Wicker meets my challenge with a steely smirk. “Danner didn’t get them. I got them myself, from the Ag department’s heirloom seed depository.” I frown, looking the pouch over once again. “What could they be?” Then, my head snaps up. “Oh god, it’s not more roses, is it?” “It’s not roses,” Wicker insists. “It’s a surprise.” I tilt my head, assessing the size of the seeds. “Is it fruit?” Wicker’s eyes bug out. “Do you understand what a surprise is? Jesus Christ.” “I’m just asking—” His hand snaps out, cradling behind my neck, and he mutters, “Just shut up and take it,” before tilting his head and
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