Page 34 of All Your Dreams

“You don’t say,” I tease with a laugh and he joins me.

We pass the flower stand, and I slow to admire the colorful sea of buckets. There are wildflowers, daisies, sunflowers and little purple blooms I don’t recognize right at the front. Nothing is perfectly arranged, but still so pretty.

I lean in, inhaling deeply. “These are beautiful,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

Ollie watches me, then turns to the woman behind the table. “Which ones last the longest?”

I straighten, heat creeping into my cheeks. “You don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to.”

“I really don’t need them,” I insist, because my instinct is to refuse nice things, thinking that accepting them will put me in debt. That's how it was for years.

The middle-aged woman behind the table smiles, ignoring my comment. “Those,” she says, pointing to a bouquet of white blooms. “They’ll last up to two weeks.”

Before I can protest again, Ollie hands her cash. When he turns, he’s holding the bouquet out to me. “Here.”

I take them, fingers closing around the stems. “Thank you,” I manage.

“You wanted flowers, so of course I was going to get you some.”

The sweet, innocent words hit me harder than they should. Nathan never bought me flowers. He bought expensive things. Jewelry I wore only because I was supposed to. A coffee machine that required an instruction manual and stopped working after a few months. A new phone every year because he wanted the latest gadget. He loved solving problems with money.

But flowers? Never. Not even once. Which is odd, because I’ve always loved them. Plants, too. The sunroom in our house was full of them because of me. I watered, repotted and moved them to chase the light. I even talked to them constantly. Nathan would nod and keep scrolling on his phone, making my joy his background noise. He was also the one who told me to keep them all in one room so they wouldn’t ruin the decor.

I told myself it didn’t matter if he didn't share my interest or even listened to me talk about them. Now, holding flowers Ollie bought me, it suddenly matters. It’s not about the bouquet. It’s about being seen.

I swallow, forcing my expression back to normal. “You’re going to spoil me.”

His mouth twitches. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

We keep walking, and I find myself smiling down at the flowers every few minutes.

By the time we leave the market, Ollie’s tote bag is full of bread, jams and a few other items he insisted were essential. Tilly is still asleep, her face slack with peace. I’m jealous of her ability to take long naps during the day. It’s another story at night.

Ollie looks my way. “Hungry?”

“Always,” I admit.

“There’s a brunch place around the corner.”

I immediately perk up. “Brunch is my love language.”

“This place has the best Eggs Benedict in the area,” he says with a light laugh.

“Say no more.”

The restaurant is busy, but not chaotic. Sunlight pours through big windows, bouncing off white tiles and wooden tables. The air smells of coffee, butter and citrus. The host leads us to a small table near the window and we squeeze in, the stroller parked beside us.

Tilly wakes as we sit down. “There’s my little princess,” Ollie says, lifting her. She lets out a soft coo, then another louder one, as if announcing her presence to the whole restaurant.

An older woman, sitting at the neighboring table, turns toward us, her eyes warm and kind. “Oh, your daughter is so precious,” she says, leaning closer. “Look at that little doll face.”

My stomach flips with the words I’ve wanted to hear for so long, but never have. The dream of having my own child one day feels more and more distant every day.

Ollie turns to the woman. “She’s special, isn’t she?”