“Why haven’t you thrown them out yet then?” “You gave them to me,” I shrug. “It didn’t feel right to throw them out.” His eyes and smile soften at my response. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you new ones every time the ones you already have die. That way, you’ll never have to have dead flowers on your nightstand.” I feel my heart flutter in my chest. How is he so perfect? And how is he mine?
