“Ah,” the florist said, walking up behind Ian and nodding at his selection. “A single lavender rose. You must be quite enchanted then.”
It was the nicest one Ian had seen in the cooler: a ridiculously long-stemmed, soft purple rose with the head just starting to curl open, and even though the bloom itself was mostly closed it was as big as a child’s fist. It stood straight and proud, the leaves a dark forest green and Ian had been drawn to it immediately.
“It’s actually for a child,” Ian chuckled. “A piano recital. Maybe something a little more appropriate then?” He slipped the flower back in its basin.
The florist shook her head, her tight bun wiggling furiously as she plucked the rose back out. “No, no! When it comes to picking out a rose you have to go with your heart.” She handed th
