The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 142

Whenever he drafted, he slipped into a state of hyper-focus.

His entire being seemed submerged in a world constructed purely of lines and proportions.

Once, Annelise was in the corner using sandpaper to smooth out an old wooden crate she wanted to repurpose as a planter.

She wanted to ask Yves what kind of eco-friendly varnish she should use.

She called his name.

He didn't respond.

She took a few steps closer and raised her voice.

"Yves?"

Still no reaction. The pencil in his hand flew across the paper, making rapid, scratching sounds.

It wasn't until Annelise walked right up to him and gently tapped his shoulder that he jolted like a man startled awake from a dream, looking at her blankly.

"Huh? Did you say something?"

His grayish-blue eyes still held the lingering, intense light of that other, entirely separate world.

Seeing his dazed expression, Annelise suddenly laughed.

It was a long-lost, genuine, effortless laugh.

She suddenly realized that Yves's habit of getting lost in his own world gave her an inexplicably profound sense of security.

He didn't hover over her. He didn't scrutinize her with probing eyes, nor did he try to dissect her words and actions to judge her or extract something from her.

Sharing a space with him made her feel free and safe.

She didn't need to wear a mask or keep her defenses up.

She could simply and peacefully be herself.

Yves helped coordinate the construction crew. They were veteran contractors he had collaborated with for years—skilled, efficient, and reasonably priced.

While waiting for the renovations, Annelise began experimenting with small floral arrangements.

Alyssa had connected her with the largest local wholesale flower market.

Norway's local flower varieties were limited; most had to be imported via airfreight from the Netherlands.

They were incredibly expensive.

Rather than rushing to buy those pricey imported blooms in bulk, Annelise took the approach of a chef familiarizing herself with local ingredients, turning her attention to the common, often overlooked native plants.

Pine branches, eucalyptus leaves, and a type of winterberry that bore small red fruits.

She blended these distinctly Nordic native botanicals with a select few Dutch imports, like tulips and freesias, acting as the focal flowers.

Her style was incredibly unique.

It carried the Eastern floral aesthetics passed down from her mother's notebooks—emphasizing negative space and the flow of lines.

Yet, it also bore the shadow of Nordic minimalism and naturalism.

Her creations were airy, clean, and possessed a quiet, breathing vitality.

She placed these small, delicate bouquets and vase arrangements in the massive front window of the shop.

Even though she wasn't officially open and the store was still cluttered with construction materials, that tiny, spotlessly clean window display acted as an independent stage, beginning to draw the eyes of passersby.

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