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“Very well.”

“Or maimed.”

His expression turns faintly disappointed.

“Your rules are becoming excessive.”

I roll my eyes and unlock the front door.

The little brass bell jingles as I push inside, and the familiar scent of roses, eucalyptus, and fresh greenery wraps around me.

Home.

Well, my second home.

My first home currently contains a god who has somehow managed to stretch out the largest shirt I own.

Speaking of which…

I turn around.

Vidar stands in the doorway, wearing a black T-shirt that clings obscenely to his chest and a pair of gray sweatpants that should probably come with a warning label.

“You’re going to scare away my customers.”

He looks down at himself.

“Because of my clothing?”

“Because you look like you could bench-press a Buick.”

“What is a Buick?”

“A very large carriage without horses.”

“Ah.”

He considers this.

“I could.”

“Of course you could.”

He ducks beneath the doorway and follows me inside.

His piercing magenta eyes sweep across the shop, taking in the buckets of fresh flowers, the colorful ribbons hanging behind the counter, and the arrangements waiting to be collected.

Then he stops.

“These are beautiful.”

I glance over my shoulder.

He’s standing beside a display of pale pink garden roses, examining the petals with the same solemn concentration he gave my breakfast yesterday.

“Those are Juliet roses. They’re my favorite.”

“Why?”