Bloom

thank-you-for-being-a-great-florist meal.

“Sure,” I say simply. “I’ll finish up and we can head out.”

***

Ordering salad was a mistake.

My stomach is still rumbling and now I’m worried that I have a piece of spinach stuck in my teeth.

I skim my tongue over the front of my top teeth. I don’t feel anything, but a sip from the glass of water in front of me, along with a barely noticeable swish of it around my mouth, should dislodge anything green from between my perfectly straight teeth.

They are one of my best features.

I lucked out in the dental department. My mom’s third husband wanted his stepchildren to be perfect. He slapped braces on my teeth along with my two younger brothers.

It was a gift that has kept on giving.

Liam watches me intently as he downs another half glass of water.

This dinner has been rated PG all the way including the cheeseburger and fries Liam ordered and our non-alcoholic beverages.

His attention has been on his phone as much as it’s been on me. If this was a date, I might be offended, but he apologized every time it took his attention away.

I stole a glance at my phone once or twice too.

Seeing a steady stream of online orders coming in for tomorrow boosted my mood.

I’m going to head to the store an hour early in the morning. Sleep can wait when there are customers to keep happy.

“Are you a native New Yorker?”

This is a new direction for him. His first line of questioning while we waited for dinner was all about flowers. He politely asked how I know which blooms go with others.

I launched into a nervous speech about balance and beauty.

I’m sure I stopped making sense around the two-minute mark, but he just smiled and nodded.

Every time I thought of a question to ask him, his phone chirped and his gaze dropped to it.

“No,” I answer succinctly not wanting to delve into the twisted tale of my childhood. “Are you?”

I’d rather fire off twenty questions at him about Wren, but I don’t know him well enough to initiate a conversation about his personal life.

I’ve heard enough tales about breakups to last for the rest of my life. It’s part of being a florist. People come into Wild Lilac all the time hoping that a handful of roses or a vase filled with daffodils will magically repair their broken relationship.

Maybe it works sometimes, but for the long term, it takes more than a few pretty flowers to fix a damaged bond.

“I was born and raised here.” He chuckles. “It’s home to me.”

I lean back when a waiter buzzes past our table, picking up Liam’s empty plate on his way. He twists his face in a scowl at the sight of my half-eaten salad.

I push it forward an inch in a silent offering to him, but he ignores me in favor of flashing a smile at Liam.

I can’t blame him. Liam is the hottest guy in this place.

“I can’t imagine living anywhere else.” Liam hones in on a crumb in front of him. He swats it off the table with a push of his index finger. “What neighborhood is home to you?”

I tug on the corner of the paper napkin next to my water glass. “I live a few blocks from my shop.”