“You’re right. I’m so sorry. God, I don’t know what I was thinking—lying is the worst. You’re right not to lie to people. Maybe I could get Greta a new…whatever that plant is? Oh, god, are they really rare, do you know?”

The florist’s expression softened, his stormy eyes fixed on Truman’s.

“Hey, don’t worry. This is a sarracenia. They require a winter dormancy. You didn’t kill it. It’s just resting.”

Relief shot through Truman like a tidal wave. “Oh, thank god. Fuck, thank you.” His head spun with relief.

“Whoa,” the man said, and Truman felt a strong hand fasten around his biceps as he slumped against the counter.

“I’m fine, just a little hungover. And jet-lagged. And heartbroken.”

A strange, panicked laugh tore out of Truman without his permission, and he closed his eyes as his legs went weak.

The florist took his weight effortlessly, led him behind the counter, and pushed him to the chair there. He disappeared through a doorway and returned a minute later with an apple and a granola bar, holding them out to Truman somberly.

Head rush receding, Truman picked the apple and bit into it. The skin gave way under his teeth to sweet flesh.

“Thanks,” he said, leaning against the counter. “I’m okay, really.”

“I’m Ash,” the man said.

Truman reached out a hand to shake Ash’s automatically. Ash looked amused but shook his hand. Ash’s palm was warm and dry and softer than Truman expected.

“So, um, I don’t suppose you could leave out the stumbling around hungover part when you tell Greta I thought I’d killed her plant, could you?”

Ash leaned a hip against the counter. “I’m not going to tell Greta.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Ash nodded. The dog gave a little yip, waking itself up, and shook itself before coming to stand next to Ash.

“Hey, buddy.” Ash scratched the dog’s ears. “This is Bruce.”

Truman reached out a hand and let the dog sniff his knuckles. “Makes me miss my dog.” Bruce gave him a lick and then rested his chin on Truman’s knees. “Aww, what a sweetie.”

“He’s a good dog,” Ash agreed.

“Do you like working here?” Truman asked, not wanting the moment to end for reasons he absolutely refused to acknowledge.

Ash nodded. “I love it. People are always happy to come in here. Happy to see me when I ring the bell to deliver flowers.”

Truman smiled. “That must be nice. It’s cool that people still send each other flowers.”

Ash’s eyes narrowed.

“No one’s ever given me any, so I guess I didn’t think about it,” Truman stammered on.