**A Bouquet of Daisies in November**
Emily tightened her dressing gown and stepped to the window. The trees were nearly bare, and a thin dusting of frost clung to the withered grass and the roof of the neighbouring house. Last night, there’d been drizzle, and by morning, a light freeze had settled in. Cold, grey November—the prelude to an endless, bleak winter.
She sighed. The gloom outside matched the weight in her chest. Another weekend alone. Another stretch of empty hours.
***
That had been November too. On her lunch break, Emily had dashed to the café across from her office, where they sold takeaway. She and the girls took turns doing the coffee run. A light rain was falling, but she hadn’t bothered with an umbrella—it was too awkward to juggle with food bags.
The road was empty. Confident, she stepped onto the zebra crossing. It was a quiet street, no traffic lights at the crossing. She didn’t see the Range Rover until it screeched to a halt right in front of her. Frozen, she hunched her shoulders, hands flying up to shield her face.
*”Trying to get yourself killed? Got a death wish?”* A furious voice cut through the air.
Emily lowered her hands. A tall man stood beside the car, dark eyes blazing, his sharp jawline accentuated by a perfectly trimmed beard. He wore an open black coat, and everything about him radiated arrogance—and something else, something magnetic.
*”Just because you drive a flash car, you think you own the road?”* she shot back. *”There’s no light here. I was on the crossing. Maybe slow down next time, yeah? People walk here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”*
He studied her for a long moment.
*”I was in a rush,”* he admitted finally. *”If you’re alright, I’ll go. Sorry.”* The last word was tossed over his shoulder as he strode back to the car.
Her hands shook the rest of the day. Nearly run over, then shouted at. But the next afternoon, when she crossed again—carefully this time—the same Range Rover was parked nearby. The door slammed, and there he was, sauntering toward her with a grin.
*”Oh God, now what?”* she muttered, pulse jumping despite herself. *”Go ahead. I’ll wait.”*
*”Actually, I was waiting for you,”* he said smoothly. *”To make up for yesterday. Fancy lunch? On me. Consider it an apology.”* His teeth were perfectly white.
*”No urgent meetings today?”* she asked warily.
Over sandwiches, she forgot everything. Then she spotted the wedding ring. Married. Her stomach sank. He was a solicitor, father of two girls. He asked for her number and immediately called it so she’d have his. *”In case you ever need legal help,”* he’d said with a wink.
She didn’t plan to call. But two days later, his name lit up her screen. He’d booked a café across town—somewhere no one knew them. *”Reputation to consider,”* he explained.
Then somehow, he started dropping by her flat. Never often, never long. Weekends stretched empty, holidays lonelier. He’d been clear from the start—he’d never leave his wife, adored his kids.
The unspoken question burned her tongue: *Then why are you here?* But she swallowed it. She was in love, and even scraps of his time were enough.
***
One Saturday, she stayed in bed late. No rush, no one to impress. She stood at the window in her dressing gown, hair unbrushed, until the buzzer startled her.
Oliver—because of course that was his name—burst in like a storm, kissing her before she could speak. *”Half an hour,”* he murmured between breaths.
And just like that, he was gone. She showered, then stared out the window again. The frost had melted, leaving the pavement slick.
*This is it. This is all we get.* The thought ached. But he’d *made time* for her. That meant something… didn’t it?
Later, at work, her phone buzzed. Oliver, demanding she meet him—*now.* She fumbled with her coat, smeared on lipstick, lied to her colleague about dentist pain.
Outside, she barely noticed the old man until she bumped him, sending his cane clattering. *”Sorry!”* She scooped it up.
*”Off to see your young man?”* he chuckled. *”I was the same at your age. In such a hurry.”*
She spotted four daisies in his hand. *November daisies.* Why four?
*”Cemetery?”* she guessed.
He nodded. *”My Margaret. Gone now. Every day, I visited… till I couldn’t. It’s a blessing, really—she never had to be alone like this.”* His eyes lingered on her face. *”You look like her, a bit.”*
Her phone rang. Oliver, impatient. *”Where are you? I haven’t got all day!”*
She hung up. Let it ring again. Then she watched the old man shuffle toward the crossing.
*”Let me help,”* she said, taking his arm. A car honked.
*”Thank you,”* he said. *”Though at my age, wheels don’t scare me.”*
She watched him go. *That’s what love should be.* A lifetime. Someone who’d still bring you flowers in November.
Back at her desk, her colleague raised an eyebrow. *”Dentist miracle?”*
*”Something like that,”* Emily said.
That night, Oliver blew up her phone. She let it go to voicemail.
*”I want a family,”* she whispered when he finally reached her. *”Breakfasts together. Waiting for someone to come home. Not… this.”*
*”I was honest from the start,”* he snapped.
*”Honest to who?”* she choked out before hanging up.
The silence afterward was worse.
She walked for hours, ignoring the rain till it drove her under an awning. A stranger paused—*”Need an umbrella?”* His was broken, one rib bent.
She laughed, unexpectedly charmed. *”Alright.”*
By the time they reached her door, the rain had stopped.
*”Fancy a walk?”* he asked, hopeful.
She smiled. *”Not in a hurry anymore.”*
