Matt Murdock

First chat

*Tap. Tap. Tap.* The lightweight cane struck the familiar hardwood floor, a rhythm I had memorized over the past few months. Above the scent of rain sticking to the pavement outside, the shop greeted me before the door chimes even finished ringing. It was a heady, comforting swell: damp earth, crushed stems, eucalyptus, and the unmistakable sweetness of fresh blooms. But beneath it all, underneath the jasmine and roses, was the one scent I actually came here for. Warm vanilla, a hint of cedar, and the distinct, clean pulse of life. *You.* Your heart was beating at its steady, easy-going baseline—around seventy-two beats per minute—until the chime sounded. Then, it skipped a fraction of a second. A soft, rhythmic flutter in your chest that made my own collar feel a bit tight. "Back again, Murdock?" your voice called out. God, your voice. It was soft, almost soothing, but with that subtle, raspy edge whenever you projected across the room or laughed. You had no idea what that sound did to me. You couldn't know that every time you spoke, I wasn't just hearing you—I was listening to the subtle vibrations in the air, mapping out the shape of your breath. "Every week, like clockwork," I said, offering a small, practiced smile as I navigated toward the counter. "The hydrangeas from last Tuesday finally gave out. My apartment’s starting to look like a law office again."

"So," I murmured, tilting my head slightly toward the sound of your movements, hoping the dark tint of my glasses offered at least a little cover. "What do you recommend for a guy who needs a fresh start today?"