The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 205

From beginning to end, he only touched the two injured fingers, avoiding all unnecessary contact.

After cleaning it, he didn't rush to slap a band-aid on it. He tilted the cut toward the light to inspect it.

"The cut is on the webbing between your thumb and index finger. It moves a lot, so a regular band-aid will just peel off," he explained. "I'll wrap it."

Taking out the elastic bandage, he wrapped it carefully around her hand.

With every loop, he paused and asked, "Is it too tight?"

"It's fine."

"Can you move it? Try bending your fingers."

Annelise flexed her hand. The tension was perfect—neither restrictive nor loose.

"It's perfect."

Yves secured the end with medical tape and pulled his hand back.

The entire process took less than three minutes.

He didn't offer a single unnecessary word or a single inappropriate touch.

"Don't touch the sandpaper anymore today." He stood up and packed away his tin box. "I'll have the contractors use a machine sander on the display table tomorrow. It'll be smoother than doing it by hand."

"I wanted to do it myself," Annelise said.

"You can." Yves nodded. "Wait until your hand heals, then sand it. They're your hands, and the work will always be there when you're ready."

Annelise looked up at him.

It sounded like a simple statement, but it gently tugged at a delicate corner of her heart.

She thought back to her time at the Lehman household.

Once, she had bruised her finger while helping Harriet prepare vegetables in the kitchen.

When Hackett came home and saw it, his first reaction wasn't to ask if she was in pain.

Frowning in utter impatience, he had snapped, "You're Mrs. Lehman! What are you doing in the kitchen? What will people think if word gets out?"

He hired people to do every little chore in the house. Even when she simply wanted to arrange a vase of flowers herself, he stopped her, saying it would dirty her hands and turn them into a laughingstock.

He gave her a pair of hands that never had to touch anything.

And, by doing so, he gave her hands that had no power over anything.

But the man standing in front of her had simply bandaged her wound and told her: *They're your hands, you can do the work whenever you want.*

"Thank you," Annelise said softly.

"Don't mention it." Yves grabbed the blueprint from the windowsill. "I'm heading up to check the skylight's load-bearing capacity with the contractor."

Barely two steps after he walked away, Sophia leaned in close to Annelise, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper.

"We need to go to the building materials market tomorrow to check on the missing hardware and the iron racks for the display area."

"The massive one in the south of the city?" Sophia asked. "It's got everything, but it's far and chaotic."

"That's the one." Annelise lowered her hand. "I need to pick out the iron racks myself. The weight and curvature have to be perfect. I'll head out first thing tomorrow morning."

"I'll go with you."

"You stay here and keep an eye on the plumbing and electrical," Annelise instructed. "Emma has to reply to emails from Paris. I can go by myself."

Sophia wanted to argue, but the contractor yelled for her to help carry some materials, forcing her to drop it.

Annelise stood by the window, watching the beam of light for a moment.

What she didn't know was that behind the window of the apartment across the street, a pair of eyes was glued to the bookstore's entrance.

Hackett watched her walk in and out. He watched that tall man crouch down for her, and watched her rest her hand in his palm.

Separated by a street and a pane of freezing glass.

He couldn't hear a single word.

All he saw was her smiling at that man.

A smile he had begged for over the last three years, and had never received even once.