I groan. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was unprofessional.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I liked yours better.”

He looks sincere, and I’m touched. Flattered, even. Still, what does he know? “Thank you, but you have no idea what you’re talking about.” I make my way back toward the counter, pausing to shift buckets around to cover the space left by the now empty and absent sunflower bucket.

“Sure, I do.”

“You a floral design expert?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow.

“Just accept the compliment,” he says.

“I said thank you.”

“True,” he concedes. “But then you said I don’t have any idea what I’m talking about—”

“You don’t.”

“—so that cancels out the value of the compliment.” He crosses his arms like he thinks he’s won.

I try to explain. “It’s just that a compliment means different things from different people, so it’s nice of you to say that you like my arrangement, but—”

“I wasn’t saying it to be nice,” he says. He gives me that same serious look, and I feel myself faltering.

“Okay, fine. I’m glad you liked it, but—”

“Just say thank you.”

Ughhh. “Fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He smiles, and it’s kind of a cute smile, and I’m absurdly pleased that he thinks my arrangement is better than Sabrina’s, even though it’s not; and even more pleased that he wanted me to take his compliment without trashing myself, except why do I even care? So he’s sincere. So he has nice eyes. And a cute smile. So what? He still has no idea what he’s talking about. He’s wearing a history joke on his chest.

Which reminds me: It’s partly his fault that Sabrina didn’t listen to me in the first place. “So actually, about those flowers. Next time? Just let me choose them, okay? Like, obviously Sabrina wasn’t about to take my advice anyway, but just as a rule, don’t encourage customers to choose something unless I tell you to, okay?”

“Oh, sorry about that! I thought I was doing you a favor. You know, trying to encourage her to spend more money.”

“It’s not about money. I mean it is, obviously. But it’s more important to make sure that the flowers are the right ones.” I’m about to add, At least, that’s what Hannah says, but I find that I mean it. Huh. Look at me, being all experty.

“Okay. Got it.” Owen nods and gives me a thumbs-up. “Only . . .” His voice trails off. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and starts rubbing the back of his head.

“Only what?”

“I mean. Don’t you guys, like, need to make money?”

“Well, duh. Of course, we do. Doesn’t everyone?”