Flora was more hopeful in her approach. If it rained in the morning, it didn’t mean it was going to rain in the afternoon.

“Does he look like a man in love to you?” Julia sliced through the stems at an angle, the way Flora had taught her. “It’s minus digits out there. People are only outdoors if they have to be. If they’re buying things essential to life. Like chocolate.”

“Flowers are essential to life.”

“I’d risk frostbite for chocolate. Not flowers. Flowers are not essential.”

“They’re essential to my life. Strip off those leaves. If you leave them under the water they’ll rot, then the bacteria clogs the stems and the flowers die.”

“Who knew it was so complicated.” Julia removed them carefully and then glanced at the window again. “He’s messed up, don’t you think? Made a major mistake, and he’s figuring out how big the bouquet has to be to make it up to her.”

“Or him.”

“Or him.” Julia inclined her head. “He looks tired. Stressed. He’d rather be at home in the warm, but instead he’s freezing to death outside our window, which tells me it’s something big. Maybe his partner found out about his affair and he’s wondering whether it’s throwing good money after bad to try to change their mind.”

“Maybe he’s been married for thirty years and he’s marking the moment.”

“Or maybe,” Julia said, “he’s buying flowers to try to fix a day he’s ruined for someone. What?” She paused to breathe. “You’re the one who taught me that flowers tell a story.”

“But you always see a horror story.” Flora rescued a rose that was about to fall and breathed in a wave of scent. She tried not to touch the buds, but she could imagine the velvety softness under her fingers. Where other people used meditation apps to promote relaxation, she used flowers. “There are other types of story. Happier types.”

Celia, the store owner, tottered past in ridiculously high heels, her arms full of calla lilies. She had a florid complexion and a slightly flattened face that made Flora think of dahlias. Her personality was more thorny than a rose, but her brisk, no-nonsense attitude made her particularly good at dealing with dithering brides.

“You need to hurry up with those roses if we’re going to get them delivered in time for Mrs. Martin’s dinner party tonight. You know how particular she is.”

“We’ll be done in time, Celia, don’t worry.” Flora smiled and soothed. It came naturally to her. She’d calmed more storms in teacups than she’d drunk cups of tea.

“Our mission is to provide the very best customer service and the most beautiful flowers.”

“And we will.” Flora could almost feel Julia grinding her teeth next to her. She willed their boss to move on before her friend exploded.