The Fortune Teller Said I Was Bad Luck, I Brought Them Worse Chapter 15

The Fortune Teller Said I Was Bad Luck, I Brought Them Worse Chapter 15

Two years later.

My flower shop had doubled in size. I’d hired a young assistant, a recent college graduate named Josie Lincoln—cheerful and hardworking.

Life ran on its quiet, steady rhythm.

Then one day, Josie leaned in, whispering excitedly.

“Isabella, that handsome guy across the street at the coffee shop… he’s been coming every day for a week. Always sits by the window, watching our shop.”

I glanced up. Sure enough, a man, about thirty, wearing a simple white shirt and glasses, was working on his laptop by the window.

“Maybe he just likes the flowers,” I said.

“No way!” Josie squinted playfully. “He keeps looking at you! Isabella, don’t you think he likes you?”

“Stop joking.” I gave her a playful tap. “Go work.”

But after that day, I started noticing him.

Every afternoon at three, he arrived like clockwork, ordered an Americano, and sat by the window for two hours.

Occasionally he glanced at the shop, but his gaze was polite, never lingering.

A week later, he walked in.

“Welcome!” Josie jumped ahead of me, her grin suspiciously radiant.
“Sir, what kind of flowers are you looking for?”

“I’d like to order a bouquet for a lady,” his voice was warm, calm, and steady.

“Is it for your girlfriend, or…?” Josie pressed.

“For a lady I admire,” he smiled, looking at me. “I heard the florist here is skilled at arrangements. Could you help me choose?”

I walked over. “What style do you want?”

“Simple, clean, full of life.”

I studied him briefly, then turned to select flowers: a few white tulips, some green lisianthus, a handful of eucalyptus leaves. Wrapped in neutral-toned paper, tied with a beige ribbon.

“Is this okay?”

He took the bouquet, examined it carefully, then nodded. “Beautiful. Thank you.”

When he paid, he handed me a business card.

“My name is Kevin Lockwood. I work at an architecture firm. Our company is planning a community garden project and we’re looking to collaborate with a professional florist. Would you be interested?”

I took the card. Printed on it: Kevin Lockwood, Senior Designer.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“Great.” He nodded, holding the bouquet as he left.

At the door, he paused and turned back.

“The flowers are lovely, thank you. Also… your shop window is very clean, easy to see inside.”

I froze. He smiled and walked out.

Josie’s eyes lit up. “Isabella! He just admitted it! He’s been looking at you!”

I said nothing, watching his figure cross the street and disappear into the café.

That evening, I received a friend request: [Kevin Lockwood, the guy from the coffee shop with the clean window.]

I accepted.

He sent a smiley face: [The flowers have been delivered. She liked them.]

I replied: [I’m glad.]

[Can I come buy flowers again tomorrow at three?]

[The shop is open until eight.]

[I mean… can I invite you for a coffee? Just across the street, at the table by the window.]

I stared at the message for a long time. Then I replied: [Okay.]

Outside, the sun was setting. The sky was painted in soft orange and pink.

I picked up the watering can and tended the jasmine on the windowsill. Droplets rolled along the leaves, sparkling in the sunset.

The flowers bloomed. Fragrant and vibrant.