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“Sure thing,” the waitress said.
We ordered two quick burgers, and before I could freak out over what to say next, he gave me a shy smile. “Thank you.” He rubbed his belly. “I’m starving.”
“It’s okay. Sometimes they get your drinks, then they get busy, and then it’s half an hour before they come back.”
He nodded. “I’ve had a busy day. Had a busy week, actually.”
“Good busy? Or horrible busy?”
“Always good busy. I love what I do.” His smile lingered, his eyes never leaving mine. “What about you?”
“Always good busy too. I love what I do as well.”
“A florist, huh? How did you get into that?”
“My grandmother’s garden. Sounds cliché, I know. But it’s true. She had roses and gardenias.”
“Oh, did you know gardenias need a slightly acidic soil? A pH of about seven. I’m a home and garden expert now.”
I laughed. “I did know that, yes.”
“Hm. I guess you would.”
“When I was in high school, I worked at a florist on Saturdays, and I loved it. Then I actually studied horticulture first, thinking it would suit me, but it wasn’t my thing. I lasted six months and changed over.”
“It’s a lovely job. I mean, who doesn’t love to get flowers?”
“Well, your ex probably wasn’t a fan.”
“Hey, at least they weren’t the murder flowers. He should consider himself lucky.”
I chuckled. “But it’s true. Most flowers are well-received. Funeral flowers are difficult.”
He nodded, his eyes fixed on mine. “But you’re still offering a token of beauty in someone’s time of darkness, and that’s gotta be a good thing.”
His eyes. I couldn’t look away. I could barely nod. “True. That’s a lovely point of view.”
The waitress placed our drinks in front of us, finally breaking the eye contact between us.
Oh boy.
My heart was thumping, and I sipped my drink. “So, what about you? How did you get into personal shopping?”
“By accident, really,” he said. “I’ve always been very good at it. I love fashion and shopping. But I started as a personal assistant. I was eighteen and basically organising this person’s entire life. When I was twenty-one, they ended up moving to LA, and by then I had contacts, their friends and associates, and they knew to ask me if they needed something sourced. That’s how it started.”
“It sounds interesting, for sure.”
“Beats an office job. I would literally die in a cubicle job. I’m not even kidding. And I get to spend someone else’s money, so it’s all a win for me.”
“What’s the hardest part?”
He thought for a second. “Seeing how they live—the houses, cars, travel, the parties—and knowing that income gap between them and me is a bridge I’ll never cross. Short of a multimillion-dollar lotto win, or something.”
I nodded with a smile. “I can see how that would suck.”
“What about you? What’s the worst part of being a florist?”
“Nothing really,” I allowed. “Supply shortages, that kind of thing, but that’s part of any business, I guess. Seeing someone’s face as they get a bouquet of roses for a birthday or anniversary while I’m woefully single, that kinda sucks,” I said with a laugh. “Or when you know the person getting the flowers is not their wife or husband. Feel like I’m enabling a side piece, ya know? That sucks.”
