Gabe had no memory of being at the Soulard Farmers Market first thing on a Wednesday morning before. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been here, though he’d come often enough as a kid with his parents on Saturdays when the market had seemed like a chaotic, bustling metropolis. Today, the old open-air building was quiet enough that his footsteps carried a light echo, just like the stillness carried the coughs of one of the vendors who was setting up a selection of handmade soaps on a nicked-up table.

The ten or so vendors who’d be selling on this early-spring weekday were mostly still unloading out of vans and truck beds. He spotted a woman unpacking an oversize tub of bouquets and headed over to her table. She’d already put out a couple different varieties of rose bouquets—whites, pinks, and reds—and a few bouquets of bright-yellow sunflowers. But he was drawn to three bouquets boasting a selection of subtler colors: muted whites and a variety of pale greens.

“See anything to suit you?” She was close to his mom’s age, he was guessing, and had deep-set wrinkles around her eyes that she’d gotten from a good deal of either smiling or squinting, and he wasn’t about to guess which.

He nodded toward the muted-looking bouquet. “What would you say that type’s appropriate for?”

The woman was placing the bouquets into open round holders and appraised him over the rim of her glasses. “How old’s the person you’re buying them for?”

“Ah, midtwenties, I’m guessing, maybe mid-to-late twenties.”

She nodded. “Then the answer’s easy. Just buy what you think she’ll like. There are no rules with millennials when it comes to buying flowers. The succulents and eucalyptus in those arrangements pair well with the cream roses. You can’t go wrong with subtle elegance like that.”

“Subtle elegance, huh? I’ll take one. Know any vendors who sell cards?”

“If you’ll hold on a minute, I’ve got a tub of ’em in my van that I still need to unload.”

Gabe chose his favorite of the three bouquets and debated what he’d write in the card as the flower vendor traipsed back across the long hallway with a smaller tub. He was happy when the wire rack of cards she pulled out were blank inside with St. Louis photographs on the front. He’d not been in the mood for anything sappier than the flowers he was buying. He was close to choosing one with a view of Forest Park when he spotted a card with a golden retriever sprawled out on the steps below the Arch.

“This and the bouquet. Do you take credit cards?”

“I do. Give me a minute to get everything pulled up.”