In the winter, Edward began working at the florist's. It had been a gloomy day when he helped the shopkeeper's daughter, Nancy, carry boxes and water buckets. He soon learned that she had also lost her older brother to the war. When a job was offered, he did not hesitate. It was an opportunity to earn a little money whilst simultaneously avoiding any more social gatherings.

"Ed, love. I'm just popping out to collect something for my husband." An older woman stood by the door, calling after Edward. Mrs Porch was a generous woman, spending her days caring for her ill husband, whilst being a master at beautiful bouquets. On many occasions, Edward had brought some home for his mother. "Shan't be long."

The last few months had been enjoyable. He was fond of his job and felt happy contributing his wage to the household. Spare shillings would be pocketed, others went on sweets for Judith. They'd hide away on the grassy hill eating their treats.

Becoming friends with Nancy made his days easier, too. He looked forward to seeing her and hearing her stories. She once showed him a letter from her brother who wrote about a tall and cheeky fellow appointed temporary captain — 'he's barely of age, that George lad'. The connection sparked their closeness. Knowing their brothers had been familiar, perhaps even comrades, brought comfort. For hours, they'd sit, exchanging memories. She would teach him the language of flowers; he'd teach her Latin. It hadn't been his favourite subject, but seeing Nancy so enthusiastic, he found the motivation to teach her.

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

The door's chime rang; he called out a usual greeting. It was rare he'd be left alone in the front — he wasn't great with customers. He'd keep his head down, flicking through a newspaper.

"They're all so beautiful." A woman's voice.

Footsteps approached the counter, followed by a knock on the table. Edward was startled. "Excuse me," spoke a familiar voice. "Could you assist us?"

Edward looked up — it was him. Samuel stood in a brown tweed suit, hair slicked back. He had only seen Samuel with unkempt hair in a white shirt, buttons clearly mismatched. Today, he looked good — really good. Had Nancy been here, Edward was certain she would have fainted from the sight of him.

Luckily, it appeared Samuel hadn't recognised him. He folded his paper, stood up, and walked over to a bucket of pre-made bouquets. He pulled out a collection with great care: pink tulips and white hyacinths.

"These may catch the lady's eye." He turned his attention to Samuel's companion. Now that he could see her, it was impossible to miss how pretty she was — almost effortlessly so. Dark curls, long eyelashes, rosy cheeks — she looked like a porcelain doll. He'd noticed the pink threads in her skirt suit, paired with blush heels.

As hoped, the woman rushed over, squealing, taking the bouquet into her hands. "Oh, Samuel, these are perfect! Don't you agree?" She placed a hand on his, giving him a squeeze. 

Edward glanced back as he led the couple to the counter. Samuel trailed behind, ushering his lady-friend out of the door. Only once she was gone did he speak, "I like your hat." 

He placed a few shillings on the table, wearing his usual grin. Edward furrowed his brows. The cap was a present from George as he started attending grammar school — a simple flat cap he had found for a bargain of a price. Edward wore it to hide away his hair, but it was also special to him. To anyone else, it was just ordinary.

For a moment, they stood in silence before Edward smiled back, thanking him for the shillings. The atmosphere felt stuffy, almost like he'd been found out. He felt so forgettable and plain, impossible to remember, but did Samuel know who he was? He shook the thought from his head, placing the coins into the till.

"Do you know a great deal about the meaning behind a flower's colour?"

"Pardon?"

"What about orange flowers?"

Nancy had said colours carry their own meaning, like proclaiming a love or mourning. Neutral colours were popular, followed by the deep red bouquets men would buy for their wives. Orange was unusual, a rare colour choice. With darting eyes, he rushed through memories. Red symbolises emotions of passion and love, yellow for friendships and new beginnings — but orange?

Samuel noticed his silence. "My mother loves flowers, and she'd often say orange was reserved for warm success," he spoke with curling lips, leaning forward onto the counter. Edward could see his slightly unbuttoned shirt, his tie loose. So close the lipstick stain on the corner of his mouth was now visible. Edward backed away. "I'll take one. A single orange rose."

There was an uncomfortable feeling lingering in Edward's stomach as Samuel watched him move. It was something he wasn't too familiar with — not sickness or hunger, just something different. The only sound to be heard was his feet hurriedly shuffling around. The outside world felt too quiet, like a whisper.

Once Samuel had paid for his flower, he turned for the door, and Edward finally felt he could breathe. He let out a deep breath, something trapped inside the entire time. It appeared Samuel hadn't recognised him. The way he carried himself with such confidence, Edward was in total awe. He'd hate for their next meeting to be like this.

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

"Edward."

He was walking towards Edward with a face that was impossible to read — not smirking nor grinning. Rather, his head was down, attention solely on the single flower. Samuel placed it on the counter before looking up.

Edward was stunned.

"That's for you. Congratulations on your new job." His tone was calm and collected, his eye contact never wavering. He stared at Edward and smiled — then turned away to the door. For a fleeting moment, Edward considered the possibility that he was making fun of him. Who would gift a redhead a bright orange rose? But the way he smiled, it didn't feel taunting, rather... genuine.

"I'd like to get to know you, so don't be a stranger."

Samuel walked out, and the store was full of silence. Without realising, Edward had also found himself smiling.