Page 79 of Thick

“We call them fresh.”

“It’s a little misleading, isn’t it?”

Her eyebrows raised. “Maybe a little. Have you decided what you’d like?”

“Give me a dozen of those pink ones, a dozen red roses, and something bright yellow. And blue. Or purple. One or the other. Then, we’ll have red, yellow, and blue.”

“Oh my. It might take a little longer than fifteen minutes.”

“That’s fine. As long as it’s before noon. Is that possible?”

She looked at the clock. “A quarter of ten now.” She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“If I give you the address you’ll deliver them?”

“We sure will.”

“Can you call me immediately prior to doing so?”

“How immediate?”

“The immediate kind of immediate. Right before you ring the doorbell.”

“Sure.”

“I’d like to be there right after she gets them.”

“That’s a lot of flowers for a Wednesday,” she said with a smile.

“Is there a limit?” I asked. “On Wednesdays?”

“There is not. I simply meant. Oh, never mind.”

“I know what you meant. I was being facetious.”

“You don’t talk like a--”

I coughed a laugh. “Like a tattooed biker?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” She turned as red as her roses. “It’s just…”

“I know what you meant.” I turned away from the case. “If you’d like to ring them up, I’ll pay for them.”

She walked behind the counter, donned her reading glasses, and looked at a price list. After a moment, she pecked at the register with her index finger.

“Two hundred eighty-three fifty, and fifty-six cents.”

I handed her my debit card. She looked at it, and then at me. “Do you have ID?”

“I do.”

She studied my ID, and then handed it back to me. “That’s funny.”

“My picture? I was tired. I’d just ridden from Phoenix, and was close to heat exhaustion.”

“No. Your name. It’s Tate Desmond Reynolds. Your initials are TD. You could be TD Reynolds.”

I was shocked that she knew who I was. “Who?”