“A what?” he asked on a laugh.

“A Herkie. You know, the cheerleading jump where your legs go like … like one of them sticks out and the other bends?”

He frowned. “I don’t get it.”

I sighed, setting the flowers down and taking a few steps back to get into a clear space. “Like this.”

I wound up and jumped, kicking my right leg out in front of me, toe pointed, and bending my left leg, putting my foot right by my ass. My hands punched out to the sides like Bruce Lee knocking out two drug lords at once.

He clapped when I hit the ground, and I curtsied, lifting invisible skirts.

“Thank you, thank you,” I said.

“Where’d you learn to do that? I don’t remember you being a cheerleader.”

“I wasn’t. Ivy taught me,” I said, picking up my buckets again as he grabbed the cart handle. “I used to help her, spot her and that sort of thing, and she showed me some stuff. That one was my favorite.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you shoulda made the squad.” Hewinked as he passed, and I followed him.

“Oh, I didn’t really have time. My mom … well, I’d just started taking care of my dad full-time. There wasn’t time for much else.”

He slowed, looking down at me as I caught up. “I imagine you didn’t have much pep either,” he said gently, quietly.

“No, not a lot of pep or cheer. Not to expend on a basketball game anyway. I spent that energy on flowers instead.”

He didn’t say anything for a second as we walked through the double doors and into our workspace, and neither did I. It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about, nor was it something I wanted to dwell on.

“Well, you did good on that, Tess. And look at you now—head of design and production at Longbourne Flower Shop.”

I chuckled, thankful he didn’t press. “What a fancy title. I’ll have to put that on my business cards.”

“You have business cards? Do they have your number on them?” he joked, waggling his brows at me.

I rolled my eyes. “No business cards.”

“If you did, would you give me one?”

“Probably not.”

“So there’s hope?”

I laughed, bumping him with my arm. But I didn’t answer.

I was a terrible liar.

The day went by in a blur, that kind of creative time warp that left you shocked when you looked up and it was dark out, the sort that had your stomach grinding on itself because you’d missed a meal. We ordered sandwiches, ate them sitting on tables across from each other in the storefront, feet dangling as we talked.

Luke and I worked around each other in a symphony with no sound. I planted the succulents and leafy plants, and he hung the frames and swing. I built the flower cloud with a wad of chicken wire, using wispy gray pampas grass like feathers, lavender heather, white wheat stalks, baby’s breath. It looked like a thundercloud hanging over that swing. Then we strung the filler flowers, hanging them upside down from frames Luke had whipped up like it was nothing. When I backed up, the flower heads made a pattern that looked like it was raining or sunshiny, depending on which installment we were looking at.