Lilly's Garden

I. Thistle

"You've gotta help me!"

Zin's practiced smile appeared. Her nose tickled from the flowers she spritzed. "How can I help you?"

"This is the flower shop that saves marriages, right?"

A muscle in Zin's cheek twitched. "Yes?"

"My marriage is dying, and I need you to save it!"

Zin subtly measured the man in front of her. His hair was skewed, and his clothes were wrinkled like he had worn the same outfit for a week. His pale face highlighted the dark bags under his eyes. He oozed desperation—the kind so familiar to Zin she could practically taste the acrid flavor on her tongue.

Zin sighed and put aside her spray bottle. "Sure."

The man slumped with relief. Zin bit her tongue. She wanted to shout that flowers didn't save marriages. That there was nothing magical about petals and leaves stuffed into a cheap vase full of water. Flowers withered and died.

Yet as she gathered red roses, purple dahlias, and blue cornflowers, another couple walked into the shop. The woman giggled and clung to the man's arm. His grin was wide, all teeth and dimples. They bypassed the desperate man and waved her down.

"Do you remember me?" the man asked. Zin smiled, knowing her answer wasn't necessary. "This is my girlfriend I told you about. We're engaged now!"

The woman giggled. Zin clenched the damp stems in her hands. "I'm happy you resolved your differences. I wish you all the best."

The couple left in a fit of giggles and dreamy glances. Her current customer stared after them wistfully, likely imagining the resurrection of his own relationship. Zin sighed and snipped the stems of a few roses.

Flowers didn't save marriages. Not unless they came from Lilly's Garden. Zin wanted to shoot whoever started that urban legend.