“What?” she says again. She looks up from her work and glances at me just long enough for me to see the guilt in her eyes. “Hmph,” she says, tossing her hair and looking away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hannah, you’re humming that song.”

Now she’s full-on blushing, but she still pretends not to know what I’m talking about. “So?”

“You always hum that song when you’re into a new guy. You only hum that song when you’re into a new guy. So who is it?”

Hannah gives up and breaks into a bashful smile. “Richard.”

“Who?”

“Richard. You know, the guy with the first-date boutonniere. Remember? He came in the beginning of December, and he needed flowers for his first date with someone? You recommended pansies and white violets.”

“That guy? Didn’t he come in like two more times for other dates, though?”

“He did,” Hannah says. “And we tried a new combination of flowers every time, but always with the pansies: think of me. Remember?”

“But they didn’t work.”

“What do you mean, they didn’t work? Of course they did, sweet pea! Just not the way we expected them to.”

“Why, because— Ohh. Because he thought of you.”

Hannah nods. “Uh-huh. It was after the third time he came in. We got to talking while I made his boutonniere, and when I gave it to him I got that little fizz that I get when the magic is working. But it was a little different than usual—it sort of wrapped itself around me instead of passing through me, if that makes any sense.”

It does, but only because it reminds me of when Owen had his arms around me at the Pigeon Point Lighthouse. I wish I’d recognized it then.

Hannah sighs and her gaze loses focus, as if she’s reliving the moment. “Richard says that he kept thinking about me, even during his date that night. He says she was pretty and smart and nice, but being with her just wasn’t the same as being with me. And then his friend set him up with someone else. So he went on that date last night, mostly just to make his friend happy. And he didn’t even want the boutonniere. He only bought it as an excuse to see me.”

“Did he tell you that when he got it?”

“No! And I was so sad. But I was a little bit hopeful, because I felt the magic again, but even stronger, and I knew why. He came in today around noon and asked for a fifth boutonniere, and I said, ‘I’m sorry that your date last night didn’t work out,’ and he said, ‘I’m not,’ and I said, ‘Who’s your date tonight?’ and he said, ‘You.’” She sighs. “Isn’t that romantic?”

“It is. It’s very romantic.”