I could’ve gotten the Paris of flowers, and what did I get her? The San Francisco of flowers? The Austin of flowers? Hipster BS. What was I doing?

I check my watch. It’s ten to eight. Too late to go back for a different bouquet. All I can do is hope for the best and knock.

I raise my hand to do so, but the door swings open before I can make contact. A striking brunette with wide eyes almost runs into me.

“Oh!” she says, breaking into a big smile. “Hi, I’m Yazmine.” She extends her hand, staring me down. “You must be Braden.”

She steps back to allow me in, seemingly forgetting she was about to leave. “So, tell me about yourself,” she says, closing the door behind me.

“Yaz!” Sara’s voice emerges from the other room. She stumbles into the doorway, hopping on one heeled foot as she attempts to slide her other one into the matching shoe. “Weren’t you leaving?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yaz shakes her head as she slinks off toward the door, her nosy-friend opportunity spoiled for today.

Sara looks at me, and her eyes soften. “Lilies!” She lights up. “My favorite.” She finally gets the shoe on and crosses the room in two graceful seconds, taking the flowers and pulling me into an embrace. “They’re amazing.”

“I’m glad you like them,” I say. I mentally take back all the curses I just sent the hipster florist’s way.

“I love them.” She crosses over to the kitchen, pulling a plastic vase from the cabinet. Only she would bring a vase to college. I watch her as she fills it with water and expertly unwraps and trims the flowers before placing them in the vase. All while keeping her dress pristine.

Damn, that dress. I try to keep my eyes on her hands as she works with the flowers, or her lips as she rambles on about Yaz and Perfect10 being like The Bachelor or something.

But it’s hard not to look at that dress. It’s tight and black with a plunging but classy neckline, cut in a way that makes it clear she couldn’t possibly be wearing a bra underneath. It is longer than most dresses you’d see around campus, but it hugs her body perfectly, showing off the way her hips curve into her long legs, especially in those heels, which must be at least five inches.

“Which is ridiculous, don’t you think?” She concludes her story.

I clear my throat. “Uh, yes, totally.”

She smiles. “I cannot say how relieved I am that you feel the same way. Like of course our business model is completely different than some sort of love competition show.” She adjusts a few of the flowers. “Okay, there.” She sets the flowers in the middle of the table and stands back to admire them. “Beautiful.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”