Actually, it’s early. Early enough that dawn will be peeking over the horizon.
He stayed.
He stayed, and he helped.
“Okay,” I whisper finally. “You can walk me home.”
Ben waits for me while I grab my bag and umbrella, bidding goodbye to a beaming Carla and furious-looking Adrian who’s still arguing with the fire people.
Something tells me we might not be opening tomorrow night, for my next shift.
We step out into the drizzle, and Ben glances down at me. The rain is already dotting his shoulders, but he doesn’t seem toobothered. Lifting my dome umbrella, I open it up and hold it over us.
The lights woven into it light up, casting his face in a warm golden glow as he glances up. “You put fairy lights in your umbrella?”
I half-shrug. “You already know I don’t like the dark.”
He relieves me of the umbrella as we walk despite my protests, holding it over me as we head down the street. “I’m not far. Around fifteen minutes.”
Ben nods. We walk in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, it’s almost too comfortable, given that we only met tonight.
I clear my throat. “I haven’t seen you at The Setlist before.”
And I would have remembered him. There’s a small divot between his eyebrows when I glance up. “I’m not from around here. I’m just… staying for a while.”
I wait for more, and his lip quirks into an almost-smile. “Short-term contract. When it’s up, I’ll be moving on.”
“Oh.” I force down the disappointment in my chest. “I see.”
He’s not staying.
“What do you do for work?” I ask.
He laughs. “I’d rather hear more about you. What do you do, Emmy Marsters?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’m a florist, actually.”
“Oh?” I can see the questions behind his eyes.
“I work with a florist during the day,” I explain. “The Setlist… it’s just some evenings.”
Ben nods in understanding. “You like keeping busy.”
I almost miss a step. He’s perceptive. “Yes.”
“What made you want to be a florist?”
The words flow easily for this one. “I found a book when I was in high school. It was about the language of flowers. Every flower has its own meaning. And I… I liked that. It felt like a secretlanguage to me. So when I graduated from high school, I found an apprenticeship.”
“No college?”
Too close.
“No,” I say finally. “That wasn’t an option for me. You?”
He shakes his head. “It wasn’t an option for me either.”
My eyes narrow as I glance up, trying to gauge his age. His eyes are crinkled when I reach them. “I’m twenty-three.”
