Sam’s morning started as usual, a rush of activity to get herself ready for another day of work. But before she could finish tying her shoes, her phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up and saw it was a message from Liam. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I hope we get past this. I’ve been thinking a lot about you, and I hope today’s a better day for you.” Her fingers paused over the screen. His words felt heavy, almost too sincere. It had been hard for her to trust him, and this message only made her second-guess herself. She hadn’t forgiven him yet, but she couldn’t help but feel a pang of warmth at his simple apology. She put the phone down, unsure what to make of it. There were still so many things unresolved between them. She wasn’t ready to dive back into whatever this was, but part of her wanted to reply, wanted to bridge the gap between them. She shoved the phone into her bag, not ready to deal with it, and left for work. The next morning, Sam checked her phone before heading out the door. Another message from Liam. She felt a strange mix of anticipation and wariness. “Good morning, Sam. I hope today’s better than yesterday. I still keep thinking about that laugh of yours the other night. It felt like everything was okay, even just for a moment.” Sam smiled despite herself. His words were light, but they carried something that touched her. She could picture his grin in that moment, the one that had made everything feel right, even if just for a second. But she still wasn’t sure if she was ready to open herself up again. She set her phone down with a sigh and went on with her day, not replying. She felt the weight of his messages, the pull between wanting to reply and the hesitation that kept her from doing so. He kept sending warm and nice messages every morning for days without calling or making other gestures. And she kept ignoring them without replying. But one morning, Sam woke up expecting another message from Liam. Maybe it would be another text, simple and warm, something to keep the communication going. But as she glanced at her phone, there was nothing from him. Her heart sank a little. She felt a little disappointed. Had he given up? Was he done trying? The thought made her feel oddly empty. She didn’t realize how much she had been hoping for another message from him, hoping he would continue to reach out. Sam grabbed her things and left for work, pushing the feeling aside. Maybe he had decided it wasn’t worth it. Maybe she wasn’t worth it. At work, the teasing started almost immediately. As soon as she walked in, Sarah grinned and nodded at the bouquet of lilies on the counter. “Sam! You’ve got flowers. Someone’s got a secret admirer.” Sam blinked, confused. “I… what?” Sam asked, taking the flowers from her. The bouquet was beautiful—fresh lilies, their petals pure white, almost glowing. A small card rested on top, but there was no name. No signature. Just a simple, almost cryptic line. “For the walk home always.” “Ooooh, someone’s trying to make up for something.” Sarah teased playfully. Sam felt the heat rise to her cheeks, the flowers in her hands feeling both foreign and familiar. She couldn’t help but smile softly, despite herself. The note wasn’t overbearing, but it was kind. Sam flushed a little but tried to brush it off. “Probably a mix-up. Someone ordered them for the wrong person.” “Right, sure,” Mike, the cook, said with a smirk. “A random waitress gets a bouquet of lilies? Happens all the time.” Marie, overhearing the exchange, leaned in with a grin. “Who’s sending you flowers, Sam? We’re all dying to know.” “Bet you it’s a big spender,” Mike joked, wiping his hands on his apron. “You’ve got the kind of guy who buys flowers for a diner girl.” Her coworkers weren’t buying it. They continued their playful teasing, calling out every time she walked past them. “Is he hot?” Marie asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’d better tell him to stop sending flowers. You’re gonna give this place a reputation,” Mike added with a smirk. Sam didn’t have an answer. She didn’t know what to make of it, but her mind kept returning to Liam. The bouquet felt like a message, a reminder of what he had said to her: that he was still here, that he cared. But she couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t decided whether she was ready to let him back in. As her shift ended, she made her way home, her mind still spinning. When Sam arrived home, she noticed James’s door was open, so she peeked inside. She caught him running his hand over a quiver hanging on the wall, admiring it with a huge, unguarded grin. He looked up and saw her. “You’re home. Look at this thing!” He said, running his fingers over the smooth leather. “It’s perfect.” Sam stepped closer, inspecting the quiver. It was custom made—obviously expensive. The leather looked well-worn, but polished, and the metal details were subtle, like they were made for someone who truly appreciated them. She recognized the quality immediately, her brother’s passion for archery making her an expert in all things related to bows and arrows. “That’s a pretty nice quiver,” she said, frowning. “Where’d you get it?” James shrugged, still grinning. “I found it wrapped up on the front porch this morning. It had my name on it, so I opened it.” Sam’s frown deepened. “You opened it without knowing who it was from?” “Yeah, I figured it might be from Uncle Ray,” James said nonchalantly. Sam raised an eyebrow. “Uncle Ray? Are you sure?” James shrugged again. “Could be. Who knows?” But Sam wasn’t convinced. Uncle Ray hadn’t shown much interest in them for years. And something about the timing of this gift—the quiver, the flowers—felt like it was connected to Liam. She thought about it for a moment, her mind racing. She found herself hesitating, then picked up her phone. She didn’t want to give in too easily, but she couldn’t deny the pull to reach out. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Then, almost before she could second-guess it, she typed, “We should meet up.” She stared at the screen for a few seconds, unsure of what would happen next. Would he respond? Was she being too impulsive? But she couldn’t help herself. She pressed send, unsure of what would follow, but knowing deep down that she still cared.
Sam’s morning started as usual, a rush of activity to get herself ready for another day of work. But before she could finish tying her shoes, her phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up and saw it was a message from Liam. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I hope we get past this. I’ve been thinking a lot about you, and I hope today’s a better day for you.” Her fingers paused over the screen. His words felt heavy, almost too sincere. It had been hard for her to trust him, and this message only made her second-guess herself. She hadn’t forgiven him yet, but she couldn’t help but feel a pang of warmth at his simple apology. She put the phone down, unsure what to make of it. There were still so many things unresolved between them. She wasn’t ready to dive back into whatever this was, but part of her wanted to reply, wanted to bridge the gap between them. She shoved the phone into her bag, not ready to deal with it, and left for work. The next morning, Sam checked her phone before heading out the door. Another message from Liam. She felt a strange mix of anticipation and wariness. “Good morning, Sam. I hope today’s better than yesterday. I still keep thinking about that laugh of yours the other night. It felt like everything was okay, even just for a moment.” Sam smiled despite herself. His words were light, but they carried something that touched her. She could picture his grin in that moment, the one that had made everything feel right, even if just for a second. But she still wasn’t sure if she was ready to open herself up again. She set her phone down with a sigh and went on with her day, not replying. She felt the weight of his messages, the pull between wanting to reply and the hesitation that kept her from doing so. He kept sending warm and nice messages every morning for days without calling or making other gestures. And she kept ignoring them without replying. But one morning, Sam woke up expecting another message from Liam. Maybe it would be another text, simple and warm, something to keep the communication going. But as she glanced at her phone, there was nothing from him. Her heart sank a little. She felt a little disappointed. Had he given up? Was he done trying? The thought made her feel oddly empty. She didn’t realize how much she had been hoping for another message from him, hoping he would continue to reach out. Sam grabbed her things and left for work, pushing the feeling aside. Maybe he had decided it wasn’t worth it. Maybe she wasn’t worth it. At work, the teasing started almost immediately. As soon as she walked in, Sarah grinned and nodded at the bouquet of lilies on the counter. “Sam! You’ve got flowers. Someone’s got a secret admirer.” Sam blinked, confused. “I… what?” Sam asked, taking the flowers from her. The bouquet was beautiful—fresh lilies, their petals pure white, almost glowing. A small card rested on top, but there was no name. No signature. Just a simple, almost cryptic line. “For the walk home always.” “Ooooh, someone’s trying to make up for something.” Sarah teased playfully. Sam felt the heat rise to her cheeks, the flowers in her hands feeling both foreign and familiar. She couldn’t help but smile softly, despite herself. The note wasn’t overbearing, but it was kind. Sam flushed a little but tried to brush it off. “Probably a mix-up. Someone ordered them for the wrong person.” “Right, sure,” Mike, the cook, said with a smirk. “A random waitress gets a bouquet of lilies? Happens all the time.” Marie, overhearing the exchange, leaned in with a grin. “Who’s sending you flowers, Sam? We’re all dying to know.” “Bet you it’s a big spender,” Mike joked, wiping his hands on his apron. “You’ve got the kind of guy who buys flowers for a diner girl.” Her coworkers weren’t buying it. They continued their playful teasing, calling out every time she walked past them. “Is he hot?” Marie asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’d better tell him to stop sending flowers. You’re gonna give this place a reputation,” Mike added with a smirk. Sam didn’t have an answer. She didn’t know what to make of it, but her mind kept returning to Liam. The bouquet felt like a message, a reminder of what he had said to her: that he was still here, that he cared. But she couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t decided whether she was ready to let him back in. As her shift ended, she made her way home, her mind still spinning. When Sam arrived home, she noticed James’s door was open, so she peeked inside. She caught him running his hand over a quiver hanging on the wall, admiring it with a huge, unguarded grin. He looked up and saw her. “You’re home. Look at this thing!” He said, running his fingers over the smooth leather. “It’s perfect.” Sam stepped closer, inspecting the quiver. It was custom made—obviously expensive. The leather looked well-worn, but polished, and the metal details were subtle, like they were made for someone who truly appreciated them. She recognized the quality immediately, her brother’s passion for archery making her an expert in all things related to bows and arrows. “That’s a pretty nice quiver,” she said, frowning. “Where’d you get it?” James shrugged, still grinning. “I found it wrapped up on the front porch this morning. It had my name on it, so I opened it.” Sam’s frown deepened. “You opened it without knowing who it was from?” “Yeah, I figured it might be from Uncle Ray,” James said nonchalantly. Sam raised an eyebrow. “Uncle Ray? Are you sure?” James shrugged again. “Could be. Who knows?” But Sam wasn’t convinced. Uncle Ray hadn’t shown much interest in them for years. And something about the timing of this gift—the quiver, the flowers—felt like it was connected to Liam. She thought about it for a moment, her mind racing. She found herself hesitating, then picked up her phone. She didn’t want to give in too easily, but she couldn’t deny the pull to reach out. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Then, almost before she could second-guess it, she typed, “We should meet up.” She stared at the screen for a few seconds, unsure of what would happen next. Would he respond? Was she being too impulsive? But she couldn’t help herself. She pressed send, unsure of what would follow, but knowing deep down that she still cared.
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