can we get a snippet of any of ur writing ?? pls
Yeah sure!
snippet of chapter 7 of Valkzzi
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Poland
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
can we get a snippet of any of ur writing ?? pls
Yeah sure!
snippet of chapter 7 of Valkzzi
Overexposed
Chapter one
Actress!paige x intern!azzi, fake dating au
Warnings: mentions of addiction and drug use, childhood trauma, mentions of abuse
A/n: Welcome to chapter one!!! I am so excited to share this with you all! Buckle up cause it’s gonna be a wild ride. I love y’all so so much! Lmk what you think and I’ll see you next Monday for chapter 2! 🩷
Word count: 8k
The harsh lights surrounding Paige’s trailer mirror were humming; a low, buzzing frequency that felt like it was vibrating directly inside her teeth.
Outside, the studio lot was bustling with the chaos of a multi-million dollar thriller production. Inside, it smelled like cheap hairspray, burnt espresso, and the vanilla perfume the lead makeup artist had been slathering on Paige for the past forty-five minutes.
"Keep your eyes up for me," the artist, a soft-spoken woman named Sarah, murmured gently. She tapped a tiny brush under Paige’s eye, trying to conceal the dark, bruised-looking circles that no amount of expensive foundation could entirely hide anymore. "Just blending out the dark circles. Early morning shoots are brutal on everyone, but we’ll have you looking like a movie star in no time."
Paige barely suppressed a bitter snort. Movie star. She stared blindly at her own reflection. At twenty-one, she possessed the kind of cheekbones that directors drooled over; sharp, striking, and undeniably captivating on film. But beneath the layers of foundation and contour, Paige felt like a walking ghost.
Her bleached-blonde hair was pulled back tightly, a leftover artifact of the studio’s desperate, decade-long attempt to package her as America’s girl next door. They had fought her tooth and nail when she started wearing suits, when she refused the dresses, when she stopped hiding who she was. Eventually, when they realized they couldn't force her into a pink sundress without a fight, they just stopped trying to market her image altogether; and leaned into letting the tabloids tear her apart instead.
"Alright, take five while I go grab the FX kit," Sarah said with a sympathetic smile, patting Paige’s shoulder before stepping out of the trailer, letting the cold morning air rush in for a split second before the door clicked shut.
Paige reached into the pocket of her hoodie. Her fingers brushed against the small, metallic foil packet of pills she had stashed there; her daily shield against the weight of existing, but her hand drifted instead toward her phone lying face down on the illuminated vanity station.
She knew she shouldn't look. But Paige was a sadist when it came to her own torture.
Her thumb flicked the screen awake.
HOLLYWOOD'S GOLDEN GIRL GONE WRONG: Inside Paige Bueckers’ Tragic Downward Spiral
Paige swallowed past the dryness in her throat and clicked the link.
The article opened with a photo from her childhood; a nine year old Paige grinning awkwardly on a red carpet, flanked by her mother and father. Her parents had their hands gripped firmly on her shoulders, smiling broadly for the cameras.
To the public, it looked like a picture perfect, supportive family. Paige remembered that exact night: her father had pinched her collarbone so hard to make her stop crying that it had left a bruise, all because she had complained about being tired after an eighteen-hour shoot.
Her eyes dragged down the text, scanning the words as a cold, sickening numbness spread through her chest.
"...It’s the classic tale of Hollywood privilege turned toxic. Bueckers, who was practically handed an acting career on a silver platter by her doting, devoted parents, seems determined to throw it all away. Sources close to the family reveal that Paige was raised in a loving home where her talent was nurtured from the moment she could walk...”
A sharp, ragged breath escaped Paige’s lips. Handed to me? A loving home?
They didn't write about the non-disclosure agreements her parents made her sign when she turned sixteen to keep her from speaking about where her money actually went. They didn't mention the fact that she hadn’t gotten an education beyond eighth grade.
They didn't talk about her mother locking her in a bathroom for six hours because she refused to wear a skirt to an audition, screaming that Paige was going to ruin their lives. Her childhood hadn't been a silver platter. It had been an auction block, and her parents had been the top sellers.
"...Despite having every advantage, a sprawling safety net, and a family that sacrificed everything for her dream, Bueckers has traded her god given talent for late-night benders, missed marks, and suspected substance abuse. Production insiders report that her erratic behavior is putting her latest film in jeopardy..."
Paige stared at the words until they blurred together into meaningless black smudges on the glass.
The hypocrisy of it made her jaw clench so hard her teeth ached. The industry had broken her bones, drained her blood, built a multi million dollar empire on her back before she was even old enough to vote; and now that she was bleeding out in front of them, they called her ungrateful. They framed her as the spoiled brat who wrecked her own fairy tale.
Her vision swam. A hot, angry tear welled in the corner of her eye, threatening to break over her lashes and ruin the forty-five minutes of airbrushed perfection on her face.
No. Don't you dare.
Paige closed her eyes tight, tilting her head back against the chair. She sucked in a long, shaky breath through her nose, holding it until her lungs burned, forcing the emotion back down into the dark, locked box inside her chest where it belonged.
She couldn't cry. Crying meant Sarah would have to redo her makeup. Redoing her makeup meant being late to set. Being late to set meant more articles calling her a diva, an addict, a
failure.
She slowly opened her eyes, her gaze hardening into something cold, distant, and carefully guarded.
The trailer door chimed and swung open.
"Alright, Paige, got the fake blood!" Sarah called out cheerfully, stepping back inside with a plastic tray. She paused, catching Paige's eye in the mirror. "You okay? You look a little pale."
Paige tossed her phone face down onto the counter with a dull clack. She offered a smirk that didn't reach her
eyes, leaning back into the chair with practiced indifference.
"I'm fantastic, Sarah," Paige said, her voice dripping with smooth, hollow sarcasm. "Just eager to go out there."
—
The sound of heavy machinery, yelling crew members, and shifting lighting rigs hit Paige like a blow the second she stepped out of her trailer. The morning sun was painfully bright, slicing through the cool air of the backlot and making the headache thrumming behind her eyes beat to the rhythm of her racing pulse.
She shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, her head tilted down, keeping her eyes fixed on the cracked asphalt beneath her sneakers. Every step felt like walking through wet cement. The pills from last night were wearing off, leaving behind a hollow, jittery hangover that made her skin feel too tight for her body.
"Paige! Finally!"
The sharp, grating voice cut through the ambient noise of the set before she even reached the soundstage door.
It was Marcus, the film’s director. He was pacing near the monitor bank, a rolled-up script clutched in his hand like a club. Marcus was a darling of the thriller scene; brilliant, celebrated, and notoriously cruel to anyone he deemed beneath him. And right now, Paige was at the top of his target list.
He marched straight toward her, stopping barely a foot away. The entire soundstage, sound techs, camera operators, grips, costume assistants, instantly went dead silent. Everyone knew the drill. When Marcus went off, you looked down and prayed you weren’t next.
Marcus glared down at her, his eyes cold and disdainful as he took in her pale skin, the slight tremor in her hands, and the unmistakable exhaustion carved into her features.
"Look at yourself," Marcus spat, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet stage. "Are you serious right now, Paige?"
Paige kept her chin down, staring at the dust on his boots. "I’m ready to shoot."
"Ready?" He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound that made a few crew members flinch. "You look like you’ve been on a three-day bender. Look at your eyes! We are burning fifty thousand dollars an hour while you pull yourself together!"
He stepped closer, leaning in so his voice dropped into that low, venomous tone that hit far harder than yelling ever could.
"You are the most selfish, ungrateful talent I have ever had to work with," he sneered, jabbing a finger at her chest. "Do you have any idea how many brilliant, dedicated actors would crawl over broken glass to stand where you're standing right now? People who actually care about the craft?"
The words stung, but they didn't surprise her. They didn't even make her angry. Because as Paige stood there, absorbing every line of his tirade, a quiet, sickening voice in the back of her mind whispered: He's right.
The articles were right. Marcus was right. Her parents had been right. She was broken, ruined, and spoiled. She had been given the jackpot, a career millions would die for, and all she knew how to do was wreck it. She was a burden to the production, a plague to the crew, a mess of a human being who couldn't even keep her head straight for a shoot.
"I'm sorry, Marcus," she murmured softly, her voice barely audible. There was no defiance in it. No bite. Just a flat, hollow submission that seemed to irritate him even more.
"Save your apology," Marcus snapped, turning his back on her with a wave of his hand. "Just get to your mark. If you ruin this take, I swear to God, Paige."
Paige didn't look up to see who was watching. She could feel the judging eyes of fifty crew members on her back as she walked across the tape-marked floor to her spot near the center of the set.
The scene called for her character; a detective pushed to her absolute limit, to break down after finding a crucial piece of evidence.
She stepped up to the yellow tape on the floor, breathing in the smell of wood dust and stage smoke. She pulled off her hoodie, tossing it aside to reveal the distressed leather jacket of her character. She rolled her shoulders back, shook out her arms, and tilted her head up into the harsh key light.
The hangover was still screaming behind her eyes. The shame from Marcus’s words was still burning like acid in her throat. But as the assistant director called out, "Quiet on set! Roll camera... and... ACTION!" something shifted.
The haunted, hollow look vanished from Paige’s face, replaced instantly by the sharp, desperate intensity of her character. The mask slammed into place so fast, so seamlessly, it was almost horrifying.
She dropped to her knees on the cold concrete, her hands trembling as she picked up the evidence file. Tears; real, furious, agonizing tears born from a lifetime of being torn apart, welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks on command. Her jaw tightened, her breath hitched, and for three breathtaking minutes, Paige Bueckers didn't exist. There was only the raw genius of an actress who could turn her own living nightmare into art.
Across the soundstage, the camera operator stared through the viewfinder, completely breathless. Even Marcus sat back in his director's chair, tight-lipped and silent, unable to deny the terrifying truth:
No matter how broken she was off-camera, the moment the red light turned on, Paige was untouchable.
—
The soundstage doors slammed shut behind Paige, cutting off the heat of the studio lights and the lingering silence of a stunned crew.
She pulled the hood of her jacket low over her head, ignoring the assistant director yelling after her about a scene reset. Paige didn't care. She had delivered her takes, given them her soul on a silver platter, and now she just needed to escape.
She practically sprinted across the backlot to where her black SUV was idling. Tommy, her driver; and one of the only people who didn't talk to her like she was a ticking bomb, held the door open without a word. Paige slid into the back seat, burying her face in her hands the second the door clicked shut.
"Where to?" Tommy asked quietly through the glass partition.
"Annie's office," Paige muttered, her voice muffled against her palms. "She called a couple times while I was in makeup. Let's just get it over with."
Tommy gave a sympathetic nod in the rearview mirror and pulled out of the studio gates into the sprawling, sun-drenched LA traffic.
Twenty minutes later, Paige was riding the elevator up to the top floor of a high-rise in Century City. Annie Vance was a new addition to Paige’s life; she had taken Paige on as a client only six months ago after Paige finally fired her parents' old management team. Annie actually seemed to care whether Paige survived the industry. Paige respected her, which only made facing her right now feel ten times worse.
When the glass elevator doors slid open, Paige pushed past the reception desk and walked straight into the corner office.
Annie was sitting behind her desk, a tablet in hand. She looked exhausted, her eyes tracking over news feeds, but the moment the door clicked, she set the tablet down. There was no anger in Annie's expression; just genuine concern.
"Hey," Annie said softly, standing up from her chair. "Rough morning?"
Paige slumped onto the leather couch in the middle of the room, pulling her knees up to her chest like a shield. "Marcus tore me a new one," she admitted quietly, staring down at her sneakers. "He's not wrong, though. I look like shit and I feel worse."
Annie walked over, and sat on the coffee table right across from Paige. She pushed a bottle of water and a warm coffee toward her.
"Marcus is a jerk who doesn't know how to talk to people," Annie said gently, but her tone carried a serious weight. "But Paige... I'm worried about you. And it's not just Marcus. Look at what came across my desk this morning."
Annie slid a small stack of printouts toward her. Tabloid headlines stared back at Paige: PAIGE BUECKERS: HOLLYWOOD'S LOST CAUSE, THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL, INSIDERS CLAIM BUECKERS IS UNWORKABLE.
"The media is having a field day," Annie sighed, rubbing her temples. "I’ve spent the last three hours on the phone with studio heads trying to keep you on two upcoming projects. They're terrified, Paige. Not because you aren't brilliant; you're the best actress of your generation and everyone knows it, but because the public narrative is out of control. All anyone sees right now is a tragedy in the making. They view you as unsafe, unstable."
Paige stared at the paper stack, feeling a bitter, familiar knot tighten in her chest. She hated how much trouble she was causing the one person who had actually tried to help her.
"I give them everything on camera, Annie," Paige murmured, her voice cracking slightly. "I don't know how to fix the rest of it."
"I know you do," Annie said softly, reaching out to give Paige’s arm an encouraging squeeze. "I know how hard you work. But we need to protect you. We need to flip the script. If we don't give the media something else to talk about, they are going to write your obituary before you even turn twenty-two."
Paige looked up, her bright blue eyes rimmed with red. "What do you mean? What kind of distraction?"
Annie took a slow breath, picking her words carefully. "We give them a love story."
Paige blinked, taking a second to process that. "A... what?"
"A love story," Annie repeated gently. "A relationship. Something that changes the conversation entirely. The public loves a redemption arc, Paige, especially one driven by love. It gives people a reason to root for you again. It gives the studios the reassurance that you have a stable life, a support system, a reason to stay grounded."
Paige stared at her manager, a dry, self-deprecating laugh barking out of her chest. "Annie, are you serious? Have you looked at me lately? No one in their right mind is falling in love with me."
Annie offered a soft, sympathetic smile.
"Well," Annie said quietly, "thank God you act for a living then."
The room went completely silent.
Paige slowly sat up straight, her eyebrows pulling together as the reality of what Annie was proposing hit her. "Wait. No. You can't be serious."
"Paige, listen to me—"
"You want me to fake a relationship?!" Paige pushed herself off the couch, stepping back as panic flared in her chest.
"I want to save your career so you can actually have a future," Annie said urgently, standing up to meet her, her tone full of desperate care rather than malice. "We hire someone. Someone completely outside of this world. Someone sweet, normal, totally untouched by the tabloids. We set up an arrangement. A few photos, a couple of public appearances. After a few months, an engagement. Eventually, a wedding. It gives you a shield, Paige. It buys you time to actually get healthy without the press picking your bones clean every single day."
"A wife?!" Paige repeated, her voice rising in sheer disbelief. "You want me to pay someone to pretend to be my girlfriend? To be my fiancée? Annie, that’s insane! That’s fake, it’s creepy, it’s..."
"It's protection," Annie pleaded softly, holding her hands up. "It’s a business arrangement that keeps the negativity away from you while we rebuild your life. I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to keep you from getting any worse."
Paige stood in the center of the office, her chest heaving as she stared at Annie. She knew Annie was coming from a place of love and protection; which almost made it harder, but the idea of scripting her private life made her feel sick to her stomach.
"I can't," Paige whispered, her voice trembling. "I can't buy a person to act like they care about me."
"Paige, please just think about—"
"I can't do it, Annie," Paige said firmly, pulling her hood up over her head. "I'm sorry. I just can't."
Before Annie could say another word, Paige turned on her heel and pushed open the office door, heading straight for the elevator to escape before anyone could see the tears stinging her eyes.
—
Paige hadn't slept. Between the hangover, the director’s tirade from yesterday, and Annie’s insane proposal about a fake relationship, her mind had spent the last eight hours running in relentless, exhausting circles.
A soft, hesitant knock echoed against the thin metal door of her trailer.
Paige winced, burying her face in her pillow for a second before pushing herself up. "It’s open!" she called out, her voice rough and gravelly from sleep deprivation.
The door swung inward, and for a second, Paige completely forgot how to breathe.
Standing in the doorway was a girl holding a clipboard.
"Hi, sorry to bother you so early," the girl said, her voice gentle and slightly nervous. "I’m Azzi. Azzi Fudd. I’m the new production intern, I’m going to be helping out around set and assisting you and the rest of the cast."
Paige just sat there on the edge of her trailer couch, frozen.
Her mind went completely quiet as her eyes took Azzi in. The very first thing that hit Paige was just how breathtakingly beautiful she was. Azzi had glowing skin, wide brown eyes, and stunning dark curls that spilled over her shoulders. When Azzi offered a polite, nervous little smile, Paige felt her chest tighten; because the smile revealed the cutest pair of bunny teeth and a single, deep dimple on her cheek that was so gorgeous it was almost unfair.
Jesus, Paige thought, her heart doing a weird, sudden flip.
"I just wanted to drop off today's updated call sheet and check in," Azzi continued, stepping fully inside and setting a paper on the small table. She looked at Paige, her eyes softening with genuine concern as she noticed how exhausted the actress looked. "Is there anything I can get for you to start your morning? Coffee, water... anything at all?"
"Yeah, actually," Paige said, her voice dropping into a quiet, slightly raspy tone. "Some Advil would be amazing. My head feels like it's being hit with a sledgehammer."
"On it," Azzi said instantly, her face lighting up with a warm, eager expression. "I'll be back in two minutes!"
She turned and hurried out, leaving the door ajar. Paige leaned back against the cushions, letting out a breath she didn't realize she’d been holding.
True to her word, Azzi was back in less than two minutes, holding a fresh bottle of water and two pills in her palm.
"Here you go," Azzi said gently, handing them over. She lingered by the doorway, giving Paige space.
"Thanks, Azzi," Paige murmured, tossing the pills back and swallowing them down. "You're a life saver."
"Of course," Azzi smiled, that single dimple making another appearance. "Are you heading down to soundstage four now? I can walk with you."
"Yeah, let's go," Paige muttered, grabbing her jacket and pulling her hood up.
They stepped out into the crisp morning air, walking side by side down the wide asphalt lanes between the massive soundstages. Usually, Paige walked with her head down, rushing to avoid making eye contact with crew members who were whispering about her latest scandal. But with Azzi walking right next to her, the weight on her shoulders felt... lighter.
"So," Paige said, glancing sideways at Azzi, trying to play it smooth while secretly taking in the way the sunlight hit the girl's curls. "How are you liking it here so far? Hollywood keeping you busy?"
Azzi let out a soft, melodic laugh. "Oh, it's chaos, honestly. I'm a production intern, so I expected a lot of running around, but I've mostly been getting yelled at for bringing the wrong brand of almond milk to people." She grinned, looking over at Paige with bright, open eyes. "To be completely honest, you're actually the nicest person I’ve met here so far."
Paige stopped dead in her tracks for a split second, her eyes widening slightly before she forced her feet to keep moving.
The nicest person she's met?
Paige's chest swelled with a sudden, overwhelming warmth. Azzi, sweet, gorgeous, soft-spoken Azzi, was standing right here, looking at her with kindness, completely untainted by the things written about her. She wasn't judging her. She didn't look at Paige like she was broken.
Paige kept her face composed, offering just a small, subtle smirk so she wouldn't embarrass herself, but inside, her heart was beating faster than it had in months.
"Well," Paige said softly, her eyes locking onto Azzi’s with a rare, genuine warmth. "Don't let the secret out. I've got a reputation to maintain."
Azzi giggled, the sound making Paige’s stomach do another flutter.
As they reached the doors of the soundstage, Paige felt a sudden, sharp pang of disappointment that the walk was already over. She didn't want to go inside and pretend to be someone else for twelve hours. She just wanted to stand out here and listen to Azzi talk.
I want to talk to her all the time, Paige realized with terrifying clarity as Azzi held the soundstage door open for her with a sweet smile. I need to keep talking to her.
The break between takes couldn't come fast enough. As soon as Marcus yelled, "Cut! Moving setups!", Paige bypassed her chair, her assistant, and the touch-up crew, her eyes sweeping the crowded perimeter of the soundstage.
She spotted her near the crafts table. Azzi was holding a stack of call sheets, leaning against an equipment trunk and looking exhausted, but the second her eyes met Paige's, her face lit up.
"Hey," Paige said, leaning one shoulder against the wall next to her. "Surviving?"
"Barely," Azzi laughed softly, tucking a curl behind her ear. She looked up at Paige, her eyes wide and full of genuine awe. "I got to watch your last take from behind the monitors, though. You were incredible. Seriously. So, so talented."
Warmth rushed straight to Paige’s face. Coming from Marcus or the producers, compliments felt like business transactions. But from Azzi it felt like winning an Oscar. Paige was absolutely over the moon, her stomach doing backflips as she forced out a casual grin.
"Thanks," Paige said, her voice dropping an octave, soft and genuine.
They talked for a few more minutes before the second assistant director called Paige back to set, leaving Paige floating on a cloud for the rest of the shoot.
By the time wrap was called for the night, the sun had long set, leaving the studio lot bathed in harsh overhead floodlights and cold night air. Paige was exhausted, her bones aching as she walked back toward the row of trailers, her hands buried deep in her jacket pockets.
As she rounded the corner near the equipment trucks, she heard raised male voices and loud, obnoxious laughter.
Paige instinctively slowed her steps. Two of her male co-stars were leaning against a van, holding paper cups of coffee and laughing amongst themselves.
"I'm telling you, man, she’s totally out of her depth," one of them said, tossing his cup into a bin. "I heard the line producer talking. She only got this internship because production took pity on her for being dirt poor."
"Seriously?" the other snickered, leaning in. "Well, she's gorgeous. Shit, maybe she’d be open to a little private arrangement. I’d happily pay her rent if she made it worth my while."
They both burst into loud, disgusting laughter.
Paige’s whole body went rigid.
A cold, blinding fury erupted in her chest, so violent it made her knuckles turn white inside her pockets. Her jaw locked, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the back of their heads. She wanted to walk over there and smash their faces into the asphalt. She wanted to ruin them. She knew exactly what it felt like to be looked at like a piece of meat, to be talked about like trash by men with power and money; and the thought of them directing that filth at Azzi, potentially acting on it, made Paige’s blood boil with a terrifying intensity.
She didn't confront them. She knew a fight on set would just end up in the news and somehow get blamed on her or cause trouble for Azzi.
Instead, Paige turned sharply on her heel and marched straight to her trailer.
She slammed the door shut, locked it, and yanked her phone out of her pocket with hands that were shaking with adrenaline. She didn't hesitate. She dialed Annie’s number.
Annie picked up on the second ring. "Paige? Is everything okay? Did something happen on set?"
Paige stood in the middle of her trailer, breathing heavily, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the vanity mirror. The dark circles were still there, the exhaustion was still heavy, but for the first time in months, her eyes were sharp, clear, and completely focused.
"Annie," Paige said, her voice dropping into a low, dead-serious tone that made her manager instantly go quiet on the other end of the line. "That fake relationship idea."
There was a brief pause on the phone. "Yeah?"
"I'll do it," Paige said, her heart pounding against her ribs as Azzi's smile and the cruel words of those actors, echoed in her mind. "As long as I get to pick the girl, she’s an intern on set."
Annie was quiet for a long second on the other end of the line, the rustle of papers pausing entirely. "Paige, slow down. An intern? What are you talking about?"
Paige gripped her phone tightly, pacing the narrow floor of her trailer. The anger from earlier was still humming in her veins, but behind it was a sudden, crystal-clear resolve.
"Her name is Azzi Fudd," Paige said, the words tumbling out fast and decisive. "She started today on set. Annie, she's... she’s perfect. She’s gorgeous, she’s so sweet, and the press would eat her up. She likes talking to me."
"Paige…" Annie cautioned, her tone shifting into pragmatic manager mode. "Why would a random intern agree to fake-date a star with your level of public heat?"
"Because she's drowning," Paige said, her voice dropping into a fierce, protective lower register. "She's poor and working her ass off for pennies. I can fix that for her, Annie. I can give her money. I can give her a safe place to live, a comfortable life, a real safety net. It’s a win-win."
Paige paused, her jaw tightening as the scene near the equipment trucks flashed in her mind again.
"And besides," Paige adde, "I already overheard two of my co-stars making disgusting jokes about her. Talking about taking advantage of her financial situation, I could help her."
Annie let out a long breath over the speaker. "Okay. Okay, I hear you.
If you're serious about this, I'll have non-disclosure agreement ready by tonight, and we can—"
"No," Paige cut in sharply.
"No?" Annie sounded confused. "Paige, an NDA is standard procedure for an arrangement like this. You need legal protection—"
"No NDAs," Paige said firmly, leaving zero room for argument. "I’m not putting a contract in her face and treating her like a threat. I’m not gonna make her feel like she’s being controlled or trapped. She’s not gonna run to the tabloids."
Annie was silent for a moment, clearly weighing the risks, but the conviction in Paige's voice was hard to fight.
"Fine," Annie finally agreed with a soft sigh. "But how are you going to approach her? You can't just throw money at a girl and ask her to move in with you."
"I'll handle it," Paige murmured, her eyes softening as she pictured Azzi’s dimpled smile and soft curls. "It will be fine."
—
The next morning, the knock on Paige’s trailer door was soft and hesitant.
Paige pulled the door open to find Azzi standing on the step, holding a steaming cup of coffee from a shop down the street, not the cheap stuff from crafts.
"Hey," Azzi said, her smile instantly appearing, single dimple and all. "I brought you a real vanilla latte. I figured you needed something good before shooting, especially since you have an off day tomorrow. You should really rest up."
Paige took the cup, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s, sending a strange, warm spark up her arm. "Thanks. You're the best." Paige paused, stepping back into the trailer. "Hey... do you have a second? Can you sit down?"
Azzi looked a little surprised, but nodded, stepping inside and taking a seat on the small couch. "Is everything okay?"
Paige shut the trailer door for privacy, before walking over and sitting in the armchair opposite her. She rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly feeling a knot of nerves tight in her throat.
"I overheard some people talking yesterday," Paige started quietly, keeping her eyes fixed on Azzi. "Near the equipment vans. They were... talking about your financial situation."
Azzi’s smile vanished instantly. The color drained from her face, her shoulders squaring up as a defensive, uncomfortable wall slammed up between them. She shifted in her seat, looking down at her hands, her jaw clenching.
"Paige, please," Azzi murmured, her voice tight. "I just came to drop off the coffee. I don't really want to talk about my bank account or debt with—"
"I'm not judging you, Azzi. I swear I'm not," Paige said quickly, leaning forward, her tone urgent and genuine. "Listen to me. As you probably know from every news article on the internet, I am in deep shit right now. My reputation is in the gutter, the press is tearing me apart, and I need a distraction."
Azzi stared at her, her eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp anger as she put two and two together in her head. She stood up abruptly from the couch.
"I'm not going to sleep with you for money," Azzi said, her voice shaking with quiet indignance. "I don't care how rich or famous you are, I'm not doing that. I'm leaving."
"No! Wait, Azzi, stop—" Paige scrambled to her feet, holding her hands up in immediate panic, her heart slamming against her ribs. "That is not what I meant! That is not what I want!"
Azzi paused with her hand on the door handle, looking back over her shoulder, still deeply guarded and furious.
"I am so sorry," Paige breathed out, her eyes wide. "I phrased that terribly. I am not asking you to touch me, or sleep with me, or do anything sexual. Ever. That’s not what this is."
Azzi didn't let go of the handle, but she stopped moving. "Then what are you talking about?"
Paige took a slow, stabilizing breath, forcing her voice into a calm, steady rhythm.
"I need a fake relationship," Paige explained clearly. "I need the media to stop talking about my drug problems and start talking about a love story. So here’s my offer: I will give you a place to live in my house; your own bedroom and bathroom, total privacy, complete safety. I will pay off every single penny of whatever debt you have. In exchange, you pretend to be my girlfriend."
Azzi blinked, her mouth opening slightly in sheer shock. "Pretend... to be your girlfriend?"
"That’s it," Paige said firmly. "All you’d have to do is travel with me sometimes, walk a few red carpets, let the paparazzi catch us holding hands, and smile for the camera. Other than that? You have your own life. No physical expectations. Just an arrangement."
Azzi stood frozen by the door, completely speechless, processing the insane scale of the offer.
Paige stepped back, giving her space. "There is zero pressure here. If you say no right now, nothing changes. I won't get you fired, I won't blacklist you, I won't be mean to you on set. You can walk out that door, we forget I ever said this, and I’ll still talk to you like normal tomorrow."
The trailer went dead silent. The weight of the offer hung in the air between them.
Azzi let out a long, shaky breath, her hand slowly slipping off the door handle. She looked at Paige, searching the actress's face for any sign of lie or manipulation, but all she found was raw, desperate honesty.
"I..." Azzi swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "I need to think about it. This is... a lot."
"I know," Paige said gently. She grabbed a small piece of paper from her vanity, scribbled her number on it, and walked over, handing it to Azzi. "Take your time to think about it and call me whenever."
Azzi took the paper, nodding slowly as she tucked it into her pocket. She turned toward the door, but before she could turn the handle, Paige’s voice stopped her once more; dropping into a tone so cold, strict, and serious it made Azzi freeze.
"Azzi. Look at me."
Azzi turned back around. Paige was stepping closer, her expression deadly serious.
"If anybody besides me ever asks you to come into their trailer," Paige said, her voice low and uncompromising, "or a closet, or a back room, or an empty soundstage... you say no. Do you understand me? I don't care if it's the director, the lead actor, a producer, or the studio head. You say no, you turn around, you walk away and come find me."
Azzi stared at her, stunned by the sudden severity in Paige's voice.
"Do you understand me," Paige repeated, stepping closer until she was looking right down into Azzi's eyes. "Promise me you won't go anywhere alone with any of those men."
Azzi swallowed, seeing the genuine fear and care in Paige’s eyes. She gave a firm, clear nod. "I promise. I understand."
Paige relaxed slightly, the tension leaving her shoulders. "Okay. Good."
Azzi gave her one last, lingering look; a mixture of confusion, awe, and something softer, before opening the trailer door and stepping out, leaving Paige alone with her thumping heart.
—
Paige stood on the balcony of her Hollywood Hills home, leaning her forearms against the railing. Below her, the endless sea of city lights stretched out like a glittering grid, but Paige wasn't really looking at the view.
She held a thin cigarette between her index and middle finger, watching the tiny ember glow orange against the dark every time she took a drag.
Her phone sat silent on the glass table behind her. It had been hours since Azzi left her trailer. Paige was practically vibrating with a mix of nervous energy and dread, her mind replaying the conversation over and over. Did I scare her off? Did I sound like a lunatic? What if she quits the internship altogether?
Suddenly, the screen lit up, buzzing against the glass with a loud, sudden vibration that made Paige jump.
She practically dropped her cigarette, flicking it out into the ash tray as she lunged for the phone.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she tapped the screen awake. An unknown number sat at the top of her notifications:
Unknown: Hey, it’s Azzi. If the offer is still open I’ll do it.
Paige stared at the text, the haze that usually clouded her brain completely evaporating in a single, electric second.
A massive, uncontrollable grin spread across her face; a real, genuine smile that she hadn't felt in years. She bit her lower lip, practically giddy, running a hand through her hair as a breathless laugh escaped her chest. She paced the length of the balcony, clutching the phone to her chest for a second before frantically typing back with flying thumbs:
Paige: It’s open. Send me your address, I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon.
The reply came back almost instantly:
Azzi: [Address Sent]
Azzi: See you tomorrow, Paige.
Paige looked at the map pin on her screen, the flutter in her stomach refusing to settle down. For the first time in as long as she could remember, Paige actually couldn't wait for tomorrow.
—
The next afternoon, Paige pulled up to Azzi’s apartment building in a matte-black Range Rover. The neighborhood was modest, a stark contrast to her own, and it only reinforced Paige’s quiet resolve to give Azzi an upgrade.
She tapped the horn twice. Moments later, the front door opened, and Azzi stepped out carrying a single backpack over her shoulder and holding a small duffel bag. She looked ridiculously cute in an oversized sweater and jeans, her dark curls bouncing as she walked down the steps.
Paige immediately killed the engine and hopped out, taking the duffel bag from Azzi’s hand before Azzi could protest.
"Hey," Paige said, her voice dropping into that smooth, quiet register, a small smirk playing on her lips.
"Hey," Azzi smiled, her single dimple making an immediate appearance. She looked up at the SUV, then back at Paige. "I... I packed a few essential things for now, but I wasn't sure how to handle the rest of my room."
"Don't worry about it," Paige said, tossing the bag into the back seat and holding the passenger door open for her. "I'm having movers come by tomorrow to pack up all your clothes and bring it over."
Azzi climbed into the passenger seat, looking a little overwhelmed as Paige rounded the car and slid into the driver's side. As Paige pulled out into traffic, she noticed Azzi’s hands tightly clasped in her lap, her fingers picking nervously at her jeans.
"You okay?" Paige asked, throwing her a quick sideways glance.
"Yeah," Azzi breathed out, letting out a nervous laugh. "Just... super nervous. I've never lived in a mansion, or fake-dated a celebrity..."
Paige chuckled softly, leaning back against her seat with one hand on the steering wheel. "Don't be nervous. The house is nice, and I promise I don't bite."
Azzi let out a soft giggle, the tension instantly melting out of her shoulders.
Twenty minutes later, they pulled through an iron security gate that slid open to reveal Paige’s property.
Azzi’s jaw practically hit her lap. "Paige... this is your house?"
"Yeah," Paige said, parking in the circular driveway.
They stepped out, and Azzi stood in the driveway for a second, just taking it all in; the infinity pool overlooking the city, the floor to ceiling glass walls, the landscaped greenery.
"It’s unreal," Azzi whispered in complete awe, looking around like she had just stepped onto a fairytale. "It’s so clean and gorgeous."
Paige grabbed Azzi’s duffel bag from the trunk, walking up next to her with a amused grin. "Look, don't give me too much credit," Paige said dryly. "It’s only this nice because I pay a team of cleaners to fix my mess three times a week."
Azzi burst out laughing, a bright, clear sound that made Paige’s chest swell with an absurd amount of pride.
"Come on, let me show you your room," Paige said, leading the way inside.
They walked through the entryway and up a grand staircase to the guest room. Paige pushed open a set of double doors at the end of the hall.
The room was huge; larger than Azzi's entire apartment. It featured a king-sized bed, a private balcony overlooking the hills, and a massive ensuite bathroom complete with a deep soaking tub and a rainfall shower.
Azzi stepped inside, her eyes wide as she ran her hand over the duvet, then walked into the bathroom, gasping softly at the marble finishes.
"Paige... this is incredible," Azzi said, turning around with a glowing, radiant smile, her bunny teeth on full display. "I love it. It’s the nicest place I’ve ever seen."
Standing in the doorway with her hands shoved into her hoodie pockets, Paige felt a surge of pure, warm satisfaction hit her right in the center of her chest.
She was completely obsessed with it. Seeing Azzi stand in her house looking genuinely, deeply happy; because of her, was the best drug Paige had ever had.
"I'm glad you like it," Paige said softly, a real, fond smile warming her blue eyes. "It’s all yours."
After Azzi unpacked the few things she brought, Paige led her downstairs to the main living room. The couch was a massive, cloud-like sectional that looked big enough to sleep four people, pushed right up against the glass windows.
Paige tossed her shoes off and slouched into one end of the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest. She patted the spot next to her, watching as Azzi curled up on the cushions, still looking around the space like she couldn't quite believe she lived here now.
"Okay," Paige said, setting her elbow on the back of the couch and resting her chin in her hand, her eyes completely locked onto Azzi. "I need to know everything about you."
Azzi giggled, adjusting the sweater sleeve over her hand. "Alright, hit me. What do you need to know?"
"First, most important question," Paige said with utter seriousness. "Favorite foods. Go."
"Oh, easy," Azzi smiled, starting to count on her fingers. "I love a really good vodka pasta, sushi, chocolate chip cookies... oh, and cottage cheese. I eat it straight out of the tub."
Paige’s face instantly twisted in pure, visceral horror. She leaned back like Azzi had just confessed to a crime. "Cottage cheese? Azzi, no. That is revolting."
"It is not revolting!" Azzi laughed, grabbing a couch pillow and hugging it to her chest as she defended herself. "It’s high protein and delicious! Put a little fruit on it? Incredible."
"Absolutely not," Paige said dryly, though the tiny smirk on her face completely gave her away.
Azzi just shook her head, her dimple popping as she laughed. "Fine. What else?"
"Favorite color?"
"Pink," Azzi answered without missing a beat. "Definitely pink."
Paige’s eyes swept over Azzi, taking a mental note. Pink. Got it. "Flowers?"
"Pink roses," Azzi said softly, her eyes lighting up a little as she thought about it. "Tulips, too. And daisies. Anything pink really."
"Noted," Paige murmured, her mind already mentally ordering a ridiculous amount of pink roses to be delivered to the house tomorrow. "What about travel? Where in the world do you want to go?"
Azzi paused, looking out the giant glass window. "Italy," she said softly, a genuine dreaminess in her voice. "The Amalfi Coast. I’ve wanted to go since I was a little girl. And Paris, obviously. I want to see the old film archives there."
Paige watched the way Azzi’s eyes sparkled when she talked about her dreams. It was intoxicating.
"Consider it on the itinerary," Paige said smoothly.
Azzi looked over, blinking in surprise. "Wait, really?"
"We're supposed to be madly in love, right?" Paige smirked. "In love people go to Paris."
"What about... style? Like, do you like getting dressed up?"
"Oh, absolutely," Azzi said, her face brightening even more. "I love dresses; especially floral ones or anything pink and flowy. I just... haven't had a lot of money to buy nice ones lately."
Paige leaned back, a deep sense of satisfaction settling in her chest. She pictured Azzi in a soft, pink dress, walking a red carpet with her arm tucked into Paige’s.
"Well," Paige said, her voice dropping into a low, quiet murmur as a soft, fond smile touched her lips. "Lucky for you, your new girlfriend has really big credit card."
coming to tumblr and seeing my fav authors speak personally and explain processes and answer questions has literally giving me a serotonin boost this past week+ like how was i missing out for so long??? man I love ao3 but this is a whole new world whewww
guys is i need fic recs to READ not write. please send anything.
Soooo ik I said the 24th for the first chapter of overexposed but I have a bunch of chapters done and ready to be posted! Do yall want chapter one at midnight?
Midnight
Next Monday
Wait until the 24th
I don’t want yall to think this is me giving up on fmfias, that will still be getting updated every Thursday!!! It’s my baby and I could never abandon it but I’m really excited about this new one as well! 🩷
Thinking about golden hour rn 😪
I am looking for a fic and I hope it's still on here, although I fear the author may have left. It's a story about PB and Azzi being friends/basketball players and they love each other. Paige dad goes off on her about something and shops her off to the military. She doesn't tell Azzi and Azzi is devastated to find out that Paige left. Paige leaves Azzi a journal to read during her time. They both cling to each other in the absence. Paige gets hurt and the military calls Azzi's parents bcuz they are listed as her emergency contacts and they go to the military hospital to see her after all the time has passed. Then they heal and they deal with Paige's trauma, but end up together.
I hope it still exists somewhere. It was so good! Thanks!
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
A/N: One of you lovely people requested a one shot to “I Could Be A Florist” by Olivia Dean. Sending all the healing vibes to the Princess so she can kick ass on Wednesday 💕 I hope you love it!! xx Elle
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
Paige glanced at the clock above the register. 4:47 PM. Just over an hour until closing, and the Sunday afternoon lull had settled over the shop like a soft blanket. She'd already swept the floor twice, rearranged the display of potted succulents by the window, and trimmed the stems on the roses that had come in that morning. Now she was just killing time, reorganizing the ribbon spools by color when she didn't really need to.
Sundays were always slow. Most people bought their flowers earlier in the weekend, and by late afternoon, Stockbridge went quiet in that small-town way that Paige had grown up with. She didn't mind it. The stillness gave her time to think, to let her hands work while her mind wandered.
The bell above the door chimed.
Paige looked up, ready to offer her usual greeting, and the words died in her throat.
The woman who walked in was –
Beautiful didn't even cover it.
She was fresh-faced, glowing in the golden late-afternoon light that filtered through the shop windows. Loose overalls hung easy on her frame, one strap undone and dangling against a cropped pink tank top that showed just a sliver of warm brown skin at her waist. Brown sandals, simple and worn-in. Her hair was pulled up into a curly puff, with soft face-framing pieces that moved when she turned her head to take in the shop.
Paige's hands froze on the spool of lavender ribbon she'd been holding.
Oh.
Oh no.
The woman's eyes swept over the buckets of flowers lining the walls, the dahlias and snapdragons, the eucalyptus and baby's breath, and then landed on Paige. She smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made Paige forget she was supposed to be a functioning human being who ran a business.
"Hi," the woman said, her voice warm and a little tentative. "Are you still open? I know it's late."
Paige blinked. Nodded. Tried to remember how words worked. "Yeah. Yeah, we're open until six."
"Oh, good." The woman stepped further into the shop, her sandals soft against the wooden floor. "I wanted to browse for some flowers. For my coffee shop, actually. I just opened it a couple weeks ago, and I thought it'd be nice to have fresh flowers on the tables."
She owns a coffee shop. Paige filed that information away like it was vital. She's new in town. She wants flowers for her tables.
"That's a great idea," Paige said, finally finding her voice. She set the ribbon down and wiped her palms on her jeans, suddenly aware of the dirt under her nails, the way her hair was probably a mess from being in and out of the cooler all day. "Flowers make everything feel more alive."
The woman's smile widened. "Exactly. I want people to feel like they're somewhere special, you know? Not just grabbing coffee and leaving."
Paige nodded, maybe a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah. Yeah, I get that."
There was a beat of silence, and Paige realized she was just standing there, staring. She cleared her throat and gestured toward the rows of flowers. "So, uh, what kind of look are you going for? Something bright? Subtle? Seasonal?"
"I'm not totally sure yet," the woman admitted, moving toward a bucket of white roses. She reached out to touch one of the petals, gentle and careful. "I think I need to see what you have first. Get a feel for it."
"That works." Paige stepped out from behind the counter, her heartbeat doing something stupid and uneven in her chest. "Take your time. I can help you figure out what'll work best."
The woman glanced back at her, and there was something soft in her expression. Grateful, maybe. "Thanks. Oh, and – " She paused. "Would it be okay if I picked them up tomorrow? I didn't bring my car, and I don't want to carry a bunch of flowers all the way back."
"Yeah, of course," Paige said quickly. "I can have them ready for you in the morning. Or afternoon. Whenever works."
"Morning's perfect." The woman extended her hand. "I'm Azzi, by the way."
Paige took her hand, and the warmth of it sent a jolt straight through her. "Paige."
"Nice to meet you, Paige."
"Yeah," Paige said, a little breathless. "You too."
Azzi's smile lingered for a moment longer before she turned back to the flowers, and Paige stood there, rooted to the spot, trying to remember how to breathe.
Get it together, she told herself. She's just a customer.
But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true.
There was something about Azzi. Something in the way she moved through the shop, the way she looked at the flowers like they were the most important things in the world. There was something that made Paige feel like the world had just shifted slightly off its axis.
And she wasn't sure she wanted it to shift back.
"So," Paige started, clearing her throat. "Small bouquets for the tables. How many are we talking?"
Azzi tilted her head, thinking. "Maybe eight? Ten at most. I don't want them to be too big – just something simple that makes people feel like they're somewhere special."
Paige nodded, already running through options in her head. "Okay. And what kind of vibe are you going for? Bright and cheerful? Soft and romantic? Rustic?"
"Soft," Azzi said without hesitation. "But not too precious, you know? I want it to feel warm. Inviting." She paused, her fingers brushing over the petals of a cream-colored rose. "Like home."
Paige's chest did something stupid at that. "Like home," she repeated quietly.
Azzi glanced at her, and for a second, their eyes met. Paige forgot what she was supposed to be doing.
"Yeah," Azzi said, her voice softer now. "I want people to walk in and feel like they can stay awhile."
Paige swallowed and forced herself to look away, gesturing toward the buckets lining the wall. "Alright. Let's start with colors. What are you thinking?"
Azzi moved through the shop slowly, her sandals soft against the floor. She stopped in front of a bucket of pale pink ranunculus, her expression thoughtful. "I like these. They're delicate but not too sweet."
"Good choice," Paige said, stepping closer. "Ranunculus are great for small arrangements. They last a while, and they're not too heavy."
Azzi smiled at that. "You really know your stuff."
Paige shrugged, trying to play it cool even though her heart was doing something ridiculous. "I mean, I've been doing this my whole life. My dad used to own this place before he passed it down to me."
"Really?" Azzi turned to her, genuinely interested. "So you grew up here?"
"Pretty much," Paige said. "Stockbridge born and raised. I used to help my pops arrange bouquets when I was, like, eight. Thought I was so cool."
Azzi laughed, and the sound was warm and easy. "That's really sweet."
Paige felt her face heat. "What about you? What brought you to Stockbridge?"
Azzi's expression shifted, something quieter settling over her features. "I needed a change," she said after a beat. "I was living in Boston, working at this corporate coffee chain, and it just wasn't me, you know? I wanted to do something that felt like Azzi."
Paige nodded, watching the way the late-afternoon light caught Azzi's face, the way it made her skin glow. "So you opened your own place."
"Yeah." Azzi's smile returned, softer this time. "It's terrifying, honestly. But it's mine. And I want it to feel like a place people want to come back to."
"I think you're gonna do great," Paige said, and she meant it.
Azzi looked at her, and there was something in her eyes that made Paige's breath catch. "Thanks, Paige."
They stood there for a moment, the shop quiet around them except for the faint hum of the cooler in the back.
Paige cleared her throat and gestured toward another bucket. "What about these? White lisianthus. They're soft, kind of romantic. They'd pair really well with the ranunculus."
Azzi stepped closer, her shoulder brushing Paige's as she leaned in to look. Paige's pulse kicked up.
"I love them," Azzi said. "What else?"
Paige led her through the shop, pointing out eucalyptus for texture, a few sprigs of lavender for color, and some delicate baby's breath to fill things out. Azzi listened intently, asking questions, her hands moving gently over the flowers like she was already imagining them on her tables.
"You really care about this," Paige said, watching her.
Azzi glanced up, a little sheepish. "Is it that obvious?"
"In the best way," Paige said quickly. "It's nice. Seeing someone care that much about something."
Azzi's smile was small but genuine. "I could say the same about you."
Paige felt her face heat again, and she ducked her head, pretending to adjust a bucket of daisies. "So, uh, I think we've got a good selection here. I can put together a few sample arrangements tonight, and you can pick them up in the morning. See how they look in the space."
"That sounds perfect," Azzi said. She hesitated, then added, "Thank you, Paige. Really. You've been so helpful."
"It's no problem," Paige said, even though her heart was doing backflips. "I'm glad I could help."
Azzi lingered for a moment, like she didn't quite want to leave yet. Paige didn't want her to leave either.
"I should probably get going," Azzi said finally, glancing at the clock. "But I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Paige said, her voice a little too eager. "Tomorrow."
Azzi smiled one more time before heading toward the door, and Paige watched her go, the shop feeling a little emptier without her in it.
When the door closed behind her, Paige let out a long breath and leaned against the counter.
Tomorrow, she thought, and for the first time in a long time, she couldn't wait.
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
Paige had stayed up too late.
She knew it was stupid. She had to open the shop at nine, and by the time she'd finished the last arrangement, it was well past midnight. But she couldn't help herself. She kept adjusting stems, switching out sprigs of eucalyptus, tilting blooms just so until the light caught them right.
She wanted them to be perfect.
For Azzi.
By the time she finally crawled into bed, her hands still smelled like eucalyptus and her mind was still replaying the way Azzi had looked at her in the golden afternoon light.
Now, standing behind the counter at 10:47 AM, Paige was paying for it. She'd downed two cups of coffee already, but her eyes still felt heavy, and she kept catching herself staring at the door like Azzi might walk through it any second.
She didn't even know what time Azzi was coming.
The bouquets sat lined up on the worktable in the back, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. Eight of them, small and soft and exactly what Azzi had asked for. Paige had checked them three times already this morning.
The bell above the door chimed.
Paige's head snapped up, and there she was.
Azzi stepped inside, and Paige forgot how to breathe.
She was wearing a loose linen button-up today, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, tucked into high-waisted jeans that fit her just right. Her hair was down this time, curls falling past her shoulders, and she had on the same brown sandals from yesterday. She looked effortless. She looked beautiful.
"Hey," Azzi said, her smile immediate and warm.
"Hey," Paige managed, her voice coming out a little rough. She cleared her throat. "You're here."
Azzi laughed softly. "I said I would be."
"Right. Yeah. Of course." Paige wiped her palms on her jeans and gestured toward the back. "I, uh – I finished them last night. Let me grab them."
She disappeared into the workroom, her heart pounding stupidly hard in her chest. Get it together, she told herself. They're just flowers.
But when she came back out, arms full of the wrapped bouquets, and saw the way Azzi's face lit up –
It wasn't just flowers.
"Paige," Azzi breathed, stepping closer. "These are gorgeous."
Paige set them down carefully on the counter, suddenly nervous. "Yeah? You think they'll work?"
Azzi reached out, her fingers brushing over the petals of the ranunculus, tracing the soft curve of the lisianthus. She was so careful with them, like they were something precious. "They're perfect," she said quietly. "Seriously. They're exactly what I wanted."
Paige watched her, unable to look away. The way Azzi's hands moved over the flowers, the way her expression softened, the way she smiled like she meant it – it all made Paige's chest feel too tight.
"Can I – " Azzi glanced up at her. "Can I hold one?"
"Yeah, of course." Paige picked up one of the bouquets and handed it to her, their fingers brushing for just a second.
Azzi cradled it in both hands, bringing it closer to her face. She closed her eyes and breathed in, and Paige felt something shift in her chest.
"God, they smell amazing," Azzi murmured. When she opened her eyes again, they were bright, happy. "You really know what you're doing."
Paige shrugged, trying to play it cool even though her face was definitely turning red. "I mean, I try."
Azzi laughed, and the sound was so easy, so genuine, that Paige wanted to bottle it up and keep it forever.
"I can't wait to put these out," Azzi said, still holding the bouquet like it was something special. "People are going to love them."
"I hope so," Paige said, and then, because she couldn't help herself, she added, "I'm glad you like them."
Azzi looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a moment, the shop went quiet. The air between them felt charged, like something unspoken was hovering just out of reach.
Paige's pulse kicked up. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to do with her hands.
"Thank you, Paige," Azzi said softly. "Really. This means a lot."
Paige swallowed. "Anytime."
Azzi smiled again, and then she carefully set the bouquet back down on the counter. "Okay. I should probably get these back to the shop before they wilt in the heat."
"Right. Yeah." Paige grabbed a box from under the counter and started packing the bouquets in carefully, making sure they wouldn't get crushed. Her hands were shaking a little, and she hoped Azzi didn't notice.
When she was done, she handed the box over, and their fingers brushed again. This time, neither of them pulled away right away.
"Thanks again," Azzi said, her voice a little quieter now.
"Yeah," Paige said. "No problem."
Azzi lingered for just a second longer, like she didn't quite want to leave. Then she smiled one more time and headed for the door.
Paige watched her go, the shop feeling emptier the moment she was gone.
She leaned against the counter and let out a long breath, her heart still doing something stupid in her chest.
Tomorrow, she thought. Maybe she'll come back tomorrow.
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
Azzi came back the next Sunday.
Paige had told herself not to expect it. Told herself that Azzi had gotten what she needed – flowers for her shop – and that was that. But when 4:30 rolled around and the bell above the door chimed, Paige's head snapped up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.
There she was.
Azzi stepped inside wearing a loose white linen dress that hit just above her knees, the fabric catching the late afternoon light. Her hair was pulled back in a low bun, a few curls escaping to frame her face. She had on those same brown sandals, and a canvas tote bag hung from her shoulder.
She looked softer than last week. Warmer. And Paige felt her chest tighten in that now-familiar way.
"Hey," Azzi said, her smile easy and genuine.
"Hey." Paige set down the watering can she'd been holding. "You're back."
"I am." Azzi walked toward the counter, her eyes sweeping over the new arrangements Paige had put out that morning. "The flowers lasted all week. Everyone kept asking where I got them."
Paige felt her face heat. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Azzi's smile widened. "So I figured I'd come back. If that's okay."
"Of course it's okay," Paige said quickly. Too quickly. She cleared her throat. "I mean – yeah. What are you thinking this week?"
They fell into an easy rhythm. Azzi wandered through the shop, pointing out blooms she liked, asking questions about what would last longest, what colors would work together. Paige followed her, offering suggestions, her hands busy arranging stems while her mind stayed fixed on the way Azzi's voice sounded when she laughed.
When Azzi left that day, Paige found herself already counting down to the next Sunday.
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
The third Sunday, Azzi showed up in denim shorts and a sage green tank top, her hair pulled up in a curly ponytail, tendrils delicately framing her face. She had a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head, and when she smiled at Paige, it felt like the sun had come out from behind a cloud.
"I'm starting to think you plan your outfits just to mess with me," Paige said before she could stop herself.
Azzi blinked, then laughed. "What?"
"Nothing." Paige ducked her head, pretending to adjust a bucket of daisies. "You just – you always look really nice."
"Oh." Azzi's voice went softer. "Thanks, Paige."
They spent longer talking that week. Azzi told her about how she got her first regular at the coffee shop who always ordered the same thing – a cortado with oat milk – and how she'd started having it ready before he even walked in. Paige told her about the time she accidentally ordered two hundred roses instead of twenty and had to scramble to sell them all before they wilted.
When Azzi left, she paused at the door. "See you next week?"
"Yeah," Paige said, her heart doing that stupid thing again. "Next week."
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
By the fourth Sunday, Paige had started preparing for Azzi's arrival like it was an event. She made sure the shop was spotless, that the best flowers were front and center, that she didn't look like a complete mess when 4:30 rolled around.
Azzi walked in wearing overalls again – this time both straps fastened – over a white ribbed tank. Her hair was in two French braids, and she had a smaller dimple that Paige hadn't noticed before.
She looked so pretty it hurt.
"You're staring," Azzi said, but she was smiling.
"Sorry." Paige looked away quickly, her face burning. "I was just – thinking."
"About?"
About how I look forward to Sundays now more than anything else. About how you're the prettiest person I've ever seen. About how I don't know what I'm supposed to do with all these feelings.
"About what flowers to suggest," Paige said instead.
Azzi laughed, and the sound settled warm in Paige's chest.
That week, they talked about Stockbridge. About how Azzi was still getting used to the quiet, the way everyone seemed to know everyone. About how Paige had grown up here, how she couldn't imagine living anywhere else.
"It feels like home already," Azzi said softly, running her fingers over the petals of a peony. "I didn't think it would happen this fast."
Paige watched her, something tender unfurling in her chest. "I'm glad you're here."
Azzi looked up, and their eyes met. For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Azzi smiled. "Me too."
But before Azzi left that day, she paused at the counter. "Oh, I almost forgot." She pulled a small cup from her tote bag, the lid still warm. "I made you something. A latte, but with a little vanilla and honey. I wasn't sure if you'd like it, so I brought it just in case."
Paige took the cup carefully, their fingers brushing. "You made this for me?"
"Yeah." Azzi's cheeks flushed slightly. "I've been thinking about what you might like. You mentioned you weren't really a coffee person, so I thought something a little sweeter might be better. But if you hate it, I can make you something else next week."
Paige looked down at the cup, then back at Azzi. There was something different in the way Azzi was looking at her – something more intentional, more personal. This wasn't just about flowers anymore.
"I'm sure I'll love it," Paige said softly.
Azzi's smile widened. "Good. I'll bring you something different next week. I want to figure out what you like."
After Azzi left, Paige stood in the shop holding the warm cup, her heart doing something she couldn't quite name. It wasn't just that Azzi had brought her coffee. It was that she'd thought about it. That she'd paid attention to what Paige had said weeks ago and remembered it. That she wanted to know what Paige liked.
Paige took a sip, and it was perfect – warm and sweet and tasting like something more than just coffee.
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
The fifth Sunday, Azzi came in wearing a light blue sundress that made her skin glow. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she had on delicate silver jewelry that caught the light when she moved.
Paige forgot how to breathe for a solid ten seconds.
"You okay?" Azzi asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah," Paige managed. "You just – you look really pretty today."
Azzi's smile was soft, almost shy. "Thanks, P."
P. The nickname landed somewhere deep in Paige's chest and stayed there.
Before they moved through the shop, Azzi reached into her tote bag and pulled out another coffee cup, this one with a small pastry box tucked under her arm. "I brought you something," she said, her voice a little tentative. "I made a vanilla latte with a hint of cardamom this week. I thought it might be a little different from last week's, but still sweet enough that you'd like it."
Paige took the cup, their fingers brushing again. "You're really doing this? Bringing me coffee every week?"
"If you want me to," Azzi said, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I like thinking about what you might like. It's kind of become my favorite part of Sunday – figuring out what to make for you."
Paige's heart did something complicated in her chest. "I love it, Az. Thank you."
Azzi's smile widened. "Good. Because I have a whole list of ideas."
They didn't talk as much that week. Instead, they moved through the shop in comfortable silence, Azzi picking out flowers while Paige wrapped them carefully, their hands brushing more often than necessary. Between arrangements, Paige would take sips of the coffee, and each time she did, she'd catch Azzi watching her with that soft, intentional expression.
When Azzi left, she turned back at the door. "I'll see you next week, Paige."
"Yeah," Paige said, her voice quiet. "I'll be here."
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
By the sixth Sunday, it wasn't a question anymore. It was a ritual.
Azzi would walk in around 4:30, always dressed in that effortless way that made Paige's heart stutter. She'd arrive with a new coffee creation in hand – something she'd spent the week perfecting, a small gift wrapped in a paper cup and genuine care. A latte with vanilla and honey one week. A cold brew with lavender syrup the next. Each one thoughtfully crafted, each one a reminder that Azzi had been thinking about Paige all week long.
They'd talk while Paige put together her arrangements – about their weeks, about the town, about nothing and everything all at once. Paige would sip whatever Azzi had brought, and the coffee would taste like possibility.
And every week, Paige thought Azzi looked a little prettier than the last.
Every week, she looked forward to Sunday a little more – not just to see Azzi, but to discover what new flavor combination Azzi had dreamed up for her.
Every week, she fell a little harder.
She didn't know what to do about it. Didn't know if she should do anything at all.
But when Azzi smiled at her – really smiled, the kind that reached her eyes – and asked if Paige liked this week's creation, Paige thought maybe, just maybe, it didn't matter.
Because Sundays had become hers and Azzi's. Their ritual of flowers and coffee and the unspoken language they were learning to speak.
And that was enough.
For now.
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
The seventh Sunday, Azzi came in wearing a cream-colored sweater that hung off one shoulder and loose jeans that were cuffed at the ankles. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and she had on small silver hoops that caught the afternoon light.
She looked tired, Paige noticed. Not physically – just something in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
"Hey," Azzi said, her smile a little softer than usual.
Paige set down the shears she'd been using to trim hydrangeas and stepped out from behind the counter. "Hey. You okay?"
Azzi hesitated, reaching into her tote bag. "Yeah, just a long week. I brought you – " She pulled out a coffee cup, but as she extended it toward Paige, something in her expression shifted. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and Paige could see the exhaustion written all over her face now that she was looking closer.
Paige gently took the cup from her hands, but instead of taking a sip, she set it down on the counter. "You know what? I think tea sounds better today."
Azzi blinked. "But I made you – "
"I know you did," Paige said softly, her hand finding Azzi's arm. "And I love that you did. But you look like you need to sit down, Az. Come on. I'll make you some tea while we figure out this week's flowers."
Azzi didn't protest. She just nodded, letting Paige guide her toward the back of the shop.
They settled into the small break room Paige had set up in the back – a table, two mismatched chairs, and a kettle that had seen better days. Paige made chamomile, the way Azzi liked it, with a little honey.
Azzi wrapped her hands around the mug and breathed in the steam. "Thank you."
"Always," Paige said, sitting across from her.
They settled into the small break room Paige had set up in the back – a table, two mismatched chairs, and a kettle that had seen better days. Paige made chamomile, the way Azzi liked it, with a little honey.
Azzi wrapped her hands around the mug and breathed in the steam. "Thank you."
"Always," Paige said, sitting across from her.
They were quiet for a moment. Then Azzi spoke, her voice low. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
Azzi looked down at her tea. "Do you ever feel like you're running from something? Like you moved somewhere or started something new because you couldn't stay where you were?"
Paige's chest tightened. She thought about her answer carefully. "I think everyone's running from something. Or toward something. Sometimes both."
Azzi's lips curved into a sad smile. "Yeah. That sounds about right."
Paige waited. She didn't fill the silence. She just let it sit there, soft and patient, until Azzi was ready.
"I left someone," Azzi said finally. "In Boston. We were together for two years, and I thought – " She paused, swallowing. "I thought it was going to be forever, you know? But it wasn't. It was just exhausting. I kept trying to be the person she wanted, and I lost myself somewhere along the way."
Paige's throat felt tight. "I'm sorry, Az."
Azzi shook her head. "Don't be. Leaving was the best thing I ever did. It just took me a long time to realize I deserved better." She looked up then, her eyes meeting Paige's. "Coming here – opening the shop, starting over – it was the first time I felt like I could breathe in a really long time."
Paige didn't know what to say. She wanted to reach across the table and take Azzi's hand, wanted to tell her that she was brave and strong and deserving of everything good in the world. But instead, she just nodded. "I'm really glad you're here."
Azzi's smile was small but genuine. "Me too."
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
The eighth Sunday, the conversation shifted.
Azzi came in wearing a burnt orange cardigan over a white tank, her hair down in loose waves. She looked lighter somehow, like something had lifted.
Before Paige could even offer her usual greeting, Azzi was already pulling something from her tote bag, her face bright with excitement.
"Okay, so I've been thinking about this all week," Azzi said, practically bouncing on her heels as she extended a coffee cup toward Paige. "I wanted to try something new. I made you a vanilla latte with a touch of cardamom and a hint of maple syrup. I know it sounds weird, but I promise it works. The maple brings out the warmth in the cardamom, and it's not too sweet, and – " She paused, laughing at herself. "I'm rambling. Just try it."
Paige took the cup, their fingers brushing, and she could feel the warmth radiating from it. More than that, she could feel Azzi's enthusiasm, the care that had gone into this creation.
"You made this for me?" Paige asked softly.
"Yeah." Azzi's cheeks flushed slightly. "I've been thinking about what you might like all week. I wanted to get it just right."
Paige brought the cup to her lips and took a sip. The flavors bloomed on her tongue – warm, complex, perfectly balanced. It was exactly the kind of thing Azzi would create: thoughtful and beautiful and entirely her.
"Az, this is incredible," Paige breathed.
Azzi's smile widened, and she looked genuinely pleased. "Really? I was so nervous you wouldn't like it."
"I love it," Paige said, and she meant it in a way that went beyond just the coffee. "Thank you."
"You look happy," Paige said, unable to stop herself from smiling as Azzi settled into the shop.
Azzi laughed. "I had a good week. One of my regulars told me my cortado changed her life. I think she was being dramatic, but I'll take it."
Paige grinned. "That's because you're magic."
"Stop," Azzi said, but she was blushing.
They moved through the shop together, Azzi pointing out blooms she liked while Paige pulled them from their buckets. It was easy now, the rhythm they'd fallen into. Comfortable.
"What about you?" Azzi asked, glancing over her shoulder. "You've been here your whole life. Do you ever think about leaving?"
Paige paused, a stem of delphinium in her hand. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But I don't know. This place – it's home. My dad built this shop from nothing. He used to say that flowers were his way of making the world a little softer, you know? And when he passed it down to me, I felt like I had to keep that going."
Azzi turned to face her fully, her expression soft. "That's really beautiful, Paige."
Paige shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing it because I want to or because I feel like I have to."
"Do you love it?" Azzi asked.
Paige thought about it. About the early mornings and the aching hands and the way the shop smelled like earth and petals. About the way people's faces lit up when they walked in. About Sundays with Azzi.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "I do."
Azzi smiled. "Then that's all that matters."
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
By the ninth Sunday, they weren't just talking about flowers anymore.
Azzi arrived with her usual ritual – a fresh coffee cup extended toward Paige before they even settled into their conversation. This week it was a caramel macchiato with a hint of sea salt, something warm and grounding.
"I've been perfecting this one all week," Azzi said, her smile soft as Paige took the cup. "Was hoping you might like something a little richer today."
Paige wrapped her hands around the warmth, breathing in the aroma. "You're spoiling me, Az."
"Maybe I like spoiling you," Azzi replied, and there was something in her voice that made Paige's chest tighten.
Once they'd settled into the familiar rhythm – Paige sipping her coffee while Azzi moved through the shop – the conversation deepened.
Azzi asked about Paige's dad – what he was like, what he taught her, what Paige missed most. Paige told her about the way her dad used to sing off-key while he worked, about the way he always knew exactly what someone needed before they even asked.
Paige asked about Azzi's family, and Azzi told her about growing up with two brothers who never let her win at anything, about her parents who still called her every Sunday morning without fail.
"They worry," Azzi said, smiling. "But I love them for it."
Paige asked what Azzi's dreams were, and Azzi said she wanted her coffee shop to feel like a second home for people. She wanted to host open mic nights and book clubs and maybe, one day, expand.
"What about you?" Azzi asked. "What do you want?"
Paige hesitated. She thought about saying something safe, something easy. But Azzi was looking at her with those warm brown eyes, and Paige felt like she could say anything.
"I want to feel like I'm doing something that matters," Paige said. "I want to wake up and feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
Azzi's smile was soft. "I think you already are."
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
The tenth Sunday, Azzi arrived with her usual ritual – a fresh coffee cup extended toward Paige before they even settled into their conversation. This week it was a cortado with oat milk, made exactly the way Paige liked it.
"I remembered," Azzi said softly, handing it over. "From that first week when you mentioned you weren't really a coffee person. I've been perfecting this one all week – oat milk, a touch of vanilla, just enough sweetness that it doesn't overpower the espresso."
Paige took the cup, their fingers brushing, and felt something shift in her chest. Azzi had been thinking about her. Had been paying attention. Had remembered.
"Az, this is perfect," Paige breathed, taking a sip. The coffee was warm and smooth and exactly right.
Azzi's smile was small but genuine. "I'm glad."
Paige realized something then, standing in her shop with the warm cup in her hands and Azzi watching her with that soft, intentional expression.
Because it wasn't just about how pretty Azzi was anymore. It was about the way she remembered that Paige liked her coffee with oat milk. It was about the way she asked how Paige's week was and actually listened to the answer. It was about the way she laughed at Paige's terrible jokes and the way she looked at flowers like they were something precious.
It was about the way Paige felt when Azzi was around – like the world was a little softer, a little brighter, a little more.
And Paige realized, standing there in her shop with her hands full of peonies, that she didn't just have a crush on Azzi Fudd.
She cared about her. Deeply. In a way that felt bigger than anything she'd felt before.
And the thought of Sundays without her felt unbearable.
"Paige?" Azzi's voice pulled her back. "You okay?"
Paige blinked, realizing she'd been staring. "Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking."
Azzi tilted her head, her smile curious. "About what?"
About you, Paige wanted to say. About how much I look forward to seeing you. About how I don't know what I'd do if you stopped coming here.
But instead, she just smiled. "About how lucky I am that you walked into my shop."
Azzi's expression softened, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Azzi stepped closer, her voice quiet. "I'm the lucky one, Paige."
And Paige's heart, traitorous and hopeful, believed her.
It was about the way Paige felt when Azzi was around – like the world was a little softer, a little brighter, a little more.
And Paige realized, standing there in her shop with her hands full of peonies, that she didn't just have a crush on Azzi Fudd.
She cared about her. Deeply. In a way that felt bigger than anything she'd felt before.
And the thought of Sundays without her felt unbearable.
"Paige?" Azzi's voice pulled her back. "You okay?"
Paige blinked, realizing she'd been staring. "Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking."
Azzi tilted her head, her smile curious. "About what?"
About you, Paige wanted to say. About how much I look forward to seeing you. About how I don't know what I'd do if you stopped coming here.
But instead, she just smiled. "About how lucky I am that you walked into my shop."
Azzi's expression softened, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Azzi stepped closer, her voice quiet. "I'm the lucky one, Paige."
And Paige's heart, traitorous and hopeful, believed her.
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
The eleventh Sunday, Paige woke up with a plan.
She'd been thinking about it all week – how to ask, what to say, whether she was reading everything wrong. But every time doubt crept in, she remembered the way Azzi looked at her. The way she smiled when Paige said something stupid. The way she'd started calling her P like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She got to the shop early, even though it was Sunday and she didn't technically open until noon. She spent the morning putting together something special – a bouquet that wasn't for Azzi's coffee shop. This one was just for her.
Paige worked slowly, deliberately. She chose soft pink ranunculus because they were Azzi's favorite. White lisianthus for their first conversation. Eucalyptus because Azzi said it reminded her of fresh starts. And tucked in the center, a single peony – pale and perfect and just beginning to open.
Her hands shook a little as she tied the stems with twine.
What if she says no? The thought made her stomach twist. What if I'm reading this all wrong and she just sees me as the florist who makes her weekly arrangements?
But then she thought about the way Azzi had looked at her last week. The way she'd said I'm the lucky one like she meant it.
Paige took a breath and set the bouquet aside.
By the time 4:30 rolled around, she'd reorganized the ribbon spools twice, swept the floor three times, and checked her reflection in the window more than she cared to admit. She'd settled on a simple white t-shirt tucked into jeans, her hair pulled back in a low bun. Nothing fancy. Just her.
The bell chimed.
Paige's heart kicked up before she even turned around.
Azzi walked in wearing a loose sand-colored sweater that hung off one shoulder and loose light-wash jeans. Her hair was down in soft waves, and she had on those same brown sandals. She looked like summer fading into fall, warm and golden and impossibly beautiful.
"Hey, P," Azzi said, her smile immediate.
"Hey." Paige's voice came out a little rough. She cleared her throat. "You're here."
Azzi laughed softly. "I'm always here on Sundays."
Before Paige could respond, Azzi was already reaching into her tote bag, pulling out a coffee cup with the same care she always did. "I brought you something," she said, extending it toward Paige. "This week I tried a honey lavender latte. I wasn't sure if it would work, but I think the floral notes complement each other without being too sweet."
Paige took the cup, their fingers brushing, and the familiar warmth of the ritual settled over her. For a moment, everything felt normal. Safe. Like just another Sunday.
"Still spoiling me, Az," Paige said softly, wrapping her hands around the cup.
"I told you I like spoiling you," Azzi replied, and there was that soft smile again – the one that made Paige's chest ache.
They stood there for a beat, the shop quiet around them. Paige took a sip of the coffee, letting the honey and lavender bloom on her tongue. It was perfect. Azzi always made it perfect.
"Yeah." Paige wiped her palms on her jeans, suddenly aware of how nervous she was. "Yeah, you are."
There was a beat of silence. Azzi tilted her head, her expression curious. "You okay? You seem off."
Off didn't even begin to cover it. Paige felt like her heart was trying to climb out of her chest. "I'm good. Just – " She paused, then gestured toward the back. "Can you come with me for a second? I want to show you something."
Azzi's brows lifted, but she nodded. "Sure."
Paige led her through the shop, past the buckets of dahlias and snapdragons, past the worktable where she usually assembled Azzi's arrangements. She stopped in front of the small greenhouse attached to the back of the building – a space she rarely brought customers into. It was her favorite part of the shop, all glass and greenery and soft afternoon light.
She pushed the door open, and Azzi stepped inside.
"Paige," Azzi breathed, her eyes going wide. "This is beautiful."
The greenhouse was full of blooms in various stages of growth – roses climbing trellises, pots of lavender lining the shelves, hanging baskets of ivy trailing down from the ceiling. The late afternoon sun filtered through the glass, casting everything in a warm, golden glow.
"I wanted to show you this," Paige said quietly. "It's where I come when I need to think. Or when I need to feel close to my dad." She paused, her hands fidgeting at her sides. "It's my favorite place in the world."
Azzi turned to her, and there was something soft in her expression. "Thank you for sharing it with me."
Paige swallowed. "There's something else."
She walked over to the worktable in the corner and picked up the bouquet she'd made that morning. Her hands were shaking again as she turned back to Azzi.
"I made this for you," Paige said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not for your shop. Just... for you."
Azzi's lips parted, her eyes dropping to the flowers. She stepped closer, her fingers brushing over the petals. "Paige, it's gorgeous."
"It's ranunculus," Paige started, her words coming out in a rush. "Because they're your favorite. And lisianthus because that's what we talked about the first time you came in. And eucalyptus because you said it reminded you of fresh starts." She paused, her throat tight. "And the peony – "
"Is just beginning to open," Azzi finished softly, her eyes lifting to meet Paige's.
Paige nodded. "Yeah."
They stood there for a moment, the greenhouse quiet except for the faint hum of the ventilation system and the distant sound of birds outside.
"Azzi," Paige said, her voice trembling. "I need to tell you something."
Azzi's expression shifted, something careful settling over her features. "Okay."
Paige took a breath. "I look forward to Sundays more than anything else in my life. And it's not because of the flowers or because you're a good customer. It's because of you." She paused, her hands gripping the edge of the worktable. "I love the way you talk about your coffee shop like it's the most important thing in the world. I love the way you look at flowers like they matter. I love the way you call me P and the way you smile when I say something stupid."
Azzi's breath hitched, but she didn't say anything.
"I don't know if I'm reading this right," Paige continued, her voice breaking a little. "But I can't keep pretending that Sundays are just about flowers. Because they're not. They're about you. And I – " She swallowed. "I really like you, Azzi. And I was wondering if maybe you'd want to go out with me sometime. Like, on a date. A real one."
The silence that followed felt like it stretched on forever.
Azzi's eyes were glassy, her lips pressed together like she was trying to hold something back. Then, slowly, she smiled. "Paige Bueckers."
Paige's heart stuttered. "Yeah?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
The relief that flooded through Paige was so intense she almost laughed. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Azzi stepped closer, her hands coming up to cradle the bouquet. "I've been coming here every Sunday for months hoping you'd say something. I didn't know how much longer I could keep pretending I just needed flowers."
Paige let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "So, is that a yes?"
Azzi laughed, and the sound was warm and bright and everything Paige had been hoping for. "Yes, Paige. I'd love to go out with you."
Paige felt like her chest might burst. "Okay. Good. That's – that's really good."
Azzi's smile widened, and she looked down at the bouquet in her hands. "This is the most beautiful thing anyone's ever given me."
"You deserve beautiful things," Paige said softly.
Azzi looked up at her then, and there was something in her eyes that made Paige's breath catch. "So do you."
They stood there in the greenhouse, surrounded by blooms and soft light, and for the first time in weeks, Paige felt like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.
"So," Azzi said after a moment, her voice teasing. "When's this date happening?"
Paige grinned. "How about next Sunday? After you pick up your flowers?"
Azzi laughed. "I think I can make that work."
And when Azzi left that evening, bouquet cradled carefully in her arms, Paige stood in the greenhouse and let herself feel it – the hope, the joy, the terrifying, wonderful possibility of what came next.
Sundays had always been hers.
But now, they were theirs.
💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐☕️🪴💐
