So when Dave’s cruise contract ended and he spent his one-month vacation at Mark’s penthouse, he couldn’t help but notice a recurring 10AM meeting on Mark’s calendar mysteriously titled “Plant Acquisitions.” He raised an eyebrow. Mark, who once killed a cactus by watering it with sparkling water, was suddenly obsessed with “foliage procurement”?
But it wasn’t until the third week after Dave boarded his next ship that everything clicked—confirmed by one frantic, over-excited phone call from Ray.
And so, as a true friend, it was Dave’s duty to dig deeper.
---
“You’ve been visiting that same plant shop for three months now,” Dave said over the phone, his voice lined with suspicion and thinly veiled amusement. “You don’t even like plants.”
“I do now,” Mark replied defensively, adjusting the lapel of his cream blazer as he stepped out of his car in front of Green Sprout Haven. “I have a peace lily, three succulents, a spider plant, and that one with the stripy leaves.”
“A calathea,” Dave said dryly. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”
Mark ignored him as he entered the shop. The bell above the door gave its usual melodic chime. The smell of potting soil, lavender, and eucalyptus hit him like a gentle balm. There, near the window, stood Kyle Arandia, adjusting a string of fairy lights over a display of aloe vera and baby sun roses. His shoulder-length hair was tied up with a green ribbon, and his apron was smudged with dirt.
Mark's stomach did the annoying flip it had grown used to over the past few months.
“I’m not in love,” he whispered into the phone, walking past the monstera stand to hover near the counter.
“You talk about him all the time.” Dave snorted. “Last night you spent ten minutes telling me about the way he labeled the watering cans—‘For thirsty babies only.’”
“He has a system,” Mark muttered.
“He has you wrapped around his little vine-covered finger.”
Mark glanced toward Kyle, who was now helping an elderly woman choose between two rosemary bushes. He was patient, animated, and kind, explaining care instructions like he actually cared whether the herbs survived. Mark’s chest warmed.
“He makes me want to buy houseplants and learn about humidity control,” he admitted softly.
Dave went silent for a beat. Then:
“Say that again?” he teased.
“I think I’m in love with Kyle,” Mark said, almost reverently, the words tasting foreign but weirdly satisfying.
“Damn,” Dave finally said. “You’ve got it bad.”
Mark ducked behind a rack of succulents to whisper more freely. “I don’t even know what to do with this feeling. I’ve never liked someone like this. I want to impress him but he’s… not impressed by money or suits. He laughs at me when I call pothos a ‘leaf thing.’”
“That’s because you are the leaf thing.”
“Shut up.”
“Tell him,” Dave said. “You’re already showing up like it’s your pilgrimage. At least stop pretending you’re going there to buy soil samples.”
“I can't,” Mark muttered, voice low. “He has a boyfriend.”
There was a pause. Then came Dave’s amused grin through the speaker.
“Never heard the song?”
Mark blinked. “What?”
Dave’s voice dropped into a mock-dramatic lilt.
“So he’s a bit of a fixer upper…”
He leaned back with an exaggerated sigh.
“And by the way—I don’t see no ring.”
Mark rubbed his temple. “This isn’t a Disney movie.”
“Nope. But love still needs a little push sometimes,” Dave quipped. “Especially when one half of the couple is a socially constipated hotel tycoon.”
“I’m not—socially constipated.”
“Sure, pal. And Kyle’s boyfriend is clearly Prince Charming?” Dave snorted. “Look. If the guy's neglectful and you’re here pining like a lovesick cactus, maybe it’s time someone replants him in the right pot.”
Mark scowled. “That’s not how plants work.”
“Exactly. So go rewrite the rules.”
Peeking out from the plant rack again, Mark watched Kyle smile warmly at the elderly woman as he handed her a tiny watering schedule card decorated with rain clouds and sun emojis. His apron had a little cartoon cactus embroidered near the hem. He looked like something out of a cozy indie movie. Mark sighed.
“I think I want to be someone softer when I’m around him. It’s infuriating.”
Dave’s tone softened. “Maybe that’s love, man. Or a midlife crisis. Either way, I’m proud of you.”
Mark exhaled, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips. “Thanks… Now go away before I accidentally propose in front of a Ficus.
“A calathea,” Dave said dryly. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”
Mark ignored him as he entered the shop. The bell above the door gave its usual melodic chime. The smell of potting soil, lavender, and eucalyptus hit him like a gentle balm. There, near the window, stood Kyle Arandia, adjusting a string of fairy lights over a display of aloe vera and baby sun roses. His shoulder-length hair was tied up with a green ribbon, and his apron was smudged with dirt.
Mark's stomach did the annoying flip it had grown used to over the past few months.
“I’m not in love,” he whispered into the phone, walking past the monstera stand to hover near the counter.
“You talk about him all the time.” Dave snorted. “Last night you spent ten minutes telling me about the way he labeled the watering cans—‘For thirsty babies only.’”
“He has a system,” Mark muttered.
“He has you wrapped around his little vine-covered finger.”
Mark glanced toward Kyle, who was now helping an elderly woman choose between two rosemary bushes. He was patient, animated, and kind, explaining care instructions like he actually cared whether the herbs survived. Mark’s chest warmed.
“He makes me want to buy houseplants and learn about humidity control,” he admitted softly.
Dave went silent for a beat. Then:
“Say that again?” he teased.
“I think I’m in love with Kyle,” Mark said, almost reverently, the words tasting foreign but weirdly satisfying.
“Damn,” Dave finally said. “You’ve got it bad.”
Mark ducked behind a rack of succulents to whisper more freely. “I don’t even know what to do with this feeling. I’ve never liked someone like this. I want to impress him but he’s… not impressed by money or suits. He laughs at me when I call pothos a ‘leaf thing.’”
“That’s because you are the leaf thing.”
“Shut up.”
“Tell him,” Dave said. “You’re already showing up like it’s your pilgrimage. At least stop pretending you’re going there to buy soil samples.”
“I can't,” Mark muttered, voice low. “He has a boyfriend.”
There was a pause. Then came Dave’s amused grin through the speaker.
“Never heard the song?”
Mark blinked. “What?”
Dave’s voice dropped into a mock-dramatic lilt.
“So he’s a bit of a fixer upper…”
He leaned back with an exaggerated sigh.
“And by the way—I don’t see no ring.”
Mark rubbed his temple. “This isn’t a Disney movie.”
“Nope. But love still needs a little push sometimes,” Dave quipped. “Especially when one half of the couple is a socially constipated hotel tycoon.”
“I’m not—socially constipated.”
“Sure, pal. And Kyle’s boyfriend is clearly Prince Charming?” Dave snorted. “Look. If the guy's neglectful and you’re here pining like a lovesick cactus, maybe it’s time someone replants him in the right pot.”
Mark scowled. “That’s not how plants work.”
“Exactly. So go rewrite the rules.”
Peeking out from the plant rack again, Mark watched Kyle smile warmly at the elderly woman as he handed her a tiny watering schedule card decorated with rain clouds and sun emojis. His apron had a little cartoon cactus embroidered near the hem. He looked like something out of a cozy indie movie. Mark sighed.
“I think I want to be someone softer when I’m around him. It’s infuriating.”
Dave’s tone softened. “Maybe that’s love, man. Or a midlife crisis. Either way, I’m proud of you.”
Mark exhaled, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips. “Thanks… Now go away before I accidentally propose in front of a Ficus.
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