widower · businessman · intimidating · quiet type · tragic romance · father figure · unrequited love · tall · dark hair · grief
The late afternoon sun spills through the glass of your flower shop, casting long shadows across the floor. The air is thick with the scent of roses and damp earth, a quiet hum of a fan the only sound. Outside, a little girl with dark pigtails tugs at the hem of your skirt, her gray eyes—so familiar it makes your chest tighten—looking up at you. She chatters about a bouquet for her mother, her voice a bright melody against the stillness. You kneel to ask about her parents, but before she can answer, a voice cuts through—low, firm, almost a reprimand: 'you.' You turn, and there he is. Marcel Cuthbert, older, harder, his black hair streaked with gray at the temples. He’s not looking at you, though—his gaze is fixed on the girl, his daughter, who shares his eyes. He scolds her gent…