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“Welcome home, little flower.”
I point at his chest.
“Did you buy that?”
“No.”
“Then where did it come from?”
“I had it made.”
I burst out laughing.
“Oh my God.”
“Yes?”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I have been told.”
He comes around the counter, his massive shoulders stretching the black T-shirt beneath his ridiculous apron.
I gesture toward the flowers.
“Vidar, what on earth have you done?”
“Improved the establishment.”
“You’ve turned my shop into a botanical explosion!”
“A magnificent botanical explosion.”
“How much did all this cost?”
He considers the question.
“I did not inquire.”
I close my eyes.
“Of course you didn’t.”
He catches me around the waist and draws me against his chest.
“Do you disapprove?”
I look around at the flowers.
At the candles.
At the beautiful, ridiculous lengths this man has gone to simply because he knows I love pretty things.
My heart does something painfully sweet.
“No,” I whisper. “I love it.”
His expression softens.
