“Don’t I always?” Kat asked. “In case it wasn’t clear, that was another rhetorical question,” she added drily. “It doesn’t matter how obviously wrong a guy is for me, I always end up falling for him. In fact, I think the worse he is for me, the harder I fall.” A burst of mocking laughter escaped her. “How do I expect to find Mr. Right if I’m always chasing after Mr. Wrong?”

Julia wasn’t sure what to say to that. She knew Kat didn’t want or need platitudes. She needed a friend. An honest one. “It’s true, your track record isn’t the greatest…”

“That’s putting it nicely,” Kat said, grimacing. “My radar is broken. I’m broken.”

“You are not broken.” Julia set her wineglass down and scooted closer.

Kat stared into her empty glass, twirling the stem between her fingers. “Growing up, the way my parents treated each other … the way they treated me…” She swallowed. “I don’t think I know how to love someone right.” She looked at Julia, blue eyes filled with a tired sadness, a world-weary acceptance more suited to someone way beyond her years. “I don’t think I know what love looks like or what it should feel like.”

“Bullshit,” Julia declared.

Kat blinked.

“You do have a tendency to fall for guys who are wrong for you. I’m not going to argue with you there.” Julia took Kat’s glass and set it aside, then reached for her friend’s hand. “But I think maybe your choices have less to do with your ‘radar’ and more to do with the fact that you don’t believe you deserve love.”

Julia expected Kat to get defensive. Instead, she cocked her head, face guarded but curious.

“You think you don’t deserve better than the jerks you pick to date, and that’s simply not true. You have such a big heart. I’ve seen it over and over again in our friendship. You think you don’t know how to love? I say that’s bullshit, because I know otherwise. I’ve seen it in the love you give to me and Andie. The love you have for your grandmother…”

“I do love you both, and I love my babcia—I’d be lost without her, without you—but that’s different than romantic love.” Kat pulled her hand out of Julia’s grasp, studying her fingers. “I got into the floral business because I enjoyed helping make the special moments in peoples’ lives feel even more special. Flowers are supposed to be the language of love. I thought I’d see proof of love all the time.” She shrugged. “And sometimes, I do. But more often, I see assholes sending Sorry for banging the secretary; it will never happen again bouquets to their wives while simultaneously ordering Thanks for the awesome BJ; let’s do it again soon bouquets for said secretaries.”