"Pale purple," Dominic said, his dark eyes never leaving her face.

Two days after Victor’s intrusion, Dominic arrived at Willow & Bloom at closing time.

He didn't wear his usual dark business suit. He wore a crisp white linen shirt with the collar unbuttoned, dark trousers, and no tie. He carried a simple leather box under his arm.

Nora was wiping down the glass displays, her dark hair pinned up loosely. She looked tired, but when she saw him, her eyes brightened in a way that made Dominic’s chest tighten.

"We're closed, Mr. Vale," she said, though she didn't make a move to lock the door.

"Eat dinner with me," Dominic said, setting the leather box on her counter.

Nora looked at the box, then up at him. "Is that an order or an invitation?"

"An invitation," Dominic said gently. "No guards. No business. Just a restaurant on the lake."

Nora crossed her arms over her chest, stepping closer. "Dominic, you live in a world of guns, wiretaps, and men like Victor Marcone. I live in a world of soil, roots, and early mornings. We don't fit."

"My mother loved sweet peas, Nora," Dominic said softly, his eyes searching hers. "My father was a ruthless man who built an empire out of concrete and blood, but when he came home to my mother’s garden, he was just a man. She gave him peace. For five years, I haven't had a single hour of peace. Until I walked through your door."

Nora stared at him, her lips parting slightly. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she looked into the eyes of a man feared by an entire city—a man who was looking at her as if she held the key to his very soul.

She looked down at the leather box on the counter. "What's in the box?"

Dominic opened the lid. Inside lay a set of vintage gold-plated floral shears, beautifully restored, engraved with her initials: N.H.

Nora gasped softly, her fingers touching the cool metal. "Where did you find these?"

"They belonged to my mother," Dominic whispered. "She always said tools made with care should belong to someone who honors the work."