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Summary
Whizzer Brown wasn’t looking for salvation. He was looking for a drink, maybe a distraction, maybe someone to touch who wouldn’t ask questions afterward.
Instead, he found a florist.
Marvin—beautiful, irritable, all quiet defiance and earth-stained hands—looks like the kind of man you ruin yourself on once and forget in the morning. That’s all Whizzer plans to do. Sleep with him. Move on.
But the night he stumbles into that flower shop—half-drunk, half-lost—the air smells like lilacs and rain, and something in Whizzer stops. He keeps coming back for the flowers, for the quiet, for the way Marvin never asks who he is.
It’s only supposed to be physical.
It never is.