ME: So I fucked up at the store today. Totally got wires crossed and ended up missing a delivery for someone’s anniversary. I felt terrible. The guy ripped me a new one, which I fully deserved because it was definitely my bad. But when he left the store with a refund and a bomb-ass arrangement, Lucy hugged me and told me shit happens. And I definitely felt bad for the whole rest of the day, but I also kind of moved on. When my internal voice (I named it Chad) started going in on me, I told that asshole to shut the fuck up. Because everyone makes mistakes, and one missed order isn’t going to sink the business. Baby steps.

ME: Also, miss and love you.

ME: So this week is Valentine’s Day, aka the Super Bowl of floristry, and I’m super excited but also scared shitless. I don’t know if I can do it, but I’m going to. Everyone is taking the day off work to come help out with deliveries and I don’t know what I did to deserve all these amazing people in my life but I’m so grateful for them. You’re included in that group, of course. Even if I haven’t seen your face in two weeks. God I miss your face. I never really had a Valentine before because honestly I think the whole thing is dumb (except now it’s not dumb because I’m going to make bank this week), but if I were going to have a Valentine, I’d want it to be you. Only you, Jackpot.

ME: Also, once the rush of this week is over, I’ll start looking for an apartment.

ME: Also, I love you. So much.

JACK: Don’t even think about moving out.

JACK: I love you too.

I wake up the day after Valentine’s Day, warm and cozy in my bed. My muscles ache and I have blisters on both heels, but I also feel better than I have in, oh, say, two weeks or so. Thankfully, I already decided to keep the shop closed today. If I hadn’t, I’d be calling in sick. If you can call in sick to your own business.

I loll around under the covers for way longer than I should, relishing these moments of doing nothing. It’s been a while since I just did nothing. Eventually my full bladder forces me out of bed, and my caffeine addiction forces me downstairs.

Where there’s a very rumpled, very bedraggled-looking man sitting at the kitchen peninsula. With a large latte and a bagel.

He stands up when he sees me, and my heart absolutely shatters. Jack looks terrible. Worse than I feel even.