The CEO’s Unspoken Love (Eleanor and Derek) novel Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Eleanor POV

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The morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, casting long rectangles of light across our silent breakfast table.

Derek sat at the far end, engrossed in the financial section of the Boston Globe. 1 occupied the opposite end, scrolling through emails on my phone while pretending not to notice the yawning distance between us.

Sunny lay curled beneath my chair, his tail thumping hopefully against the floor whenever I moved. I broke off a small piece of

whole grain toast and slipped it to him, earning a grateful lick against my fingers.

“You shouldn’t feed him from the table,” Derek commented without looking up from his paper. “It encourages bad habits.”

I nodded, not bothering to argue. My mind kept drifting back to last night-to the moment we’d nearly kissed before Sunny’s bark

had shattered the spell. My cheeks warmed at the memory, and I took a sip of coffee to hide my reaction.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence. Three years of marriage, and this was what we’d become-two strangers sharing

breakfast without really seeing each other. Or perhaps it had always been this way, and I had simply stopped pretending otherwise.

Derek folded his newspaper and stood, adjusting his already perfect tie. “I have meetings until late.”

“Will you be home for dinner?” The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

He paused, his expression unreadable as he studied me for a moment. “Depends on my mood,” he said finally, his tone casual and

dismissive.

“Of course,” I replied, keeping my voice light while arranging my face into a mask of indifference. “I was just asking to know whether

to have Mrs. Hughes prepare something.”

Derek picked up his briefcase and walked toward the door. I heard him pause in the hallway, as if he might say something else, but

then the front door opened and closed with a soft click.

I released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Sunny placed his head on my lap, his eyes watching me with what seemed like

understanding. “Just you and me again tonight, boy,” I whispered, scratching behind his ears.

Four Seasons Florals was bustling with its usual morning activity when I arrived. Rachel was unpacking a shipment of fresh tulips from Holland, carefully checking each stem for damage. I slipped my bag under the counter and tied my apron around my waist, immediately feeling more at ease in this space that was truly mine.

“Mrs. Brown called to confirm her standing order for Friday, Rachel informed me, carefully arranging the tulips in water-filled buckets. And the Berkshire Hotel needs a quote for their lobby installation next month.”

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Chapter 34

I nodded, already mentally designing concepts for the hotel. I’ll work on that this afternoon. Is the order for the Hendersons

anniversary ready?”

‘Just needs your final touch, Rachel said, gesturing toward a nearly completed arrangement of cream roses and blue hydrangeas,

I was adding the final stems to the Henderson arrangement when the bell above the door chimed. A young woman entered, dressed in a Burberry trench coat and oversized Chanel sunglasses that obscured half her face. Her heels clicked confidently against the hardwood floor as she surveyed the shop with the critical eye of someone accustomed to luxury.

Rachel and Mia both froze, watching her warily. The woman’s presence filled the space with an almost palpable energy-demanding.

appraising, slightly intimidating.

She removed her sunglasses with a practiced gesture, revealing sharp, intelligent eyes that scanned the shop before landing on me.

“Are you in charge here?” she asked, her voice cultured and direct.

I set down my clippers and stepped forward. “I’m Eleanor Linch, the owner. How can I help you today?” At the shop and in my

professional life, I had insisted on maintaining my father’s surname-Linch. It was one of the few connections to my past I had

managed to preserve, a small act of independence in my marriage.

“Sophia Taylor,” she replied, offering no handshake. “I need flowers. Something impressive, something that makes a statement.”

“We certainly can help with that,” I said, maintaining my professional smile. “Did you have a particular occasion in mind?”

“Does one need an occasion for beautiful flowers?” she countered, running a finger along the petal of a nearby lily. “I want

something unique. Not the standard roses and peonies everyone uses.”

I began suggesting several combinations-tropical arrangements with birds of paradise and orchids, seasonal displays with unusual

foliage, modern minimalist designs with architectural elements. She dismissed each one with a small shake of her head or a slight

frown.

“These are all… conventional,” she said, the word sounding like an insult on her lips. “I expected more creativity from a shop with

your reputation.”

Her knowledge surprised me. Most clients came with vague ideas at best, but Sophia was dissecting my suggestions with the

vocabulary of someone who understood floral design. She critiqued color theory, questioned the longevity of certain blooms, and

debated the merits of various composition styles.

“Perhaps you’d like to see our special collection,” I suggested, intrigued by this unusual client. We keep some of our more unique

specimens in a separate area.”

Her eyes lit up with interest-the first genuine emotion I’d seen from her. “Lead the way.”

I guided her to our specialty display area, where we showcased rare and seasonal flowers not typically found in standard

arrangements. Sophia moved through the space with the confidence of a gallery curator, pausing to examine each variety.

*Italian ranunculus,” she said, identifying a delicate bloom without hesitation. “Beautiful structure, but the vase life is

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Chapter 34

disappointingly short. And these,’ she continued, pointing to a cluster of speckled orchids, “Mokara orchids. Lovely color variance.

but overdone in upscale hotels.”

I raised an eyebrow, impressed despite myself. “You know your flowers.

“I know quality,” she replied, without a hint of modesty. “Your burgundy dahlias are struggling-too much direct light. And these orchids would benefit from higher-humidity.”

I felt a flicker of annoyance at her critique of my shop but maintained my professional demeanor. “What about these?” I asked, presenting a cluster of unusual star-shaped blooms. “Japanese windflowers. They’re rarely used in commercial arrangements because

they’re difficult to source.”

Sophia studied them, a slight crease forming between her brows. “Interesting structure. The asymmetry is appealing.” It wasn’t

praise, exactly, but it wasn’t dismissal either.

For the next twenty minutes, we engaged in what felt like an academic debate on floral aesthetics. I defended the emotional impact of color psychology in arrangements; she argued for structural integrity over chromatic appeal. I advocated for seasonal

authenticity; she countered with the merits of unexpected juxtapositions.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Rachel and Mia watching our exchange with fascinated expressions. I rarely had the

opportunity to discuss floral design at this level with clients.

“I have something else you might appreciate, I said finally, making a decision. “If you’ll follow me.”

I led Sophia to our climate-controlled storage room at the back of the shop-a space usually reserved for special orders and rare specimens. Inside, glass-fronted refrigerators housed flowers that were either out of season, exceptionally delicate, or simply too

expensive to display in the main shop.

“This is more like it,” Sophia murmured, her eyes scanning the collection with genuine interest.

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