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He looks down at the bouquet.

Then back at me.

“Then I shall begin again.”

Something about the determination in his voice makes my heart squeeze.

“Wait.”

I reach for the flowers.

He hands them over.

I study the crooked arrangement.

The uneven stems.

The sunflower leaning sideways.

The ridiculous pink ribbon.

And suddenly, it’s the most beautiful bouquet I’ve ever received.

“Actually,” I say softly, “I love it.”

He goes still.

“You do?”

I nod.

“Nobody’s ever made me flowers before.”

His expression changes.

“Then they were fools.”

I smile.

“You’re developing a theme.”

“An accurate one.”

I place the bouquet in a vase beside the register.

“There. Perfect.”

Vidar studies it.

Then me.

“You deserve beautiful things, Wren.”

I swallow.

“You’re going to make me cry if you keep saying things like that.”

His brow furrows.