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Married Before Midnight - Married Before Midnight by Sienna Quinn - Chapter 32
Author: Novels Audio
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Married Before Midnight
Chapter 32: The Language of Flowers
The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of Olivia’s bedroom, casting delicate patterns across her quilt.
She stretched, her fingers brushing the empty space beside her—a habit she’d developed over the last three days, as if Mason’s absence had left a tangible void. Last night’s conversation with her mother had soothed some of the restless ache in her chest, but the longing remained, stubborn and persistent. Downstairs, the familiar hum of Sweet Beginnings waking up greeted her—the clatter of baking sheets, the rich scent of cinnamon rolls rising in the oven, the murmur of her sisters’ voices. Olivia tied her apron, forcing herself into the rhythm of the day. Then the bell above the bakery door chimed.
A deliveryman in a crisp uniform stepped inside, holding a bouquet of deep red roses, their petals velvety and lush, tied with a silk ribbon the color of midnight. "Delivery for Miss Olivia Carter," he announced. Olivia’s breath caught. Hannah, perched on a stool near the counter, arched an eyebrow. "Well, well. Someone’s been missed." Olivia ignored her sister’s teasing and reached for the bouquet, her fingers trembling slightly. Nestled among the roses was a small card. She flipped it open. Miss you. —Mason Two words.
That was all it took for warmth to flood her chest, dissolving the lingering doubts like sugar in hot tea. She pressed the card to her lips, inhaling the faint scent of ink and roses. Eleanor emerged from the kitchen, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. Her eyes softened at the sight of the flowers. "Red roses," she murmured. "A classic." Olivia traced a petal. "They mean longing, don’t they?" Her mother nodded. "And passion. And ‘I’ve been thinking of you.’" Lillian and Emily, still in their school uniforms, crowded around. "Oooh, someone’s smitten," Emily singsonged. "Shut up," Olivia muttered, but she couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. Charlotte, ever the romantic, sighed dramatically. "If a man sent me roses after ghosting me for three days, I’d forgive him." "He didn’t ghost me," Olivia protested, though the word had crossed her mind more than once. "He was just… busy." Hannah snorted. "Right. And I’m the Queen of England." Lucas, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, frowned. "You sure this guy’s worth the drama, Liv?" Olivia shot him a look. "You don’t even know him." "I know he disappears and reappears like a bad magic trick."
Before Olivia could retort, Eleanor intervened. "Let her enjoy the moment, Lucas. Flowers are a start." And so, Olivia did. She placed the roses in a vase on the counter, where they gleamed like a declaration. Every customer who walked in that day commented on them, and each time, Olivia’s heart fluttered.
--- The next morning, another delivery arrived—white gardenias this time, their creamy petals exuding a sweet, intoxicating fragrance. The card read: Still missing you. Olivia pressed the blooms to her nose, inhaling deeply. Gardenias—secret love, purity, joy. She wondered if Mason knew their meaning or if fate had simply guided his choice. By the third day, when a bouquet of purple hyacinths appeared (I’m sorry, please forgive me), even Lucas had to admit the gesture was… persistent. "Okay, fine," he grumbled as Olivia arranged the flowers beside the others. "Maybe he’s not completely terrible." Hannah smirked. "High praise from the overprotective brother." On the fourth day, it was yellow tulips—sunshine, hope, cheerful thoughts—and Olivia’s resistance crumbled entirely. She stood in the bakery’s back room, staring at her reflection in the small mirror they kept for staff. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. She looked… happy. Eleanor leaned in the doorway, watching her. "You’re falling for him." Olivia didn’t deny it. "Is that foolish?" Her mother hesitated, then cupped her face. "Love is never foolish, sweetheart. But guard your heart until you’re sure of his." Olivia nodded, but the flowers had already woven their spell. That evening, as she locked up the bakery, she half-expected Mason to appear—to sweep her into his arms and explain everything. But the street was empty. Still, as she walked home under the amber glow of streetlights, she pressed the latest card to her chest. Waiting for you. And for the first time in days, Olivia let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something real.