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Flora’s mouth curves again. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, with my luck, I’m really not willing to risk it.”

I start toward the path that loops around the pond, and Flora moves at almost the same time. Neither of us says anything about it, and for a few seconds I assume she’s simply headed in the same direction, because there are only so many directions to go in a garden and it would be deeply embarrassing to interpret basic pedestrian traffic as romantic interest.

It’s happened to me twice, which is an alarming amount of times. I really am pathetic.

When I slow down to look at one of the glass pieces tucked between the trees, Flora slows down, too.

I start walking again, and she follows, only one or two seconds after me.

Maybe we are walking together, but I don’t point that out. I’m a mess, but I do have a tiny bit of self-preservation instinct.

Instead, we fall into an easy rhythm along the edge of the water, and I discover quickly that Flora is different out here than she was across the counter at The Spindle. Or maybe I’m simply getting more of her now. She doesn’t say much, at least not compared to me, but she listens while I talk and points out things occasionally, including a glass sculpture tucked between two tall grasses.

“It has tentacles,” I say, tilting my head to see if I can make sense of the very unflattering sea monster currently in front of us.

“I think they are petals,” she replies. “My mother loves flowers. I’ve gotten pretty good at identifying them, after an entire lifetime of her throwing random species names at me. Trust me.”

Before I can continue arguing, she steps behind me and puts her hands on my waist. I suck in a breath at the surprise, and hope to god she can’t really hear how strong of a reaction I’m having to her touch. She moves me barely a foot to the left, then leans closer, her shoulder brushing mine as she points to the aforementioned glass flower.

“Look.”

The light catches the glass differently from here, illuminating the edges of the orange curved pieces until what looked like tentacles are unmistakably petals.

“Oh, wow.”

Flora’s hand leaves my waist, which I notice much more than I should.

“Flower,” she says.

I look at her instead of the sculpture. “I remain unconvinced.”

Her smile tells me she knows I’m lying.

We start walking again, following the path as it curves along the edge of the pond.

At the far end, the path splits in two, one side continuing around the water to the entrance, while the other leads deeper into the garden, through the section I’d already wandered through before running into her. Flora stops beside a small wooden sign, and I stop with her without really thinking about it.

“I’m going this way,” she says, gesturing toward the second path.

I look in that direction, then back to the pond. Following her would mean walking through the same part of the garden twice, which feels a little too close to admitting that I would rather keep walking with her rather than finish what I came here to do.

“Oh. Yeah. I should probably finish my loop.”

There’s a beat where neither of us moves, and I become painfully aware that I don’t know what the protocol is for saying goodbye to a woman I have now met twice, am definitively attracted to, and may or may not have just spent twenty minutes accidentally flirting with.

Luckily, Flora saves me from having to figure it out.

“I’ll see you later?”

My stomach does a small, embarrassing flip.

She could have said goodnight. She could have said nice seeing you. Instead, there’s just enough of a question at the end that I decide I’m allowed to take it for what it is.

“Yeah,” I say with the automatic megawatt smile that forms on my face at her question. “You will.”

Flora smiles, and this one is small enough that it looks like she’s maybe a little shy. Apprehensive. “Goodnight, Merry.”