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Okay.

“I can make you something bespoke. You tell me a colour you like, and I’ll build round it. Or, if you’d rather see some examples first, I’ve got photos of a few tulip-led pieces I’ve done. Come and have a look.”

I lead him to the desk where I do my consultations, and he lowers himself into the chair with a look that says he can’t quite believe he’s agreed to sit and be shown photographs of flowers.

I wake my iPad. “Give me a second to find those photos,” I say.

And that’s when I catch his scent. Warm and clean, with something darker underneath. Cedar, maybe. It’s…heady. That’s the word, and I’d rather it wasn’t. It does something unhelpful to my hands. I open the wrong album, then somehow a video of Penny snoring. Eventually, cheeks warm, I find the right folder and turn the iPad to face him.

“There. These are all tulip-led. Have a swipe through.”

He takes it, and while he’s occupied, I step to the side and get some air that isn’t him.

It helps for approximately three seconds, then I find myself studying his profile. The bump on the bridge of his nose, where it’s been broken and never properly set. The flat plane of his cheekbone. The hard line of his jaw. The ink climbing the side of his neck—not a picture, just a dense pattern of black shapes packed tight together. My gaze drops to a skull tattoo on his forearm. Muscles shift beneath it as he flicks to the next photo. Nobody needs a forearm like that to look at pictures of flowers.

I look away and give myself a stern word. Because, one, he has a girlfriend, or at least a woman he’s intimate with—I heard more than enough last night to confirm that. And, two, I don’t know the first thing about him except that he’s rude, enormous, faintly frightening, and has spent a month having walls knocked down above my head.

“That one.”

I come back over and, of course, he’s pointing at the biggest basket I do. It’s lavish and overflowing, with layers of flowers and greenery trailing over the sides. It’s the sort of thing people order for a milestone birthday or an extravagant thank-you.

“That’s my largest gift arrangement,” I say. “It’s also my most expensive. That one comes to⁠—”

“It’s fine.” He gets to his feet. “Can you do it today?”

I mentally run through what else I have on. “I can, but I’ve other orders ahead of it, and it’s not a quick one. It’d be late afternoon.”

“Aye, fine.”

“Great. Would you like us to deliver it to the recipient?”

“I’ll pick it up.”

“Lovely.” I give the iPad a few taps. “If you pop your name and a number on there, I’ll text you when it’s ready.”

He takes the iPad from me and types with one blunt finger, slow and deliberate.

Ryan Sloan.

He hands the iPad back and pays up front without batting an eye at the price.

On his way out, he pauses to give Penny one last scratch behind the ears, then he leaves without another word. Apparently, goodbyes are only for dogs.

I step back from the bench, tip my head, and give the basket one last look.

Parrot tulips in that impossible flamed orange, cream ranunculus nestled low among them, and sprays of pale pink clematis spilling over one side and twining around the handle. It’s loose and natural enough to look as if it grew that way, which is the whole trick.

The arrangement took me the best part of two hours, including most of my lunch break. I ate my sandwich in four bites at the bench, but it was worth it. The basket is beautiful.

I take a quick photo and send it with a message.

Briony

Hi Ryan, it’s Briony. Your flowers are ready.

I set the basket on the floor beside the counter, then glance over at a couple browsing the buckets by the window. The sight cheers me more than it should. Footfall has been low enough these last few weeks that two people idly inspecting Icelandic poppies feels positively busy. I ask if they’re after anything in particular, but they say they’re just having a wee look.

Emmy’s out doing the van runs, and she took Penny with her. I’m desperate for a tea but don’t want to disappear into the back when I might be needed. When the couple drift out, though, I grab my chance and put the kettle on. I’m two sips in when my phone buzzes.