We're swept inside with a flurry of protest from Darhg, whose entire face has taken on a darker shade of yellow. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s blushing.
And it’s totally and utterly adorable.
Going inside Monster Heart Florals is like stepping into a greenhouse paradise. The air is warm and humid, smelling of leaves and eucalyptus and rich earth. Winter light filters through the windows, catching on glass vases and making everything glow. White ranunculus bloom like tiny moons in metal buckets, and somewhere a humidifier puffs quietly, adding to the tropical atmosphere.
“Who’s your friend?” Elga asks, turning her attention to me once the door closes on the frigid January day. Her burnt-orange eyes give me a direct and open gaze that immediately sets me at ease.
I really like these people.
"This is Rona," Darhg says, gesturing toward me with one hand still burdened with my shopping bags. "She's a client."
My smile melts on my face at those words.
Really? Was I just a client this morning when your tongue was halfway down my throat? Thanks for that glowing introduction,Darhg.
“Well, nice to meet you, Rona.” The ogre’s smile is wide and direct. Honest. She gestures to the human woman, who stands right by her side. “I’m Elga and this is my wife, Jennifer.”
“Nice to meet you, Rona.” Jennifer gives me a genuine, warm smile that makes me immediately like her.
“Pleased to meet you both.”
I extend my hand to Elga, but she ignores it and immediately engulfs me in a hug that threatens to reduce me to dust. When she pulls back, she pauses, then leans in again. She sniffs at my hair, nostrils flaring, her eyebrows shooting up as she glances between Darhg and me.
I glance at Darhg, wondering if she can smell something on me. But he doesn’t look at me; instead, he’s now glaring at Elga. The blush deepens over his entire face as his skin takes on an alarming shade of dark yellow. Yeah, he’s blushing, alright.
Elga's grin spreads wider.
I turn to Jennifer and give her a much tamer, much more human hug. The woman returns the embrace with a bright smile still on her face.
“Are you friends of Darhg’s?” I ask, looking between Elga and Jennifer with fascination.
For some reason, I never imagined Darhg having childhood friends. It seems silly now that we’re here and these people obviously know him.
"I've known this big grump since forever," Elga announces, ignoring Darhg's increasingly thunderous expression. "Can youbelieve he was the most sensitive little boy you ever saw? Wouldn't hurt a fly, that one. Got picked on constantly by the bigger kids."
"Elga," Darhg warns.
My eyebrows shoot up. This, I need to hear.
"Really?"
"Oh yes," Elga continues cheerfully. "Remember in middle school when you found that baby robin that fell from its nest? You brought it to school in a shoebox and fed it between classes with an eyedropper."
"Shut up," Darhg mutters, but Elga just erupts into another laugh.
"He saved it, too.” Jennifer nods in confirmation. “Nobody thought it would survive, but Darhg was obsessed with it, and the baby bird pulled through. He was so gentle with it."
I look at Darhg, trying to picture a gangly early teenage version of him mothering a tiny bird with the same fierce protectiveness he now uses to keep people safe. The image lands somewhere tender between my ribs and I get that tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach as I visualize it.
"Of course he did," I say softly, and I mean it. This is exactly who he is. "And high school?" I ask, curious to know more about the boy who became this complicated man. “What was he like in high school?”
Elga's grin falters for just a blink before she swaps in what seems to be her professional cheer. "He moved to another town."
I frown, wondering if this is some part of Darhg’s life that he doesn’t want to talk about. I’m rabidly curious, but I don’t dare interrupt. Not long after, Elga, Jennifer, and Darhg start talking about people in town, exchanging news and opinions about people I don’t know. It’s weirdly normal, hearing my bodyguard ask for updates about his childhood babysitter or his old neighbor, but it’s also cute and comforting. Like peeling away some dark wrapping to expose the true person underneath.
I drift toward a side table where a glass apothecary jar catches my eye. Rose Petal Bath Salt, the label reads, filled with delicate pink crystals and dried petals in a warm shade of muted pink. I twist off the lid and inhale, a velvet rose, bright citrus, clean sea salt perfume rises to my nose. It's absolutely perfect.
"Oh, I love this," I groan before putting the salts back on the shelf.
