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Atlas grins and decides to get his granny onto a different track. I can literally see him switching gears mentally, changing the subject. “So, flower gardens. Granny, do you have any tips? That’s on the to-do list besides furniture.”
“Flowers? You’re going to pick out flowers? You? Atlas?”
“I…yes. I am,” he states proudly. “I thought you might be able to share your knowledge. Because you are knowledgeable, and you love flowers. You’re a fine, fine gardener. Sweet as a petunia, that’s you.”
“Trying to butter me up, buttercup?”
“Only because we need your sunflower to enliven our cloudy minds.”
“Roses would smell just as sweet, even if they were named butthole poo flowers. I know that much.”
“Now you’re just dandy-lying.”
His granny’s brow creases in concentration. “Oh! We’re going there, are we? Straight to the puns? Take note, darling. This is where I excel.”
“That’s quite ridonculous. I mean ranunculus.”
Wow. What the heck is a ranunculus? I clearly have to up my flower game.
“Clever,” his granny sighs. “Beats my whole all-these-flower-puns-make-my-daisy. I mean day. I mean my whole year.” She cracks her knuckles like she’s just warming up for a fight. A flower pun fight?
This might make my whole year.
“Oh. They do, do they?”
She nods, then smirks in a very devious granny sort of way that is half cute, half sweet, half I’m going to slaughter you at this game. “How about the fact that you’re more than hopeless? You’re falling like petals, stemming like a stem, and blooming like a bloom. You’re thorny as a thistle.”
“Grannnnnnyyyyyyy! That’s too much!” Atlas hisses under his breath. His blush is warm enough to fire my ovaries.
Wait. Did she just say what I thought she said?
“Way, way over the line.” Atlas looks like he wants to slide under the table and disappear. His cheeks are as fiery red as a field of poppies.
“You better be-leaf it,” his granny hoots, smacking the table.
“That’s too far by a mile.” He can’t help but smile because, wow, this is getting corny.
Does that count? No, corn is a vegetable.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is this a bad thyme? Don’t get your blooms, I mean bloomers, I mean gotch in a knot. I can’t help it that you’re head over heels, and you dang well grow it. I mean, know it. Flowers, hmph. As if that’s not code for you just wanting to play in the dirt.”
“Your mind is in the gutter,” Atlas growls.
“Sorry to be so dirt-y. It’s just so very purrrrrfect.”
“That’s a cat,” he protests. “Not a flower.”
“Are you sure? Because I think dandelions purr.”
Atlas groans. “We already did the dandelion pun!”
His granny shrugs. “Sorry. Trying to come up with new material beets me.”
“That’s a vegetable! That doesn’t count.”
Dang it, I should have mentioned the corn.
“Okay, this is done.” Atlas is clearly laying down the law.
His granny smirks. She’s anything but done. “Peonies.”
“Stop.”
“Dianthus.”
“Quit.”
“Pansies.”
“Granny!”
“Tomatoes?”
“We do need vegetables too!” I point out, trying to be helpful. “I know tomatoes are a fruit, technically, but we do need stuff for the vegetable garden too. I mean, I do.” Shit, did I really just say we? Yeah, I did. Then I made it obvious by pointing out that I said it.
His granny suddenly turns to me and, with no inflection, basically a deadpan, except I don’t think it is supposed to be funny, says point blank, “He’s trying to sweep you off your feet. He’s just too shy to say so.”
That doesn’t have anything to do with flowers.
“That doesn’t have anything to do with flowers!”
I think it. Atlas says it. His granny throws her head back and laughs great peals of laughter. All that laughter startles the waitress carrying our plates, but she smiles instantly when she recovers, even if she doesn’t know the joke.
While we’re served our plates—me with my fries and gravy and salad, Atlas’ granny with her huge burger and plate full of sides, and Atlas with the more modest grilled cheese sandwich and soup combo—my mind races back to what his granny said. She essentially insinuated that Atlas is into me. I think? I feel starstruck, struck dumb, and dumbfounded all at once.
This man fixed my home. I had convinced myself that it really was just because he wanted publicity for his business. His kindness is already something I’ll remember for the rest of my life because who wouldn’t remember something like what he did for me? He’s changed my entire life. I really did have myself convinced that it was for no other reason besides business and maybe even a step toward friendliness.
I bite into a fry, which is so hot that my mouth immediately turns into a fiery fry inferno, but I manage not to spit it out, screech bloody murder, and wave my hand frantically in front of my face to fan the heat away. My body buzzes with burned mouth sensations and with something else entirely.
