Chapter 94

“Your mansion’s too impractical,” George complained, but that didn’t matter, and Laurie barely heard him, because—

One gardener’s hand shoved a bouquet his way. Roses. Gathered. Messily tied with twine. “Here you go.”

“Oh…” Laurie quite literally forgot words. He put a hand to his chest; his heart was thumping madly. “You…those are…for me?”

George waved them at him. A drop of water slid off a petal. “Your flowers, aren’t they?”

“Oh…yes.”

“Well, and.” The moustache shuffled. “Could’ve asked what you wanted to do with them, I suppose. But you looked like you might be needing flowers. Needing someone to bring them to you. Couldn’t get chocolate, so your roses’ll do.”

“You brought me flowers,” Laurie whispered. No lover ever had. He and Alec had bought other gifts, both large and lavish and small and silly, but somehow never that. He’d been the one to buy them for both his wives; and stage-door bouquets and gifts from agents and studios did not count.