The scent is exquisitely reassuring. It reminds him of breathing in the scent of Bart's pomade on the pillow after he'd left in the morning--not that the smell is all that similar, but the experience is. It's like an echo of pretty memories rippling through his mind.

He smiles back, pleased to hear he made the right choice as far as flowers. "I wondered about that too," he admits. "Like how in stories a faery cries when the prince brings her flowers because picking them killed the blossoms."

The flirting makes him laugh a little, but he offers them his arm in a mock-gallant gesture. "I don't get it, but who am I to tell the angel of beauty that I'm not good-looking enough for them? I'll take your word for it. Do you mind walking to the restaurant? It's not so far."