Marriedish

Chapter 1

Amira

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon rolls swirls through the air as I sit cross-legged on Mikayla’s couch, the classified section of the newspaper spread out in front of me. My heart does that annoying little thing where it skips a beat when I see it—the job listing that might actually change my life.

Petals Flower Shop is hiring.

I sit up so fast my coffee nearly sloshes out of my mug. "Mikayla!" I yell, scrambling for my phone. "Look at this. Look at this!"

She comes strolling in from the kitchen, a forkful of waffle halfway to her mouth, one eyebrow raised. “If you’re yelling before noon, it better be about Idris Elba proposing to you personally.”

“Better.” I push the paper toward her, my finger tapping frantically on the ad. “Petals is hiring! The flower shop over on Main Street. The one I always talk about. The one I drool over every time we pass by.”

Mikayla glances at the ad, chews thoughtfully, then swallows. “And let me guess—you’re applying?”

I snort. “Applying? Girl, I’m about to manifest this job. This is a sign from the universe.”

Mikayla plops down next to me, stealing a sip of my coffee like the little caffeine thief she is. “Okay, but let’s be realistic. How much does it pay?”

I shift uncomfortably. “Does it matter?”

“Uh, yeah. Because you still have to pay rent. And by you, I mean we, and unless this flower shop is run by a billionaire who throws stacks of cash at his employees, you still need a side hustle.”

I wave her off. "I'll figure it out. This is flowers, Mikayla. My dream. I've been talking about owning my own shop since I was a kid. This is the first step."

Mikayla sighs like she knows there's no talking me out of it. "Fine. But don’t let them lowball you, okay? Your talent is worth something.”

I nod, already dialing the number listed in the ad. My fingers tremble slightly as I press the phone to my ear. It rings twice before a smooth, professional voice answers.

"Petals, this is Michael."

I freeze. The ad didn’t say Michael. It didn’t say deep, velvety, distractingly sexy voice that sounds like it belongs in a cologne commercial. I blink, trying to get my thoughts together.

“Uh—hi, this is Amira. I just saw your job listing in the paper, and I was hoping to set up an interview?”

There’s a pause. Then, “Ah. You’re the first person to call.”

I sit up straighter. First? That has to mean my chances are good, right? “Yes! I’m very interested.”

He chuckles, and the sound runs down my spine like warm honey. “Alright, Amira. How’s tomorrow morning at ten?”

"Perfect!" I answer way too fast, my voice coming out in an excited squeak. "I mean—uh, yeah, that works for me."

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

Click.

I lower the phone slowly, my brain still processing what just happened.

Mikayla leans over, staring at me expectantly. “Well?”

I turn to her, eyes wide. “I got the interview.”

She squeals, shaking my shoulders. “Girl, I knew it! Okay, okay, we have to pick your outfit. You need to look polished, but like, effortlessly polished. Not like you tried too hard, but also like you own the place already. And definitely not like you’re trying to impress a man.”

I wave her off, even though the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind until she said it. "It’s a flower shop, Mikayla. Not a dating app."

She smirks. “Mmhmm. We’ll see.”

***

The next morning, my alarm blares at 7:30 a.m., but I’m already awake, staring at the ceiling. Nerves bubble in my stomach as I go through my morning routine. By the time I step out of my bedroom, dressed in a fitted blush blouse and tailored black slacks, Mikayla’s waiting for me with a steaming cup of coffee and a once-over.

“Damn,” she whistles. “Okay, this is the energy. Classy, competent, maybe just a hint of ‘please hire me because I will love this job with my whole soul.’”

I grin. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”

By 9:45, I’m standing outside Petals, taking a deep breath. The shop looks even more charming up close—wide bay windows filled with stunning floral arrangements, a rustic wooden sign hanging above the door. It smells divine the moment I step inside—a perfect blend of fresh roses, lavender, and something sweet I can’t quite place.

And then I see him.

The man behind the counter.

My heart leaps.

I expected an older shop owner, maybe a soft-spoken man with graying hair and a kind smile. Instead, standing there, arranging a bouquet with practiced ease, is a man who looks like he walked straight out of a Forbes magazine cover shoot.

Tall. Chiseled jawline. Broad shoulders. A crisp, deep blue button-up rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. He turns, and warm hazel eyes meet mine.

Damn.

His lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “Amira?”

Oh. Oh no.

I suddenly forget how words work.

“Uh. Yes. Hi.”

He strides forward, extending a hand. “Michael Nelson. Owner.”

I take his hand, and it’s warm, firm—but not in that obnoxious way men sometimes try to show dominance. Just confident. Controlled.

I clear my throat, trying to ignore the way my skin tingles where we touched. “Nice to meet you.”

He gestures to a small sitting area near the window. “Let’s chat.”

I follow him, trying to focus, trying to remember that this is a job interview and not the start of some ridiculous romance novel.

He sits across from me, legs spread in that casual, effortless way men sit when they know they take up space. “So, Amira,” he says, his voice smooth and rich. “Tell me. Why Petals?”

I straighten my shoulders, swallowing down the nerves. “I’ve loved flowers since I was a little girl. The way they can say things without words, the way they bring people joy. I’ve always dreamed of opening my own shop someday, but for now, I just want to learn from the best.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable. “That’s a good answer.”

I smile. “It’s the truth.”

He leans back, studying me. “I don’t doubt it.”

For a second, we just look at each other.

And I have the strangest feeling that this interview—this job—is about to change my life.