figures.
The sleeves swallowed her wrists, and she looked up from the counter just in time to catch me staring.
