Edward had started working at the florists in winter. The shopkeeper's daughter, Nancy, had been stumbling with boxes and buckets when he offered to help. Like Edward, she had lost her older brother to the war. A closeness developed and when a job was offered, he did not hesitate. It excused him from gatherings, with the benefit of money and friendship.

By early spring, the work had become familiar and his days were easier. 

"Ed, love. Just popping out to collect somethin' for the husband," an older woman called out. Mrs Porch — a generous woman who spent her days caring for her ill husband whilst mastering beautiful bouquets. Edward had brought many home for his mother. "Shan't be long."

He was fond of his job and happy contributing to the household. Spare shillings would be pocketed, others went on sweets. He shared them with Judith when Florence wasn't watching.

Becoming friends with Nancy was the biggest change. Each day he anticipated seeing her and hearing her stories. Once she handed him a letter her brother wrote, about a cheeky fellow appointed temporary captain — 'he's barely of age, that George lad'. Knowing their brothers had been familiar, comrades even, brought much comfort. For hours they would sit talking and learning. She taught him the language of flowers; he showed her Latin.

Edward had never had a friend like Nancy — aside from George.

When the door's chime rang, he called out a usual greeting. He was rarely on the shop floor and almost never alone. Nancy would always be by his side. Their days together were spent making bets over what flowers a customer wanted and Nancy's triumphant laugh would fill the store. Edward had lost many shillings that way. She had a charisma with customers that Edward could never have. Their questions and peering eyes made him stumble over his words. 

"They're all so lovely." 

It was a woman's voice, soft with a gentle accent. He was curious to see her face but continued to flick through the newspaper instead, his heart already racing at the future customer interaction. His head only raised as heavy footsteps approached. Polished shoes made their way to the edge of his vision; a smooth hand knocked on the counter. Edward paused his reading. 

"Excuse me," spoke a familiar voice. "Could you assist us?"

Edward's head snapped up. Before him was Samuel stood in a brown tweed suit, hair slicked back. He looked tidy, far more put-together than the lad from the freshers meeting with unkempt hair and mismatched buttons. Today, he looked good. Really good.

Edward folded his paper and rose from his seat. Mrs Porch had a collection of bouquets sitting along the shop walls. It wasn't uncommon for men to pop in after work to bring home flowers for their wives. Nancy enjoyed the sight, calling them hopeless romantics. He wished Nancy was beside him. Her charm and ease with customers was needed. His mouth had become dry, his throat suddenly tightened. Desperate not to make a fool of himself but the couple's eyes watched him intensely as he mulled over the flowers before settling on a small bundle of pink tulips and white hyacinths. A gentle and romantic collection that wasn't overwhelming.

He cradled them carefully in his hands. "These are a popular bunch," he croaked, turning his attention to Samuel's companion. 

His breath caught. She was beautiful in a way dolls were. Dark curls that framed her face with long eyelashes and rosy cheeks. Pink threads in her perfectly tailored skirt suit, paired with blush heels.

"Oh Sam! It took you long enough," she squealed, taking the bouquet into her hands. There was a sparkle in the woman's eyes, a smile growing as she brought the flowers closer. He knew Nancy would be satisfied with his choice, proud even. 

Edward made his way back to the counter hurriedly. The walk felt long. He listened to couple's footsteps behind him and their conversation perked his ears. Between giggles and chatter, he caught fragments: they had only been courting a few weeks and Samuel had promised her flowers for a while. Then the woman's name. Lisa. It spilled from Samuel's mouth with an affection that made Edward's stomach knot. A familiar soft and sweet tone, the way George would call for Florence. 

Edward had never heard his own name spoken that way.

His hands fumbled with the till, punching in numbers with unsteady fingers. When he glanced up, he saw Samuel alone at the counter. Through the shop window, Lisa stood outside, smiling to herself as she reapplied lipstick.

"You aren't usually here."

Edward's gaze drifted to Samuel and their eyes met. Those powerful blue eyes looked up him and Edward refused to break away. He tilted his head in confusion, thinking of Nancy in the backroom. She had ribbon spools scattered on the table and boxes of flowers — carnations and baby's breath — trapping her inside.

"We've passed by a few weekends but it's always a young girl working. When I spotted you, I remembered I promised Lisa some new flowers." Samuel wet his lips. "I like your hat." 

He placed a few shillings on the table and wore his usual grin. Edward furrowed his brows, tilting the rim of his flat cap. It was a present from George, he said it was a reward for getting into grammar school. Though he insisted he had found for a bargain of a price, it was clear he'd spent more than a few pennies on it. Edward wore it to hide away his hair, but also because it was special. It allowed him to carry his brother with him. 

To anyone else, it was just a hat.

They stood in silence for a moment until a horn outside broke through the atmosphere. Edward smiled back, but there was a pressure on his throat. The air felt stuffy and suffocating. He loosened his collar, placing the coins into the till.

"They all mean something, don't they? Flowers, I mean."

Edward couldn't force a word to leave his mouth. Instead, with a weak smile, he nodded his head. He was desperate to get some fresh air once Samuel left.

"What do orange ones say?"

Unintentionally, Edward let out a frustrated huff, causing Samuel to laugh. He ran a hand through his blonde hair and leaned on the counter, waiting. Nancy spoke often about the meaning of colours. Reds were a favourite for passion. Edward was fond of yellows, especially sunflowers — he had one growing on the kitchen windowsill. But orange left him clueless, and Samuel noticed.

"My mother loves flowers. She says orange celebrates success," he spoke with curling lips, leaning forward onto the counter. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and his tie was loose. Close enough that Edward could see the lipstick stain on the corner of his mouth — a smudge of pink left behind by Lisa. He backed away. "I'll take one. A single orange rose."

One singular rose. A romantic gesture many men had attempted with Nancy in red, pink, and lavender — all of which were rejected. Though never orange; Edward wouldn't have thought it was a colour Lisa would enjoy. And as he reached for the roses, there was an uncomfortable feeling lingering in his stomach as Samuel watched him move. Not sickness or hunger, just something different. Everything happened in silence, only the ticking of the clock on the wall could be heard.

After paying, Samuel turned for the door and Edward finally felt he could breathe. He let out a deep breath, something trapped inside the entire time. The way he carried himself with such confidence, Edward was in total awe. He wished he'd been better prepared, more composed.

Then Samuel stopped and spun around, orange rose still in hand.

"Edward."

He had a face that was impossible to read — not smirking nor grinning — as he walked back to the counter. Rather, his head was tilted down, attention solely on the single flower in his grip. Samuel placed it on the counter before looking up.

"Congratulations on your new job." His tone was calm and collected. His eye contact never wavered, never flickered. Edward felt pinned by his gaze, a heat creeping up his neck. For a fleeting moment, he considered the possibility that he was being mocked. A lonesome redhead who now worked amongst flowers. And yet, the way he smiled didn't feel taunting, but genuine.

Then, with no further explanation, Samuel turned for the door. "Don't be a stranger," he said.

The store was full of silence and Edward stood alone, holding the orange rose. Without realising, he found himself smiling.