In a heartwarming twist that no one saw coming, NBA superstar Stephen Curry turned a simple bouquet-building session into a lifeline for a struggling family business. What started as a quiet tribute to his late grandmother’s unfulfilled dreams blossomed into a viral moment of kindness, drawing crowds and customers to a historic flower shop teetering on the edge of closure. At 37, Curry, the Golden State Warriors’ sharpshooting guard, has long been celebrated for his on-court wizardry and off-court philanthropy. But this gesture—rooted in personal loss and quiet empathy—reminds us why he’s more than just a basketball icon.

It all traces back to Curry’s grandmother, Candy Adams, who passed away in 2016 at the age of 94. Adams, a vibrant soul from Curry’s North Carolina roots, harbored a lifelong passion for flowers during her youth. Growing up in the segregated South, she dreamed of tending lush gardens and crafting bouquets that could brighten the darkest days. Life’s demands—raising a family, supporting her son Dell Curry’s basketball career, and cheering on her grandsons—pushed those aspirations aside. She never got the chance to open her own floral haven, a regret that lingered in family stories long after her death.

Fast-forward to a chance encounter in the Bay Area last month. While scouting community spots for his Eat.Learn.Play. Foundation, Curry crossed paths with Mayme Leong, a 78-year-old florist whose own story echoed his grandmother’s. Leong, a fixture in San Mateo’s vibrant Asian-American community, had poured her retirement savings into co-owning Ah-Sam Florists after 50 years in the industry. The shop, founded in 1933 by her in-laws’ family amid the Great Depression, had weathered wars, recessions, and cultural shifts as a beloved staple for weddings, funerals, and everyday joys. But the COVID-19 pandemic delivered a knockout punch.

“The lockdown changed everything for small businesses like ours,” said Shawn Leong, Mayme’s son and co-owner, in a recent interview. “We had to close for months, watching our inventory wilt and bills pile up. It gave us time to rethink—pivot to online orders, pop-up events—but reopening felt like starting from scratch. Foot traffic was a ghost town; we were on the brink.”

Ah-Sam Florists, nestled in a quaint strip mall off El Camino Real, specializes in exotic orchids, vibrant peonies, and custom arrangements infused with Chinese heritage motifs. Yet, post-pandemic caution kept locals away, and competition from big-box chains loomed large. Mayme, with her calloused hands and encyclopedic knowledge of blooms, confided in Curry during their meeting: “I did this for the dream I chased my whole life, just like your grandma might have wanted. But without customers, it’s fading like old petals.”

Curry, ever the quick learner on and off the court, didn’t hesitate. He scheduled a surprise visit to the shop on a crisp August afternoon, camera crew in tow for what he billed as a “grandma-inspired flower power hour.” The video, shared on his social media, exploded overnight, amassing over 5 million views. Dressed in casual Warriors gear, Curry stepped into the fragrant chaos of Ah-Sam’s backroom, where buckets overflowed with roses and lilies.

Under Mayme’s patient guidance, the four-time NBA champion fumbled through his first floral arrangement—a sunny mix of sunflowers and eucalyptus meant to symbolize resilience. “He picked up the flowers, and I taught him how to cut the stems at a 45-degree angle,” Mayme recounted with a chuckle to ABC7 News. “I said, ‘Well, you play basketball, you better not use a sharp knife— if you cut yourself, you won’t play again!’ He laughed so hard, nearly nicked his finger anyway. Steph’s got those quick hands, but flowers don’t dribble.”

The session wasn’t just playful instruction; it was a masterclass in humility. Curry, who stands 6’2″ and commands arenas, hunched over the workbench like a kid at art class, listening intently as Mayme shared tales of smuggling rare bulbs from Asia in the ’70s. “This is what Grandma would have loved—getting her hands dirty, creating beauty from dirt,” Curry reflected in the video’s caption. “Honoring her by lifting up folks chasing their dreams. Go support Ah-Sam—tell ’em Steph sent you!”

The impact was immediate and profound. Within hours, lines snaked around the block. Social media buzzed with #CurryBouquet challenges, where fans recreated his lopsided arrangement at home. Orders surged 300%, Shawn Leong reported, with deliveries stretching to Warriors’ practices and even rival teams’ locker rooms. Wedding inquiries tripled, and a local brewery collab for “Steph’s Slam Dunk Daisies” beer is in the works. “We were one bad month from shutters,” Shawn admitted. “Steph’s visit didn’t just save us—it reignited the community spark. People came for the story, stayed for the soul.”

For Curry, it’s a full-circle moment. Since Adams’ passing, he’s channeled grief into action, from youth camps to voter drives. This floral foray fits seamlessly, blending nostalgia with now. “Small gestures ripple,” he told reporters post-visit. “Grandma taught me that. If I can splash threes, I can splash some joy here too.”

As Ah-Sam Florists buzzes with new life—Mayme training a crop of young apprentices—Curry’s story underscores a timeless truth: Dreams deferred don’t have to die. In a world quick to wilt under pressure, one superstar’s bouquet became a beacon. And somewhere, Candy Adams is smiling, her legacy in full bloom.