Panicked, he reached in and picked up the pot, peering at the plant. Its soil seemed moist enough, but he had no idea what enough meant for ordinary plants, much less something like this.

He ran back into the kitchen and reread the instructions to see if Greta had left contingency plans for such a scenario. There was nothing.

Should he text her? What would he say, though? “Sorry, but I immediately got so drunk in your bed that I didn’t notice one of your precious babies that I swore I would care for was in its death throes.” Yeah, nope.

Then he remembered the walk to the general store.

“Florist. There was a florist. Florists know about plants, right?”

Right.

He pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. But remembering yesterday’s walk and his own insufficient winter wear, he opened Greta’s closet. She wouldn’t mind if he borrowed a sweater, would she? No, that was weird.

He tapped a quick message to her: Hey! Hope you’re enjoying the warm weather! Unfortunately I’m rather unprepared for the cold. I know it’s kinda weird to ask, but…would you mind if I borrowed a sweater?

Her response came immediately. oh, totally, borrow whatever you want. it’s gorgeous here. And then a palm tree emoji.

He pulled on a gloriously warm woolen sweater and felt much better about leaving the house. Now he just had to find the equivalent for the plant. He pulled a blanket off the couch and wrapped the plant in it as well as he could to protect it from the winter but not squish it in the process, then he set off into town.

It was still bitterly cold, but the sweater made a big difference, and Truman decided to look for gloves and a hat when he got back.

The shop was called Thorn, and it glowed invitingly. Truman rushed inside, cradling the swaddled plant in his arms, and a bell cheerily tinkled his arrival.

A man was arranging roses in a plastic tub with his back to Truman. He had broad shoulders, thick forearms, and messy brownish-blondish hair that swept his shoulders.

“Just a sec,” he called without turning around.

A glassed-in cooler next to the counter held beautiful arrangements. Simple sprays of one kind of flower, riotous mixtures of many colors, and several large arrangements that looked more like art than flowers. Tubs of different varieties of flowers were lined up around the inside of the shop with signs stating type and price and how to make a bouquet of your own.

The walls were painted a soft grayish purple and washed over with irregular swipes of color, giving the subtle effect that you stood inside a flower arrangement. It was lovely and made the scarred wood floors and counter look shabby chic instead of just shabby.

In a red corduroy bed next to the counter, a shaggy black-and-brown dog snoozed, one ear twitching in dreams.