“Mary!” Estrella said brightly, obviously determined to ignore the romantic crash and burn they’d just witnessed. “How are you? The shop looks beautiful as always. You know John, my son. He was taking his mother out to lunch around the corner and I wanted him to see your lovely shop.”

Mary’s eyes flicked over to the man in the black slacks, white dress shirt and dark blue tie. And yup, shiny wingtips. It was Saturday, for God’s sake! How deep into the wingtip cult did a man have to be to wear wingtips on a Saturday?

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” John returned in a voice that was a bit scratchy, two-toned almost.

“I’m going to quick run to the USPS up the block,” Estrella chirped. “Mary, do you have a second to show John your shop?”

Estrella didn’t wait for an answer before she ducked toward the front door, nudging her son forward at the same time.

And then there was nothing but echoing silence in the wake of Estrella’s departure. John blinked at Mary. Mary blinked at John.

“Well,” Mary said, gesturing around her with the flowers she just now realized were still in her hands. “This is my shop. You’re welcome to take a look around. Let me know if you have any questions.”

Mary felt his eyes on her as she turned back to the window display and started messing around with the bouquets she’d already put together. They’d been bright and haphazard and happy only moments before, but suddenly they looked messy and lazy to her. Maybe she should start over.

She could tell that John hadn’t moved from where he stood in her front entryway, and she could still feel his eyes on her back.

“Mary,” he said a moment later in that double-layered voice of his. How had she not noticed his voice the other night? It was so distinct. “My mother and I weren’t eating lunch around the corner.”

Mary instantly decided that each vase of flowers was utter, cheery perfection exactly as they were. Screwing with them too much was bound to wring the magic out of them, like water from a sponge. She picked up an armful of the jars and began to set them around the shop. The rest she’d arrange in the window. “Oh?”

John cleared his throat. “She told me that the two of you talked about our, uh, date.”

Mary whirled and was lucky that none of those jars actually had water in them because she would have been soaked down to her toes if they had. “I didn’t rat you out or anything. I just told her that—”