Who knew Flower Shops had MILFs?

I opened the app, staring at the glowing message in my chat list. The interface bathed in shades of gray and reddish pink, a color scheme that seemed deliberately sensual. Kirie had to have done this on purpose, knowing I'm an artist. The butterflies in my stomach didn't stop fluttering.

I've performed in class presentations. Stood under stage lights in front of an audience. But this? This was different. My palms felt damp, a sensation so foreign it startled me. I hovered over the keyboard, watching the word "SEEN" beneath Yulia's message. She'd read it. I needed to reply quickly.

[ Yes. ]

I hadn't even checked her profile yet. But the fact that someone responded within an hour of me posting had my pulse racing in a way I didn't expect. At least her profile bubble showed her face. Maybe she was new to this, like me. Or maybe she was just a risk-taker. Or… I had no idea.

[ Good morning! I got a notification about your profile and thought to check it out. You put here that you're okay with anything? ]

If she meant from casual flings to a relationship, then yeah.

[ Yes, ma'am. Anything. ]

I hit send. Then, I waited.

The app had a feature that showed when someone was typing. The small, flickering dots danced in a loop for a whole minute—each second chipping away at my patience. Did I say something wrong? Did I come off as too eager?

[ Are you free today? ]

My eyes widened. A date. Today.

Yes. God, yes. But I didn't want to seem too eager. I wasn't desperate. Not at all. But the idea of a mature, older woman wrapping her arms around mine as we walked… Yeah, that was a nice image.

A voice surfaced in my head—my father's advice.

"Open the door enough for her to see a glimpse, but keep it closed enough to make her want to open it herself."

[ When would you be available? ]

I still had writing and drawing to do before I could focus on anything else. Thankfully, my royalties from contracted stories and comics had built me a solid financial cushion, enough to set up a small home gym and cut down on outside distractions.

She took another long pause before replying.

[ Are you okay with an afternoon date? ]

A scene immediately played out in my head—walking through a mall, a bombshell on my arm, catching lingering glances. A slow burn settled low in my stomach. If I played my cards right, maybe she'd even stay the night.

For once, I fully believed in the phrase "getting lucky."

Before my thoughts spiraled too far, I typed:

[ I will be free by 1 PM. ]

I hesitated. Should I let her pick the place, or should I take the lead? She was older than me—more experienced. But… my gaze landed on the small bowl on the counter, the gleam of my car keys catching the morning light.

A thought struck me.

[ I can pick you up with my ca— ]

I stopped mid-text.

Inviting a stranger into my car? Creepy. Especially for a first meetup.

Instead, I backspaced and rewrote:

[ Are you okay with eating at the mall first, ma'am? ]

Her response came quickly this time.

[ Mall is good! If we can eat something that isn't spicy, that'd be great—I'm not very good with spicy food... ]

Her texts had a lively, expressive tone. I found myself wondering what kind of woman she was in person.

A glance at the digital clock on the counter: 9:15 AM.

[ Noted. I'll see you later, ma'am. Take care. ]

[ You too! ]

The app had a handy scheduling AI that let both parties set up reminders for their meetups. It was optional, not required, which I appreciated. Kirie had put a lot of thought into this. Not everyone wanted to be tracked on their way to a date.

With our time set, I put my phone down and turned to the real task ahead—work.

My workspace wasn't overly complicated—just efficient.

One room. Two desks. A clear separation between my artistic world and my writing world.

The first desk was my drawing sanctuary—a large L-shaped setup with three monitors, crowded with drawing supplies and tools. The walls were covered in posters—anime, fan art from conventions, a timeline of my influences over the years.

A full bookshelf lined one corner, filled with manga, novels, and art books for when I needed a break from screens.

The second desk was smaller, more minimalist. Just a laptop, keyboard, and mouse, with wireless earbuds and a phone charger neatly tucked underneath. My ergonomic chair sat between the two, the warm glow of dimmable lighting shifting at a wave of my hand.

That's where I wrote.

Today's writing task was already outlined, making it easier to knock out in two hours. My webcomic, however, needed panel layout planning—something I decided to save for later, as a way to unwind after the date.

Stretching my arms, I cracked my knuckles, took a sip of tea, and put my nose to the grindstone.

I had four hours before I met Yulia.

And I was determined to make the most of them.

Two hours passes by, and I scheduled the posting of my latest chapter. Right now, I am writing a fantasy novel about a man who owns nothing but a single tree, one that inexplicably attracted dragons beyond the world's ranking system. It was still in its early stages, but the concept excited me.

[ 11:00 AM ]

Preparing for a date was an entirely different kind of challenge. After my shower, I scrolled through "Dress With Me" videos for inspiration. The weather was cooler today—a good excuse to wear a coat. First impressions mattered, and I figured a slightly more refined look would be best.

I settled on a black polo, white chinos, and polished black shoes. Silver jewelry complemented my skin tone—according to the internet, at least—so I added a few subtle pieces. After giving my hair a final touch-up, I grabbed a bottle of cologne, shaking it before spritzing it lightly on my wrists and neck.

Wallet, keys, and phone went into a small bag, alongside backup cologne, wipes, and a foldable umbrella—just in case.

Throwing an off-white bomber jacket over my shoulder, I stepped out of my apartment and took the elevator down to the parking lot.

And there it was—my pride and joy.

A black Dodge Challenger, sleek and powerful, sat waiting for me in the lot. After two years of saving, plus an ironclad credit score and some firm intimidation at the dealership, I had finally managed to finance it.

Not bad for someone living off royalties and art commissions.

My web novel and comic were both gaining traction, with my income growing exponentially every month. Posting work-in-progress shots on social media helped boost my commission work on weekends, keeping me consistently busy.

I slid into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, a deep purr vibrating through the frame.

Pulling out of the Fantasia Apartments parking lot, I set off toward the mall. It was only a ten-minute drive—if traffic didn't screw me over.

[ 11:30 AM ]

By the time I arrived, I still had plenty of time to pick up a gift before the date. A bouquet felt like a safe yet thoughtful choice, so I made my way to a nearby flower shop.

Pushing open the wooden door, I was immediately greeted by the earthy scent of soil and fresh blooms. The shop's warm lighting and rustic interior gave it a cozy, old-world charm, like stepping into a medieval greenhouse.

A cheerful voice pulled me from my observations.

"H-H-hello, sir! What are you looking for…?"

I turned to see a young woman with a messy caramel ponytail and bright brown eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. There was something endearing about her nervous energy—like she truly loved her job.

My gaze flickered briefly toward the receptionist counter, where another woman sat. And she was… something else.

Curves.

No, more than curves—an hourglass figure so exaggerated it almost seemed unreal. The way she leaned forward, her ample assets pressing subtly against the counter, made it clear that her proportions defied logic.

I forced myself to refocus, turning back to the eager employee in front of me.

"I'd like flowers that convey openness and appreciation," I said smoothly, keeping my tone neutral.

The girl nodded rapidly. "T-t-that sounds wonderful, sir! A small bouquet or a big one?"

Before I could answer, the receptionist—a woman with emerald-green hair—moved with effortless grace, her figure accentuated by a snug polo and apron.

"A small one," I finally replied, glancing at the name tag pinned to the girl's blouse. Chloe.

"Yes! Yes, we do! I believe those would be…" Chloe trailed off, searching the shop for the right flowers.

The receptionist—whose name tag read Lorette—was already a step ahead, gathering a bundle of delicate white and blue blossoms.

"White Peonies, Blue Hydrangeas, White Alstroemeria, and Baby's Breath." Lorette's voice was smooth, knowledgeable, yet carried a casual warmth. "These should fit what you're looking for."

She handed the selection to Chloe, flashing me a knowing smile.

"Arrange these for our handsome customer, could you?"

Chloe's enthusiasm dimmed slightly at Lorette's casual flirtation but nodded nonetheless.

"Yes, ma'am…" she muttered, moving toward the counter to begin assembling the bouquet.

Meanwhile, Lorette turned her full attention to me, eyes sweeping over my appearance before meeting mine directly.

"First time seeing you here," she remarked. Her tone—low and just a little teasing—had the edge of subtle flirtation.

I gave a polite nod. "First time visiting. It's a lovely shop." Like you.

I kept that last part to myself.

"I wouldn't have expected the people working here to be as beautiful as the flowers they're selling," I added smoothly.

Lorette chuckled, tilting her head slightly.

"Aren't you a charmer?" she mused, stepping just a little closer. "You're honey yourself."

Her full lips curved into a smile, hips shifting subtly as she placed her hands on her waist. It took effort not to glance downward.

"Thank you," I replied, scratching my cheek. "It's just hard work."

"Hard work, huh?" Her fingers ghosted over my bicep, just a light touch—but enough to send tingling down my skin.

"Hard indeed," She added. Lorette hummed approvingly, then leaned forward—just enough for me to catch a glimpse of the deep valley between her breasts.

The movement was calculated.

Her eyes glimmered with amusement, as if daring me to look. "Name's Lorette," she said, voice silky. "Don't be a stranger." With that, she turned away, hips trapped in jeans swaying like a metronome in slow motion.

I exhaled sharply.

"Here you go, sir!" Chloe chirped, returning with the finished bouquet. She puffed out her chest slightly—not as prominent as Lorette's, but respectable in its own right. "I'd call this one… Winter's Kiss!"

"Poetic name." I nodded in acknowledgement.

"How much do I owe you, Miss Chloe?" I asked, glancing between the two women. Before Chloe could respond, Lorette leaned on the counter with a smirk.

"Give me your number," she said, "and I'll count that as your payment." Chloe looked utterly betrayed.

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

Lorette simply arched a brow.

Slowly, I pulled out my phone and entered my number, handing it to her.

Lorette's smirk deepened. She took the generous tip I left and tucked it between her cleavage, the bills disappearing into a plush abyss.

"Mhm. Go," she murmured playfully, waving me off.

I nodded to both of them before stepping outside, bouquet in hand.

A quick glance at my watch.

[ 11:45 AM ]

I sighed, walking toward the food court where Yulia and I were supposed to meet.

"Maybe I'm too early…"