Blossom

Miranda thrived on order. Her books were alphabetized, her calendar color-coded, and she wore black like it was a badge of honor. It was one of the many reasons she thrived in marketing research. Lines of numbers and spreadsheets that allowed her to map out trends in their target audience. 

Currently she worked for Dew Botanics, a company that made skincare serums and lotions. Their main draw was all organic ingredients and being parabens free. They boasted things like using crushed walnuts instead of microbeads, and giving farmers in disadvantaged countries livable wages. Stuff people liked to hear until you told them the price.

So it was her job to make the price seem worth it. To spend her hours of surveys and focus groups into a message the average person could easily digest. That was what she was paid to do.

The email that asked her to come down to talk with her boss didn’t phase her. She often had one on one meetings with Ryan to go over numbers. Miranda grabbed a second cup of coffee for him, figuring the brownie points could be added to her tab. It was always good to be friendly with the boss.

She dropped her saddle bag off at her meticulously organized desk. No pictures of family or unnecessary knick knacks. Her one small piece of clutter was a canvas print of Claude Monet’s Poplars on the Banks of River Epte. It was a personal favorite she added when an intern had mistaken her desk as unoccupied.

After changing her sensible walking shoes into a pair of black pumps, Miranda carried the coffees from her desk down to the corner office.

“Good morning.” The peppy voice of Taylor had her turning her head. Taylor worked in social media, and always greeted Miranda regardless of mood. She had brunette hair, a blinding smile, and perfectly contoured makeup. Exactly the kind of person that made up Dew Botanics’ customer base.

“Morning,” Miranda said with a nod.

“So this morning I bumped into this guy on my way up. Very attractive,” Taylor said, her voice low.

Office gossip. Miranda tried to keep out of such things, but Taylor thrived on it. “How nice.”

“Anyway, so we’re talking and before I know it, he follows me all the way up here, and then Ryan is shaking his hand. I guess he’s a famous artist here to do some contract work,” Taylor said.

“I’m actually on my way to see Ryan,” Miranda said, holding up the two coffees. She glanced at the clock. It was still early, but she really didn’t want to talk about Taylor’s romantic pursuits.

Miranda herself hadn’t had anyone significant in several years. It was just her and Sam, her long haired orange tabby cat. Some might say she was married to her job, but she was just fine with Sam being the only male in her life. She was too busy for the drama of romance and heartbreak.

She hurried away to Ryan’s office. The door was open and she stepped in to find her boss chatting with another man.

The stranger stood with an effortless kind of confidence, broad-shouldered and tall, with dark tousled hair and a trimmed beard that gave him a rugged charm. He wore a fitted charcoal shirt that clung to a well-maintained frame, paired with paint splattered jeans. His eyes were a striking steel-blue, too sharp and too aware, like he’d seen more of the world than most people in this building ever would. Handsome didn’t quite cover it. He looked like he belonged in a high-end cologne ad set in a fog-drenched forest.

Miranda felt her heart skip a beat and blinked. Why did this man bring on such a strong feeling of deja vu?

“You brought me coffee? You’re spoiling me,” Ryan said with a grin, standing up from the desk.

“Habit,” Miranda replied, snapping out of… whatever that was. She walked forward to hand him one of the cups.

Before she could drink from the second one, the man plucked it out of her hand like he’d been expecting it. “Thanks,” he said, lifting it in a casual toast before taking a sip.

Miranda opened her mouth to correct him, but paused. Something about his voice tickled at the edge of memory. Deep, familiar, tinged with sarcasm even in a simple word. Her brows pulled together slightly as she studied him more closely.

“It’s been awhile, Miranda,” the man said with a maddingly confident smile.

Ryan chuckled. “You two know each other already?”

Miranda narrowed her eyes just slightly. Her brain was working faster than her mouth, dragging through dusty mental files of shared art studios and critiques and…

Oh god.

Her stomach did an unexpected flip.

“Finn Hartley?” she asked, disbelieving.

“Guilty,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”

Of course his memory was sharper than hers. Of course he looked like a movie star now. Of course the universe would throw him back into her life just when she’d finally gotten comfortable.

And of course, he’d taken her damn coffee.

Ryan clapped his hands once, clearly pleased. “Well, this saves me from having to make introductions.”

Miranda’s gaze flicked from Ryan to Finn. The last time she’d seen him, he was living off caffeine and weed, smudged in charcoal, and arguing with professors over the definition of ‘commercial sellout.’ Not… this. Not a man who looked like he owned a cabin in the woods where he carved sculptures of gods out of marble.

“What are you doing here?” Miranda asked before she could stop herself.

“Contract work,” Finn said smoothly. “You know, advertising art. Gotta make a living somehow.”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. That definitely did not sound like the old Finn who believed capitalism was the worst thing to happen to art.

“I guess you finally got tired of living the starving artist lifestyle,” she said with no small amount of sass. He deserved it after taking her drink.

Ryan held up his hands, clearly amused but trying to stay neutral. “Play nice, you two. You’re going to be working together.”

Miranda turned to her boss, stunned. “I’m sorry. What?”

“I’ve been talking with research and development,” Ryan said. “We want to launch a spring campaign to push the Dew Botanics knew Blossom line. Big refresh. New visuals, a bold angle. Organic meets elevated luxury.”

“And you need a painter for that?” Miranda asked, brows raised.

“Not just a painter,” Ryan said. “A style. Something evocative. Finn’s work with natural textures fits our new direction perfectly. The idea is to create a visual centerpiece that blends into digital and print, something more artistic than a stock photo.”

Finn added, almost as an afterthought, “And I agreed, on the condition that my work not be edited and my name won’t get swept away with the copyright. I needed to work with someone who’s familiar with the company’s themes and has an artistic background. When I heard you were here, I asked if it could be you.”

Miranda couldn’t believe it. After everything they had been through Finn had orchestrated this… this… hostile takeover of her workspace. How many nights had she fallen asleep crying? How many bottles of wine had been drunk? How many years had she put between her and Finnegan and his damned adorable smile and passion about life and art that made her heart sing and…

No.

She was past that. She was a professional.

Miranda took a breath and forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Wonderful.”

“Perfect,” Finn said, smirking over the rim of her coffee. She was already wondering how she was going to survive this.

The rest of the meeting, thankfully, consisted of going over job roles. Miranda was to keep Finn on deadlines and ensure everything stayed on-brand while still allowing him creative freedom. Once the final art piece was approved, Taylor would launch a full-scale social media and print campaign.

They had two months before the Blossom line launched. It might as well have been two years, judging by the cold knot of dread twisting in Miranda’s stomach.

When the meeting wrapped, she stood stiffly. She didn’t say goodbye. Just turned and walked out, letting her heels clicks punctuate her exit.

Back at her desk, Miranda checked the clock. Still hours until lunch. Her body ached for the caffeine Finn had stolen.

From her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of him heading toward the elevator.

“Goodbye, Mr. Hartley,” Taylor said, voice syrupy sweet. Miranda turned just enough to see Taylor waving flirtatiously.

“I look forward to seeing you around the office,” she added with a coy smile.

Miranda mentally gagged. Finn smiled back, of course. That was his specialty, making every pretty girl feel like she was one in a million instead of one in a long, blurry line of women.

Miranda turned back to her computer, jaw tight. At least she knew better. There was no way she would let Finn get under her skin again.

***

Miranda knocked on the studio door with more force than necessary. “Finn? It’s Miranda.”

Inside, she heard the scrape of a stool. “Come in.”

She stepped into the temporary studio they’d set up for him out of an unused conference room. Chairs and tables were stacked against a wall and the space was filled with easels, open sketchbooks, leaking paint tubes, and the faint scent of turpentine. It was chaos, but Finn probably found it blissful.

The man himself stood by the window, sleeves rolled up and a pencil tucked behind his ear.

“You’re late,” he said, without looking at her.

“You’re lucky I showed up at all,” she muttered, setting her tablet on the desk. She scowled at the empty containers of takeout food and cans of soda.

Finn turned, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Ah, there’s the Miranda I remember.”

She crossed her arms. “Let’s get something straight. I’m here to help manage this campaign. That’s it.”

“Sure,” he said, dragging a stool toward his canvas. “But you did bring me coffee last time. That felt a little nostalgic.”

“I didn’t bring it for you,” she snapped. “That was mine and you stole it.”

He shrugged. “Still tasted like a peace offering.”

She rolled her eyes and turned on her tablet. “Have you sketched anything yet?”

Finn reached behind him and held up a page. It was rough, but compelling—twisting vines, petals unfolding in exaggerated detail, bold brush strokes that looked alive. There was something moody and raw about it, like he was trying to turn nature into emotion. Or the opposite.

Miranda hated how good it was.

“It’s a start,” she said, keeping her tone neutral. “It needs to feel more elevated. Less... emotional.”

“You hired me,” he said. “Emotional is part of the package.”

“I didn’t hire you,” she corrected. “Ryan did, and then I was told to work with you.”

Finn gave her a long look. “But you didn’t say no.”

Miranda hesitated, then looked away. “I don’t say no to good work. Even if it comes from a man who once tried to convince me art school was ‘a prison disguised as self-expression that destroyed true creativity.’”

He grinned. “Still true.”

“Then what are you doing here?” she challenged.

He stood slowly, wiping his hands on a rag. “I could ask you the same thing. What’s an artist doing working in marketing for a skincare company?”

“I’m not an artist anymore,” Miranda said.

“What?” Finn exclaimed like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Unlike some people, I couldn’t just run off to Europe and find myself. I realized painting is fine for a hobby, but I needed something stable. So I changed my major to business,” Miranda said evenly while looking pointedly at her tablet as she typed in her password.

It hadn’t just been that of course. It was also because after Finn left for France, she had quit painting altogether. Too many memories of long evenings spent together in the studio, their shared love for art bleeding into a different type of passion.

A silence stretched between them, too loaded to be professional and too familiar to be comfortable. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead felt suddenly loud.

“I’m sorry,” Finn said, like those two words could erase everything. Miranda grit her teeth fighting to snap back at him. It wouldn’t do any good.

Miranda finally spoke, her voice lower. “Let’s just get through the campaign.”

Finn’s eyes searched hers. “If you say so.”

She both thankfully turned their attention the business at hand. Miranda outlined Dew Botanics motto For Skin that Grows with the overarching theme that skin was an organ and needed to be treated with care. The Blossom line’s main draw was essential oils made from various flowers like primrose and lavender. They talked about logos, the list of flowers used, and incorporating empty space so Taylor would have room to edit in the product copy.

When they had discussed everything on Miranda’s bullet points, she shut down her tablet.

“I believe that will be all,” she said, her tone clipped but not cold. “I’ll leave you to your work and check in before I leave today.”

Finn nodded, then hesitated.

“You don’t have to go right away,” he said. “The light in here’s better now. You could… stay. Just for a minute. If you wanted.”

Miranda paused, her hand hovering near the door handle.

He wasn’t asking her to talk. Wasn’t even asking for forgiveness. Just… proximity. A flicker of something that used to exist between them.

“I have a lot to do,” she said, but her voice was softer now.

“Of course,” he murmured, turning back to the canvas.

It wasn’t until she stepped out into the hall, she realized her heart was hammering in her chest. Nothing had happened, and yet her stomach rolled with anxiety… or were those butterflies? Shaking it off, Miranda hurried back to her desk.