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There was a curious, lonesome bouquet of flowers atop Enola’s desk.
She poked the bundle with the tip of her pen, watching as the petals flopped about uselessness with the disturbance. Pink and white splotches of color assaulted her, mocked her. It wasn’t as if the gift’s donor was much of a mystery. Tewkesbury had taken to handing her a new bouquet each time he saw her for their weekly walks and tea sessions. Not to mention the frequent, scandalous practices they took deep in the woods where she disciplined him on the basics of fighting between chaste kisses. The flower he gave her then would most often be forgotten on the forest floor, trampled beneath their feet as Tewkesbury grasped her waist and pulled her close.
It made her flush to think about, even now in the lonesome of her workplace.
For good measure, she poked the flowers once more. The edge lifted just enough to reveal a hidden note. Enola sighed and rolled her eyes skyward. She sincerely hoped Edith hadn’t read such a paper. It was embarrassing enough for the flowers to be left about.
She unfolded the paper with nimble fingers, Tewkesbury’s scrawl neat and familiar.
I’ll see you for tea at noon.
The note was even signed yours. How precarious for Tewkesbury to presume any sort of ownership. At the very least, he refrained from calling her his. He would continue to do so if he was smart. She had no interest in belonging to anyone but herself. But for him to call himself her’s—to imply his soul and mind and body perhaps belonged to her by even a fraction. Well, it certainly made her cheeks pink.
The request for tea was worrisome, however. Tea meant a public affair, surrounded by adults who gave them rather strange and outraged looks if they so much as brushed their fingers as they reached for their tea. Still, she enjoyed watching Tewkesbury prepare himself a fine cup. He was generous with both the milk and sugar, leaving his tea rather light in color. She preferred it plain. A sugar cube, maybe, but only if she was in a certain mood.
It wouldn’t do much good to linger on the thought, Enola figured. Tea would occur at noon. She was a happy participant if it meant she could see Tewkesbury.
She dropped the note back to the table, reaching for the flowers instead. At first glance, the flowers appeared to be almost day-lilies. Except, the petals weren’t so shriveled at the edges. The coloring wasn’t right either. She crossed day-lilies off her internal list.
Her book of flowers and their language was tucked away in the corner, along with any other books she might need for the immediate unraveling of details, but she refused to bite. Tewkesbury had been coaching her in the ways of flowers; names, growth patterns, significant. It was all rather useless information, if she were honest with herself, but Tewkesbury positively lit up at the mere mention of plants and so each detail stuck to the edges of her brain like a fly in a venus trap.
She remembered that day in the fields after they’d first met. His enthusiastic naming of edible mushrooms; pride to prove himself useful and genuine passion for a simple fungus. He was rather fascinating in that way.
Enola smiled at the memory. She ran her thumb along the edges of the flowers in her hands, feeling the waxy layer atop the petals.
“Useless boy,” she muttered fondly. “What ever will I do with these?”
She turned to face the back wall and sighed. Dozens of flowers were laid along the table, single stems and bouquets alike. She’d run out of vases rather quickly, because, truthfully, she only had one. She hadn’t thought to ever have a need for more than one. As a child, she’d never considered anyone would be handing her flowers. Maybe her mother—her chrysanthemums were delicately placed at the center of the table—but nothing quite like this. There were more flowers here to last Enola a lifetime.
Roses of every color, single violets and tulips in the doubles, hyacinth just a day away from decaying. A few carnation’s here and several zinnia’s there. Even one spider flower had been discreetly pressed the second it’d passed its blooming period. Her discovery of that one had resulted in the prompt slamming shut of her book and some avoided eye contact, but all was well.
She decided the flowers must’ve been zephyr’s. She wasn’t sure of the meaning and she wasn’t too fond of discovering it at that moment. There was always the possibility of it harboring some scandalous, awful meaning. Enola wished to be oblivious until after her tea with Tewkesbury.
“Here we are,” she said, placing the flowers between a bundle of red roses and yellow zinnia’s.
The clock was dangerously close to noon when Enola turned her head back. Tewkesbury had said meet at noon, hadn’t he? No matter, she decided. She could be a minute or two late. It wasn’t as if he would wander off within that time. Unless, of course, he spotted a bush of rather nice gardenia outside the window. It had happened once before. She shuddered just thinking of it; arriving at their customary table only to turn and find him sniffing the white petals in the middle of the street for all to see.
Enola hurried to dress. The thought of Tewkesbury smelling the flowers in front of everyone was sending goosebumps up her arms and she tried not to trip down the stairs with her haste. She stepped out of the front door and nearly collided headfirst into him.
“Tewkesbury!” she said. She brushed down her curls with one hand, steadying herself with her other atop his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I thought it’d be nice to walk with you,” he said sheepishly. His cheeks were growing pink, though she could easily blame it on his walk over. His hand was on her elbow, and though she’d felt it there before, not to mention in much less chaste areas of her body—
—her waist as he taught her to dance, her cheek as he tilted her face up for a kiss, her hair as he brushed loose strands from her brow, the knobs of her spine as he pressed a warm hand to her back to guide her into his arms—
—she could feel her stomach growing warm. The effect he had over her was rather instantaneous and equally inconvenient. She averted her gaze, taking a half step back and dropping her own hand from his shoulder. Her eyes, however, found the newest gift he was clutching in his hands.
“Tewkesbury.” Her voice had a distinct edge to it and he smiled widely. “What is that?”
“Flowers, Enola,” he said. “I’d have thought you would recognize them by now.”
She swatted at his chest with a groan. “More? What am I supposed to do with them?”
“Put them in a vase?”
“I have no more vases,” she grumbled. She wasn’t sure when she’d done it, but her arms were crossed. Tewkesbury continued to watch her with a large, warm smile. Her cheeks flushed even more than before.
“Well now I know what my next gift shall be,” he said. Enola only squinted and wrinkled her nose.
“I have no need for another vase,” she objected. “Just as I have no need for more flowers.” Still, she took the flowers in her hands with a level of care she usually reserved for evidence in a case. Tewkesbury was on the receiving end of most of her tender efforts these days.
He took her arm and began to lead her down the street, his opposing hand reaching over to touch the back of her own. His fingers traced a slow circle over her skin and she shivered. Again, she averted her gaze. Should he see her flush, he would never let her live it down.
“Are these zinnia’s?” she asked. They were perfectly mixed between pink and purple, the layered petals bright and blooming.
“Yes,” he said cheerfully. His smile dropped a moment later at the look on her face. “Oh. Do you… not like zinnia’s?”
“Tewkesbury,” she began with a sigh. She had about three dozen zinnias. In every color and every shade. She adored them, yes, because they reminded her of her stupid boy, but it was getting out of hand.
“I’ve given you quite a lot of those,” he said, but it appeared he was speaking more directly to himself than her. Enola rolled her eyes and squeezed his bicep affectionately beneath her hand. “I can invest in something else, if you’d like.”
“I like zinnia’s,” she assured him. The tension in his shoulders dropped a fraction. “I just have quite a lot of them. They’re everywhere.”
“You could put them in your office?” he suggested.
Enola glared up at him. “I did. Because there wasn’t enough room in my bedroom.” Tewkesbury only laughed. She pinched his bicep in retaliation. “Maybe next time I’ll be bringing you the roses and zinnias,” Enola mused.
Tewkesbury choked on his own spit. “You’re going to buy me roses?”
She hummed with a grin. “A whole bouquet of red ones. Is that of any interest to you?”
“Yes,” he muttered. His eyes were darting between her eyes and her lips. They were surrounded by crowds on the street, but there was an empty alleyway just up ahead Enola was sure they could use for a moment to rest. “That interests me a great deal.”
“Good,” Enola said. “You and I will stand on equal ground.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “We will. On flowers and on all other matters."
Enola’s heart fluttered. She pressed the bouquet in her hands closer to her chest and let herself imagine a future of equal belonging.