“Why do you cut them at an angle?” Mark asked.
She looked at her scissors and then at him. “Helps them drink the water more easily.”
He smiled. “So what conclusion did you come to?”
“I need order,” she said. “I think that’s what it is. I need something easy to digest. Easy to understand.” She waved her hand around. “You see all this? Ridiculous.”
Mark followed her hand as she waved it over dozens of bouquets lining the back of the counter. “Did you do those, too?”
“Yes, and they’re ridiculous. They’re like little kids who’ve had too much candy. All over the place. I really wanna calm them down by taking out half the flowers in each arrangement.”
“But your customers love them,” Mark pointed out.
“I know. And that’s why I make them like that,” she said. “But this—” She pointed to an arrangement to Mark’s right. “—this is a million times better than all those others. It’s calm. It makes sense. No flower is competing for attention because they’re all the same.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“Who are those for?” Mark asked softly.
Cadence shook her head. “I don’t know. A Mrs. Christensen, I think.”
“You mentioned order,” he said, “but you’re a mess at home.”
She giggled. “I know it. And maybe that’s why I crave order so much. I am dating you, after all.”
He chuckled. “True.”
She finished snipping the roses and tearing off the leaves before arranging them in a squat, square vase.
“I like these roses because they remind me of sunshine,” she said.
“They definitely do,” Mark observed.
She picked orange, pink, yellow, and purple roses, packing them in snuggly so that there were no holes. That’s what she said. Holes. When she was through, the bouquet resembled a mushroom—flowers served as the cap and the vase served as the stem. It was certainly neat and tidy, but it was most certainly not controlled. The colors burst and popped, and he realized it made perfect sense. She was this arrangement: tiny, tucked, and bursting. A little ball of brightness and energy. He thought if they turned out all the lights, her bouquet would glow. Just like her.
She looked at Mark. “What do you think? It’s simple, I know, but do you think your mom will like it?”
“I think she’ll love it,” he replied. “Are roses your favorite flower?”
“Sounds clichéd, but yeah. And not because they’ve become the staple for birthdays and Valentine’s Day and ‘I’m sorry’ days. It’s not even about the actual flower so much as it’s the way you arrange it in a vase. They are, hands down, the prettiest flower in an arrangement because of their fullness and shape. Their texture, too. Hang on.”
She hurried to the same refrigerator and grabbed a bunch of long-stemmed flowers. She walked back to the counter.
“Look at these,” she said, cradling the calla lilies in the crook of her arm. There were five of them. “You see how these wouldn’t do in a vase? I mean, people will put them in a vase, but they don’t belong. They don’t belong in any arrangement. They belong just like this, in your arm, with maybe a ribbon tied around them.”
He watched her carefully, the way she cradled the flowers gently, talking about them as though they had feelings and rights. His eyes went wide when she verbalized his thought.
“They have a right to be like this. Free of a vase. On their own. Look at this flower, Mark. This flower shouldn’t have to share with anyone.”
“That flower is Avery,” Mark said.
Cadence burst out laughing. “No kidding. Avery is totally a calla lily. I mean, look at this thing. Haughty. Elegant. Beautiful.”
“And you?”
“Well, you already know. I’m a stunted rose with too much color. I think I work better in a vase. I like to share.”
“I’ll take a stunted rose any day,” he said softly. “And I like all your color. My life was pretty dull until you came along.”
She smiled.
“What kind of flower am I?” he asked.
“Oh, you can’t be a flower. You’re not delicate,” she said. She walked back to the refrigerator and tucked the calla lilies in their bucket.
He smirked. “You’ve only done one arrangement. Will you get in trouble with Millie?”
“Nope. Last one for today,” she replied.
“I’ll pick it up tomorrow,” he said, pointing to the rose bouquet.
“Won’t see you. My day off.”
“But you’ll be home when I get home from work, right?” he asked. He’d have the bouquet with him, ready to give to her. Flowers, and then an explanation. Well, more like revelation.
She nodded.
“Okay, flower girl.” He hopped down from the counter and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you at home.”
“I love you,” she said.
He looked at her for a half moment, wondering if she’d still feel that way after tomorrow night.