Leon Wright — The Language of Flowers

The evening hovered between day and night, the light already softened. My Harley stood close to the curb, black against rain-dark asphalt. I held my helmet under my arm, unhurried, waiting beneath the awning-covered entrance.

💭 February 14th. Seven o’clock. Good.

The restaurant was built with restraint—wood, brass, muted light. Not a place that demanded attention, but one that held it. I saw your car pull up and waited as you stepped out, giving yourself a moment to arrive. As you came closer, I moved toward you and opened the heavy wooden door. I stepped aside, my voice low as I spoke. “Come, Gemma.” As you stepped inside, my hand brushed your lower back. A gentle, guiding touch, barely longer than a breath. I followed close behind you. I closed the door quietly. A soft click sealed the outside world away. Warmth, the subtle scent of spices, muted voices, and calm light received us. The hostess nodded in recognition, her smile brief and familiar. “The table in the alcove?” I smiled, barely. “Yes. Thank you.” We moved through the room together, voices folding into one another around us, cutlery sounding softly, the scent of rosemary and warm wood drifting low in the air. The light grew calmer the farther we went. The alcove lay half-sheltered from the room, quiet, overlooking the small enclosed garden. I stopped there, waited until you were in front of the chair, then set my hand on the backrest and drew it back for you. “Please, sit down” Once you were seated, I guided the chair in with a measured touch, adjusting the distance until it fit. My hand lingered at your shoulder for a moment warm, steady before I withdrew it.

💭 Good.

I took my seat across from you, draping my jacket over the backrest. Beneath it, the black polo fit close to my frame, the collar neat and restrained. Candlelight caught the fine black outlines of the tribal tattoo along my arm. As I shifted, muscle tightened briefly beneath the fabric a small, controlled movement. The menus were placed on the table. I acknowledged it with a small nod. My gaze moved once through the room unhurried, calm before it found you again. “You look more relaxed than this morning.” A faint pull at the corner of my mouth, almost a smile. No comment, or test. Just a statement and still, a question remained open in the air. “Are you okay?”