She could feel him watching her as she selected tulips and roses and then assembled the bouquet. She took her time, trimming the stems and adding foliage. She stripped leaves, removed thorns from the roses, angled the stems and checked the balance and position of the flowers, aware the whole time that he was watching her.

“You’re good at that.”

She identified the binding point and tied the bouquet. “It’s my job. I’m sure you’re good at yours.”

“I am. And I enjoy it. I should probably feel guilty about that.”

“Why?” She wrapped the flowers carefully, added water to the pouch and tied them. “It’s not wrong to enjoy what you spend your day doing. I’d say it’s obligatory.” She wondered what he did.

Despite the fact that he was floundering with his daughter, there was a quiet confidence about him that suggested he didn’t doubt himself in other areas of life. Underneath the black coat his clothing was casual, so probably not a lawyer or a banker.

Advertising? Possibly, but she didn’t think so. Something in tech, maybe?

No doubt Julia would be full of ideas and wouldn’t hold back from expressing them.

Serial killer.

Bank robber.

“I feel guilty because sometimes when I’m at work, I forget.”

“That’s something to feel grateful for, not guilty. Work can often be a distraction, and that’s good. Not every pain can be fixed. Sometimes it’s about finding a way to make each moment better. These flowers should stay fresh for more than a week. Add flower food. Change the water every day. Strip off any leaves that are under the water. It will help to keep the flowers looking good.” She handed them over. “Oh, and remove the guard petals from the roses.”

“Guard petals?”

“This,” she pointed with her finger to the curled, wrinkled edge of a petal. “They look damaged, but they’re there to protect the rose. Once you get them home, peel them away and the flower will be perfect. I hope she loves them.”

“Me, too.” He produced his credit card. “Given that you may be saving my life, I should probably know your name.”

“Flora.” She ran the card through the machine. “Flora Donovan.” She glanced at the name as she handed it back.

Jack Parker. It suited him.

“Flora. Appropriate name. You have a gift for what you do and I’m the grateful recipient.”

Flora wondered if Becca had been good at arranging flowers.

“Are you having a party for your daughter?”

“She said she didn’t want one. That it wouldn’t be the same without her mother there. I took her at her word.” He slid the card back into his pocket. “Was that a mistake?”

It must be so hard for him trying to get under the skin of a teenage girl.