“What’d you bring home today?” he asked to the sound of crinkling paper as he picked up my flowers.

“Bells of Ireland, love-in-a-mist, Iceland poppies. Nimbus sweet peas. Ranunculus.”

“Those the big orange ones?”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed with a smile as I moved supplies from the fridge to the counter.

“These should photograph nicely.”

“I hope so. The color combination is going to get me a load of likes on Instagram. I’m so glad Mrs. Bennet lets me bring home the flowers bloomed too far to sell.”

“So am I,” he admitted. “There’s nothing so inspiring as to have such fresh beauty delivered daily. Makes the house feel alive.”

I smiled at him over my shoulder. “Our house looks like a crazy plant lady lives here.”

“Well, one does.” He smirked at me before sticking his nose in the flowers.

It wasn’t a lie. Our house was full of plants, every corner teeming with broad leaves. Pots of ivy hung above, the vines led across the ceiling by hooks. They were Mom’s, and I’d kept them alive all this time. I had a recurring nightmare that I came home one day and they were all dead, crisp and brown and withered.

“It’s genetic, I suppose. Can you imagine what your mother would think if she could see Matilda now?”

I glanced at the biggest of the ivy plants, which spilled out of its pot like a waterfall. A few years ago, it’d grown so heavy, I had to bolt the hook into a beam to keep it hanging.

“She’d probably tease me for living in a virtual jungle and tell me to get out my pruning shears.”

He chuckled. “You’d never do it.”

“Not in a million years would I trim that beast back. Let her be wild.”

“It’s good advice, Tess. You could stand for a little more wild in your life.”

“Hey, I can be wild,” I said, dumping the steak into the pan with a sizzle.

He made a teasing noise.

“What?” I asked as I grabbed the big pot and filled it with water for noodles.

“You’re about as wild as a goldfish.”

“I’ll have you know that wild goldfish can take over a river within a year. They are a force to be reckoned with.”

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t kill you to go out every once in a while.”

“I go out,” I insisted. “Last week, Ivy and I went to dinner.”

“You were home by nine-thirty.”

I shrugged. “I’m just saying. I do things.”

“The same things.”

“I like when things are the same. Predictable. Is that so wrong?”

“No, I suppose not. We all crave the predictable. It’s just a little easy, that’s all. A little adventure wouldn’t kill you, you know.”

“Some adventure could. Like skydiving. Or shark diving.”

“A date wouldn’t.”

I sighed, smiling as I turned for the table while dinner simmered. “Maybe I’m happiest when you’re the only man in my life.”

He watched me pick up the flowers and move to the island. “Tess, if the only man in your life is an old one with no legs, you might need to reevaluate your priorities.”