"As you know," she starts, "none of the part-timers were able to come today. I know it's kind of weird for me to be your boss, but bear with it, okay?"
"I'll do my best," he answers.
"Great! Then can I ask you to water the plants at the front? Just do what you'd normally do with our lawn."
He nods and heads out, strapping on a work apron and grabbing the hose. At early morning, the streets on this side of the town are almost empty. It's nice—quiet and relaxing.
While he lets the water run, a batch of flowers catches his eye. They start out as burgundy in the centre and fade into pink by the tips.
They're nice.
He pokes his head back into the shop. "Faye?"
"Yes?"
"These flowers—the ones with the gradient reds—what are they called?"
"What? Oh! They're a special type of cosmos called antiquity."
He looks at them, then back at her. "Do I get a paycheck at the end of the day?"
"Um, no. Why do you ask?"
"I want to give them to someone when I get home."
She smiles. "You're silly. But I'm sure she'll appreciate it."