“That guy was such trash. I hate that we have to go to a school named after him,” Owen mutters to me, disgust and disbelief amplifying his voice.

“You’re telling me?” I say.

Geoffrey overhears him. “You two go to McAllister?”

We nod.

“Well, then you’ll be interested in what I learned yesterday.”

“What?” I ask.

Geoffrey winks. “I’ll send you the link to the article when it’s live.”

“Aw, come on. Tell us,” Owen pleads.

“Let’s just say it goes way beyond the flower shop,” says Geoffrey, and that is as much as we can get out of him. I hate it when people are coy about news, especially when the news turns out to be nothing at all. But this sounds like it could be big.

A few hours later, Emily stops by as we’re loading the van to take our floral bounty to the Feda home. She’s brought us a dozen lemon sugar cookies this time (my second favorite after snickerdoodles) to trade for more petals to wear in her locket to her Golfland date with Fiona later today. I’m using dried and crushed purple rose petals for enchantment and a pinch of southernwood from Hannah’s herb cabinet for charming banter—both of those seemed to work last time—and added a sprig of heather for good luck.

Emily looks so excited and nervous, it’s contagious, and as I hang the locket around her neck I feel a rush of something so powerful I could almost believe that it’s magic. I just know this date is going to go well for her. I mean obviously I don’t know. But I have a good feeling about it. I haven’t felt this relaxed around her in a while, and I’m so filled with joy at having our old friendship back that I can’t help giving her a hug.

“I put in everything you’ll need. Good luck. You got this.”

She shakes the locket at me, gives it a kiss, and tucks it into her shirt. “Flower magic. I can feel it already.”

“Though just promising her a couple of cookies would probably be effective, too.”

“I’ve got a bag of six in my car.”

“Then you’re all set. Where are you going?”

“Golfland, then a movie at AMC Saratoga, and then . . .” Em clears her throat and picks up a stray stem from the worktable and twirls it between her palms. “I’m not sure.”

“Sexyfuntimes?” I do my best to waggle my eyebrows, but I’ve never been good at that. I have a feeling they just go up and stay there and make me look surprised.

“Shut up! I would never . . . Not on the first date, anyway,” says Em, blushing.

“Okay, okay.” I hug her again. “Go. Have fun. Remember to be yourself. Don’t drink and drive.”