“This one’s for you, Miss Poppy,” the older man says kindly. “Special order.” I take the large bouquet of gorgeous pink tulips from him and fish around in my pocket for a five dollar bill I tucked away. “Tip’s already covered,” he says. “Mr. Burke sure is a nice guy.” I smile at him as he turns to go, and then pull the card from the wrapping. Poppy, Had a few things to take care of in the city. I’ll meet you at the dance. I’ll be the one staring at you like a lovesick puppy. —Dallas
