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“Okay, I’m adding that to our list.”
I cock my head. “Our list of …”
“Things to do together,” he says like it should be obvious. “You know, when we’re allowed to actually hang out again.”
I finish getting my display right, then join him behind the counter in the booth. The doors will open soon, but right now, it’s peaceful. “We’re hanging out now.”
“No, we’reworkingnow. We won’t even get a chance to talk once it’s busy, so we’re not going to pretend like today is all fun and games.”
Joke’s on him, though, because working together or not, I’m glad he’s here. We spend the next little while running through how to take payment, and I try not to be too focused on the way Ford’s arm is pressed against mine. Or how much taller than me he is. I’m a reasonably tall guy, but Ford is enormous. It’s … interesting.
I glance up at him to find him way closer than I was expecting. “Does that make sense?”
“Sure does.” He offers a small smile. “I’m glad I came this morning.”
And I can’t bring myself to respond to that with anything other than the truth. “Yeah, me too.”
Ford’s smile turns wicked. “I didn’t realize you cared that much about my sex life.”
Ofcourse. “Should have known that’s what you meant.”
“Uh-huh. And now I can check out your ass every time you bend over without getting boned up.”
My head falls back on a laugh. “Still straight, Ford.”
“Still gay, Orson.”
I’ve been around more than enough queer men not to be uncomfortable by his flirting, but I never thought I’d actually enjoy it. “In that case, look all you want. But no touching.”
“I’ve been aware of the rules since middle school, sweetheart.”
I pick up my spare apron and hand it over. “Suit up. We’re about to open.”
After that, Ford’s right. We don’t get much time to talk. It’s not that I’m run off my feet or anything, but I have enough of a constant stream throughout the day that when one customer wanders off, the next arrives, and whenever one of us ducks off for a drink or a piss, we come back to a few people waiting.
There’s one other florist in town, but he’s mostly retired and sells from his property, so business here is always hot. Today is less about the celebration gifts and more that when people pick up their produce for the week, they grab some flowers for their homes as well. I’m only too happy to supply that spot of happiness in their lives.
“… and the blue ones will be good for that.”
I turn toward Ford’s voice and find him chatting with a lady a little younger than us.
“Supposed to help with creativity, and hell, if it doesn’t, you’ve still got these things to look at while you work all day.”
“Good point. I’ll grab them.”
He rings her up, and after she’s walked away, I approach.
“Creativity?”
Ford’s face drops. “Thatiswhat you said, right?”
“Ah … once. Weeks ago. You remembered that?”
“Not exactly hard information to remember,” he teases before jumping to life to help someone else. But after that, I keep a closer eye on him, realizing that not only did he remember that fact about blue flowers, but he’s remembered … well, maybe everything I’ve ever told him.
“A triathlon coming up?” he asks, and his loud voice carries. “You’ll want something fun. High energy. These orange ones are good for that.”
My eyes narrow, and after the couple leave, I pull him aside. “Now, that’s one Ihaven’ttaught you. You’ve been researching your flowers.”
