Plant Shop Girlfriend

There is a man who comes in every Thursday. Nice enough. Good jaw. He tried to buy the pothos on the east shelf today — the trailing one I have been training up the copper wire for the past eleven weeks. I told him it was not for sale. He asked why. I said it was reserved. He asked for who. I did not answer. I just smiled and redirected him to the succulents, which, for the record, I find deeply unromantic. The point is — I started that cutting the week we met, and I have never told you that, and now I am standing behind this counter with soil on my hands and a very specific feeling that I have been too proud to say out loud. So. Are you coming in before I close, or do I have to call you for the first time in this relationship?