When Spring Came Knocking
by Xavier
Noah Sinclair had never been good at asking for help.
Which was ironic, considering he ran a business that quite literally bloomed out of connection--with the soil, the seasons, and a parade of customers whose floral expectations often defied logic or physics. (Roses that glowed blue? Sure. Orchids in a snowstorm? Why not.) But when it came to letting people into his world, Noah shut the garden gate fast.
Still, Sinclair Blooms wasn't just a flower shop. It was a living, breathing love letter to spring. A quiet explosion of color nestled on the corner of Main Street, shaded by a wide old magnolia tree that shed pink petals like confetti every April. The air smelled like heaven--earthy and sweet, a perfume of damp moss and sugar-slick tulips.
It had been Noah's everything for nearly a decade.
Quiet mornings. Bitter coffee. An armful of blooms and nobody to question his playlist. That had always been enough.
Until this spring.
This spring, the town's annual Spring Festival--normally a quaint excuse to drink lavender lemonade and listen to a banjo trio--had turned into a full-blown logistical nightmare. The mayor, ever the visionary, decided it was time to "go big." Naturally, she volunteered for Noah for the starring role of Festival Design Lead.
He hadn't even had time to dodge.
Orders came in like a pollen storm. Brides wanted bespoke flower crowns for their dogs. Children's choirs needed matching corsages. And the church committee requested a full-scale biblical recreation of the Garden of Eden in the town square. With flamingos.
Noah was three bouquets away from a nervous breakdown when someone knocked on the greenhouse door.
In walked the most inappropriate distraction spring had to offer.
Eli Hartwell.
He stepped into Sinclair Blooms like he'd wandered in off the set of a perfume ad--sunglasses still on, sunlight clinging to his shoulders, and a tight white tee doing very little to hide the fact that this man did not skip arm day, abs day or gym at all. His jeans clung in ways that should probably require a permit, and his green eyes--annoyingly bright, annoyingly observant--swept across the shop like he was selecting a lucky flower to flirt with.
He stopped by a display of peach-colored tulips and crouched slightly, squinting at the label like it was written in code.
Noah Sinclair didn't look up from the bouquet he was building--wild hyacinth, French tulips, something vaguely poetic in a ceramic vase. "Hate to break it to you," he said without turning, "but the town's modeling agency closed in, like, 2008. You might be a little lost."
Eli straightened, one corner of his mouth curling. "That obvious, huh?"
Now Noah looked up. Slowly. Sunglasses. Biceps. Smile like a movie poster. The kind of guy you'd expect to sell protein powder or ruin your dating standards for a decade.
"I mean," Noah said dryly, "you are fondling a daffodil like it owes you money."
Eli chuckled, pulling his sunglasses off and sliding them into the collar of his shirt. "You must be Sinclair."
Noah raised a brow. "Depends. Are you here to buy something, or just critique my flowers like they're auditioning for Project Runway?"
Eli offered a hand, completely unbothered. "Eli Hartwell. My sister's doing a booth at the Springwood Makers Fair--she's an interior designer who thinks minimalist beige is a personality trait. She asked me to pick up 'something fresh and seasonal and very aesthetically powerful.'" He made air quotes with exaggerated flair. "And apparently, you're the floral wizard of choice."
"I prefer 'plant sorcerer,'" Noah said, deadpan. "But I'll accept 'wizard' if the tip's good."
Eli's laugh was low and easy. "My sister said you had a sharp tongue. Didn't know it came with sarcasm and cheekbones."
Noah just blinked at him. "What about my cheekbones, Hartwell?."
Eli wandered deeper into the shop. He gestured at a row of soft pink peonies. "These too dramatic?"
"Only if you cry while handing them over."
"Perfect," Eli said, grinning. "My whole aesthetic is emotional himbo."
Noah glanced at him sideways. "Explains the arms."
Eli glanced down at himself, feigning surprise. "Oh wow. Didn't even notice. Do they look big today? I did, like, three push ups before walking in."
"Just three?" Noah said, arranging tulips. "Sure, frat boy!."
Eli leaned on the counter, forearms flexed, all charming menace. "You always this friendly, or am I getting the deluxe floral package?"
"This is the upgraded version," Noah said. "Normally I just glare and hand people cacti."
"Sinclair, you wound me. And here I was thinking I'd be your favorite customer of the day."
"You're definitely the loudest and Biggest Ofcourse!."
Eli smirked. "Loud, hot, here to spend money. Sounds like your dream client."
"Loud, hot, and thinks they're a dream client," Noah corrected. "That's a very specific tax bracket in my world."
Eli let out a genuine laugh, the kind that made Noah's stomach flicker in spite of himself. "Alright, plant sorcerer. Show me what you've got that'll make my sister's booth look like spring exploded--in a tasteful, curated, design-forward way."
Noah gestured toward the back greenhouse. "This way. Try not to touch anything unless it consents."
Eli followed, still grinning. "You say plants don't love me."
"Oh, they do," Noah said under his breath. "They just don't know why yet."
-----------------------
Eli followed Noah into the greenhouse, the air thick with moisture and blooming things. The shift in atmosphere was immediate--warmer, fragrant, like stepping inside a secret. Rows of tulips in every imaginable shade leaned gently in the filtered light, ivy curled lazily from hanging pots, and delicate wildflowers nodded in tiny ceramic vases like they were gossiping.
Eli paused halfway in and took a slow look around. "Okay, this is actually insane. I feel like I just walked into a Disney movie. Where are the birds that tie my shoelaces?"
Noah didn't look back. "Tried that. They unionized."
Eli huffed a laugh, trailing a finger along a row of bright ranunculus. "This is gorgeous. You're seriously good at this."
"Shocking, right?" Noah said, half-focused on misting a tray of peach blossoms. "Turns out when you water things and don't ghost them emotionally, they thrive."
Eli walked over slowly, hands in his pockets, curiosity and charm in equal measure. "Are you talking to the flowers or to me?"
Noah glanced up, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. "Whichever one's more likely to listen."
Eli grinned and leaned casually against the edge of the table, pretending to study the bouquet Noah was working on. "So is this where the magic happens? The world-renowned Sinclair aesthetic?"
Noah smirked. "Didn't realize word traveled so fast through the influencer circuit."
