I wondered if it clung to me, just a part of who I was now. Never had I made so many arrangements, and as our crop thinned, I had to get creative, mixing flowers I wouldn’t normally consider together. We’d begun to supplement with deliveries from Long Island and Chelsea while our plants replenished. Mr. Bennet began looking for more vertical growing solutions with Marcus, and Kash had already started planting more bulbs.

Because if it was going to keep up like this, we’d need more plants, and maybe a few more florists.

After years of decline, it was maybe the best problem we’d ever had.

Just like another problem I had.

It wasn’t Luke’s good humor—his ability to make me stop, slow down, and laugh, even when I was beyond capacity, was nothing short of magic. And there was no problem with his attentiveness. He gave that in abundance along with a healthy helping of fun, excitement, and spontaneity.

The problem was that, for the last few weeks, I’d had a real hard time reminding myself of what Luke and I were and what we weren’t.

Spending every night with him didn’t help. Not all night—we were bound to the flower shop, since we both lived with our parents. Never before had it felt like an inconvenience. But now, I’d have killed for an actual bed, a shower, or I’d even settle for a door to lock. Of course, I told myself that was good. It kept some boundaries in place.

Because I was not allowed to fall for Luke Bennet. Not beyond his body and his company.

We were not a thing.

Luke didn’t do things.

It’s temporary, I reminded myself over and again.

It was a now thing, and I never looked beyond today. Not aloud anyway. I tried not to think about how I’d feel if he came in and ignored me, if it all of a sudden ended without warning. As much as I told myself it was fine, that what happened tomorrow wasn’t important, that I was living in the moment, there was no small amount of expectation that I would see him. He would be charming and gorgeous and would kiss me like I was the only woman on the planet. And then he would leave, I would go home, and we’d wake up to do it all over again.

But I wasn’t Luke’s girlfriend even if it did feel like we were dating. Not that we’d actually gone on a date. Or really been anywhere but our parents’ houses or here. In this shop. All day and every night. I’d come in on my days off. Luke had built me a small studio in the back for our Instagram, which he helped me shoot, citing his brief experience as a photographer’s assistant in LA as credentials. I’d posted the photo I’d taken of him in my room, and our account had blown up, so I’d taken to photographing him some, hauling things, making pieces for the installments, and more than a few times with flowers.