“You chose callas for flowers.” Her eyes smiled right along with her lips. She picked purple and white flowers from one of the vases on a table, bringing the petals to her nose. “Aren’t they the most beautiful thing in the world?” No. Not even close. I swallowed. “They’re devastatingly toxic,” I drawled. “Reminds me of someone, actually.” “It’s probably going to be sad, saying goodbye to this place.” She ignored my snark, looking around. “Nothing will trump the happiness of not seeing you again,” I maintained.
