She didn’t know who he was. But she didn’t like him.

She took a drag of her cigarette and didn’t stand up.

The man got to the porch steps and proffered the bouquet like it was the head of a dragon he’d just slain for her pleasure. Susan took the flowers, but was careful not to look too enthusiastic about it. She gave them a brief inspection and then laid them next to her on the porch. There wasn’t a note. “Did Leo send you?” she asked skeptically. Leo had wooed her with flowers back when she’d worked at the Herald. But these weren’t his style.

Up close the man’s face was thickened with scars. They made his pale features blurry and uneven. “He’d like you to come to a party,” he said. His voice was hoarse, like he had a cold, but Susan had the feeling it always sounded that way. He made a florid gesture like a footman welcoming someone on board a carriage.

Mr. Gallant.

Susan looked at the town car and then at him. “When?” she asked. “Now?” She laughed nervously and shook her head. “No. No way. He can’t just ignore me all day and then send me flowers and expect me to drop everything at his beck and call.”

The man swallowed and his jaw tightened. She could tell he was someone who was not used to being told no. The corners of his mouth turned up, revealing a set of stained crowded teeth. “It would really mean a lot to him if you could come,” he said.

“What’s your name?” Susan asked, flicking ash from her cigarette into the herb garden.

“Cooper,” the man said.

“Let me tell you something, Cooper.” She picked up the bouquet and looked down at the plump pink blooms. “The chemicals they use on roses are some of the worst in the world,” she said, holding the flowers out so Cooper could see them. “Twenty percent of the pesticides they use on roses in Colombia are illegal in the U.S. Roses require a lot of fertilization. Do you know how much fossil fuel is needed to make fertilizer?” Cooper stared back blankly. “One kilogram of nitrogen-containing fertilizer takes two liters of oil,” Susan said. “Irrigation puts pressure on local water supplies, and results in salinization of local farmlands. That’s not even getting into the wage inequality endemic to most of the large corporations that dominate the global rose market.” Susan shook her head. “Don’t get my mother started on roses,” she said. She put the bouquet down and leveled her gaze at Cooper. “Leo knows my mother. And Leo would never send roses to me at her house, because he knows he would never hear the end of it. So I’m thinking Leo didn’t send these flowers, and he didn’t send you.”