Page 190 of Problematic

“Then we do daisies.”

His mouth trembled. “It’s not too simple?”

“Sounds like she appreciated simple.”

He laughed once, broken and wet. “She would have liked you.”

I looked down at the stems. “Then she had questionable judgment.”

That made him laugh again.

I built the arrangement while he sat on the stool near the counter and told me that his sister stole every hoodie he owned and once bit a demon twice her size in a parking lot because he touched her friend. By the time he left, I had dirt under my nails and an ache behind my eyes that no amount of caffeine could touch.

At noon, a teenage demon came in for one pink clawthorne rose and asked if it was too much for a first date. He had a rash of nerves across his cheeks and kept checking his reflection in the glass of the cooler.

“It’s sweet,” I said, wrapping the rose in brown paper, careful to cover the sharp hooked thorns at its base.

He flushed dark purple. “You think?”

“I think anyone who makes fun of you for bringing one flower is boring.”

His shoulders dropped with relief. “Thanks.”

“Also, cut the thorns off before you hand it over. Romantic gestures lose points when they draw blood.”

He took the rose with both hands as if I had handed him state secrets. “Right. No blood. Got it.”

The bell chimed behind him.

Mrs. Kori snorted from the counter. “You give good advice for someone wearing heartbreak around her neck.”

“I liked you better when you were yelling at plants.”

“I yell where needed.”

By one, my breathing no longer scraped. By two, my hands had stopped shaking. By three, I hated Lux in a steadier way: less open wound and more bruise I kept bumping because my brain was a masochist.

The bond stayed quiet.

Too quiet.

I kept expecting the pull. A pulse. A thread of him through my skin, angry or hurt or sorry. Anything.

Nothing came.

A cold feeling started under my ribs and spread.

At four, Mrs. Kori handed me a bundle of unsold flowers wrapped in brown paper. A few bruised blood roses. Two sprigs of old-world lavender. One dramatic black death lily with half a petal missing. I stared at it. “I can’t afford these.”

“Did I ask for money?”

“I’m a charity case now?”

“You are a tired girl who worked hard today.” She shoved them into my arms. “Take the flowers and go home before you pass out on my floor.” She smiled. “And if it helps, we still have three buckets of hungry white wolf roses left over. They aren’t picky eaters if you need to get rid of whoever put that frown on your face.”

I pointed at her. “That is the most concerning thing anyone has said to me today, and I know Mandi.”

Mrs. Kori laughed. “Go home, Liv.”