Page 31 of Bloom
“Yes,” I answered, like duh. “First Wives Club,Hocus Pocus, andBeaches. My god.”
He laughed and laughed. “Perfect.”
“Oh, speaking of perfect. My little perfect paper flower is on my bookcase. And,” I added, “as a florist, you might not want to hear this, but paper flowers just might be better than the real thing.”
“How so?”
“Because they can’t die. I’m keeping it forever, just so you know.”
He sighed. “I’m torn. On one hand, hearing that makes me happy, but on the other hand, it’s a knife to my poor little florist heart.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I feel like I should apologise. But the paper flower wins.”
He sighed dramatically. “Well, that makes my decision about tomorrow much easier.”
Wait. What?
“What do you mean? If I offended you— If you don’t want?—”
He barked out a laugh. “No! I was just trying to think what flowers I should give you for our first date—well, our first official, but actual second date. I was reading up on some Victorian floriography. I was trying to decide if I should go with funny.” He sighed.
“Funny?”
“Yeah, like a larkspur. It kinda meansyou’re funny.”
I laughed but was still a little confused. “But now I’m not?”
“No. I mean, yes, you are. But no, now I think I’ll bring you something else.”
“You don’t have to bring me anything. I don’t expect anything.”
“But I’m a florist. What kind of date would I be if I didn’t bring you some kind of flower?”
“Yeah, but I don’t expect you to bring me flowers every time you see me.”
“Okay, see, here’s the thing. If you were a baker and didn’t bring me cookies or a cupcake every single time you saw me, I’d be sad.”
I laughed. “Just as well I’m not a baker then. Considering you’re already watching your cholesterol.” But that got me thinking. “As a professional shopper, what can I bring you?”
“Nothing! I was just kidding.”
“But you said you’d be sad.”
“I was joking. Honestly.” He chuckled and he sounded so warm and comfortable. “Maybe one day you can help me pick out some home décor. Not tomorrow. Another time, maybe.”
I hummed, wondering if I should take that as an invitation. “I’d need to see your place first,” I hedged. Then I cringed at myself for going there so soon. “Or you can show me photos, or whatever you’re comfortable with. Do you live alone? Share a flat?”
“I live alone,” he said. His tone was different. Lower, quieter. Like he’d read my offer for the invitation it was. “And I’d be comfortable with you seeing my place.”
Well, damn.
For some stupid reason, I tried to play it cool. “Yeah, okay, sure. I’d be fine with that. Like tomorrow, even. If you want meto put together some ideas for your place. Some colour themes, mood boards, that kind of thing.”
He laughed. “Mood boards? Do people really do that?”
“I do, yes. So my client can see which direction I’m going and veto anything they don’t think is a suitable fit for their lifestyle.”
“I’m more of a walk-into-Kmart-and-buy-whatever-I-find kind of client.” He chuckled. “And it’s not a work thing. I’m not your client. I’m your... date. So if you come back to my place, it won’t be for work.”