A few days passed, and Mike found himself going into the same flower shop. Apparently, Francisca asked him to consult with the owner if they were willing to supply all the flowers at their wedding. The one she bought a few days ago made her happy that she was even considering collaborating with a small shop.
She was too busy with the wedding preparations, so the task fell on his hands.
Mike looked over. It was starting to snow. Then someone bumped into him, and his slit eyes looked at the woman with the hood.
"I'm sorry," she said, panting—fogged blurred her beautiful face.
"You are . . . Miss Freya," Mike said.
"M-Mr. Lantis?" she rasped. Her little fingers clutched his chest.
Why was her voice so weak and pleading? And her big dull eyes shone with tears.
"Miss Freya, wait! We just wanted to have coffee with you!"
Both Mike and Freya looked at the teenagers who were right behind her—running in her direction.
