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Penny had seen many things since she’d first opened her exotic flower shop several years before. It had surprised her, because she often imagined that the majority of her arrangements would be for weddings, funerals, dates, and anniversaries.
She was fluent in flower language, but truly believed that no one cared about it anymore. Sure, she had a few clients that wanted an arrangement to specifically say that they were sorry, so she’d made her fair share of arrangements from white orchids.
She made many arrangements from red and pink roses. Some people merely wanted an arrangement based solely on color preferences. It was disheartening, because she’d spent years learning how to grow the rarest of flowers in an effort to make arrangements that said very specific things, and she’d never really gotten to utilize it.
“My girl’s favorite color is orange, so like... this one? Like twelve of these?” the customer implored, pointing specifically to her hybrid orange lilies.
They meant contempt. Hatred. Disdain.
She wrapped twelve in orange paper and sent the man on his way.
That all changed one afternoon.
The man had come in here before, but mostly for personal floral arrangements. Dr. Lecter liked morbid table arrangements that she’d usually only make for Halloween, but it broke up her day, and she liked that he knew the exact meaning of every flower in her shop.
She didn’t know what kind of people came to his house, but he liked snapdragons and black dahlias. Lies and trickery. Deceit and mischief.
He was a lot of fun, really.
One afternoon, he came into her shop looking as sheepish as someone of his stature possibly could. He waited patiently until he was alone with her before approaching. “I need an arrangement, please.”
“Of course,” she said politely. “Another table arrangement?”
“Ah, no,” he frowned. “I’d like... a floral arrangement. White orchids, blue hyacinths, and white roses, please.”
Someone was very, very, sorry, she thought to herself. “Would you like to include a card?” she asked.
“Yes,” he sighed. “May I choose one?”
“Of course,” she nodded. She watched him pick one from the counter, then withdrew a gold ballpoint pen from his pocket. She didn’t know what he wrote, but it was lengthy for such a small card. “Where would you like me to send it?”
He tipped his head. “Can you deliver to Quantico?”
Several days passed, and that’s when she met Will Graham for the first time. He stormed into her shop, wild curls blowing in the cold wind. His jaw was set tightly, anger burning hot in his eyes. “Can- can I help you?”
“Yeah,” he drawled. “I need an arrangement that says, ‘Fuck you, I hope you fucking die in a fire.’ You have flowers that will say that?”
She blinked at him, completely at a loss. “Uh. Well, yes? In a way, yes.”
“I want them to know I hate them. I don’t forgive them. That the light of friendship won’t touch us for a thousand years. I want... I want him to know that he’s the fucking worst.”
“Okay,” she nodded. “Well, I... I can do that. Black roses mean... hatred and... uh, death. Orange lilies mean contempt, hatred, and disdain. Yellow carnations mean rejection...”
“Sounds absolutely perfect,” the man chuckled. “Can you send it tonight?”
“I can,” she cleared her throat. “Is the... recipient in Baltimore?”
“Sure is,” he hissed. “Five Chandler Square. I also need the arrangement to be ugly as sin, so put it in a vase that... I don’t know, is as horrible as possible. Like hot pink or lime green, please.”
She knew that address. She’d delivered quite a few table arrangements there over the years.
Was this the person that Dr. Lecter sent the apology arrangement to? If so, then it clearly didn’t work.
“Would you like to include a card?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah,” he grinned. He plucked a card from the counter, and she noticed it was one that said, ‘CONGRATULATIONS!’ with rainbow confetti on it.
She didn’t need to squint to see the bold, capital letters he wrote on it, either.
FUCK YOU
He underlined it for good measure, then handed her the card, sans envelope. “You take debit?” he asked.
It wasn’t surprising to see Doctor Lecter in her shop again. He didn’t look happy. In fact, his usual polite demeanor was completely absent. “Penny,” he said to her, tilting his head. “I would like to send a potted plant, if possible.”
“Of course,” she said thickly. She hoped he would not hold any grudges against her for sending such a horrible arrangement to his home. She was only doing her job.
“I would like to ask, however,” he said carefully, upper lip lifting in the briefest snarl. “Did you choose the... horrid vase that Will sent me?”
“He asked me to use a hot pink vase,” she murmured. “I only had hot pink pineapples. I’m... I’m sorry, Dr. Lecter.”
“You were only doing what was requested of you,” he frowned. “Why did he choose that color? Did he say?”
“He... he wanted it to be as ugly as possible,” she whispered while a blush stained her cheeks. “It pained me to send something like that.”
“I’m sure it did,” he sighed. “I want to send a planter of buttercups to Quantico, please.”
“Will Graham’s office?” she asked.
“Yes,” he pursed his lips, then smiled to himself. “I would also like an arrangement to be sent to another office, as well. Red roses and red chrysanthemums. Please deliver that arrangement to Alana Bloom.”
She made sure to write up two separate orders because she truly did not want the delivery guy to screw this up. One arrangement meant that the recipient was childish and ungrateful, while the other meant true love and admiration.
“Would you like to choose the planter for the buttercups?” she asked.
“Something... childish and whimsical,” he grinned. “For the other arrangement, I would like a silver or gold vase, please.”
“Of course,” she nodded, writing his preferences down on each order form. “You may choose cards for them, if you’d like?”
He picked one card that had nursery print along the edges; meant for a new mother or father. On that card, Dr. Lecter wrote something brief on it before stuffing it into an envelope. He chose another card that had ‘Thinking of You’ written in black embossed letters across the top. He wrote something on it before putting that one in an envelope as well.
He placed both on the counter. “Can you deliver them tomorrow?”
“I absolutely can,” she nodded.
After he left the shop, she began working on his order. He hadn’t written anything on the front of either envelope, so she didn’t know which card was meant for which arrangement. With a sigh, she popped them open so she could make sure they went to the right people.
Will’s card said, ‘A childish arrangement for an ungrateful child.’
Alana’s card said, ‘I think of you often throughout my day. I ache for the press of your lips against mine. Your fingertips against my skin, your soft curls under my nose. I cherish you, mon coeur.’
Well. She flushed hot, ensuring each card went into a new envelope before placing them carefully with the right arrangement. It wouldn’t be good if she screwed them up.
Not at all.
The next day, Gary came to pick up all her arrangements that needed to be delivered. She meant to stress how important it was for him to deliver those two arrangements to the right people, but...
She was busy. She forgot to stress it. If she were honest, she just... forgot.
So, when Will Graham showed up later in the afternoon, holding a stunning arrangement of red roses and red chrysanthemums in a gold vase, she felt her heart nearly explode in her chest. Oh Jesus. Oh.... fucking Jesus.
“Is he fucking insane?” Will asked her with a tilt of his head. “Did you deliver the ‘fuck you’ arrangement?”
“I did-”
“Then what the fuck is this?” he asked heatedly. “Is he... Why would he send me...? He’s fucking with my head. It’s all he does! What are these?” He gripped one of the chrysanthemums between his fingers. “What do they mean? Tell me they mean something nefarious, because I know what the red roses mean.”
“They mean... passionate love,” she whispered. She truly had no idea what to do, and she knew, with certainty, that Dr. Lecter would not be pleased.
Judging by Will’s face, he wasn’t, either. “Passionate love,” he repeated. “He’s certifiable.”
“It’s a beautiful arrangement,” Penny decided to say.
“Yeah,” Will sighed, rubbing his scruffy jaw with his fingers. “He’s determined to make amends. Would you forgive someone who put you in a mental institution for months because they sent you two floral arrangements?”
She blinked at him. “No?”
He snorted a laugh. “No,” he chuckled. “That’s the right answer, isn’t it? Can you... I’ve got like twenty bucks on me until Friday. Can we send him something?”
“Of course,” she grimaced. No matter what he asked for, she would send it. Her shop had made the error, and she wanted to try and fix it.
“Green carnations,” Will chuckled. “And... something that means that I forgive him. Can you do that?”
“I absolutely can,” Penny nodded. There were only two times in the year where she sold green carnations; St. Patrick’s Day and Pride week. She’d have to get some white carnations in some food coloring as soon as possible. As for the forgiveness flower, she thought some white tulips would look lovely.
“You have any... uh, rainbow vases?”
“I have a rainbow glass vase,” she said, biting back a laugh.
“Perfect,” Will beamed. “Can you send it tomorrow?”
“I can. Would you like to send a card?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, plucking a card from the counter. It was a condolences card, one that said ‘With Deepest Sympathy’ written across the top. Will scribbled something down on it, handing it off, again, sans envelope. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Penny promised. The card said, ‘Dinner?’
Penny worried about the screw up all day. In fact, she waited for Dr. Lecter to storm in and demand his money back, or maybe... just a firm scolding.
She never got either of those.
The day she sent Will’s arrangement, Dr. Lecter came in. He was smiling, which... could be good?
“Penny,” he greeted warmly. “I fear there was a mix up with the flower arrangements I asked you to deliver to Quantico.”
“I... I am aware,” she said sheepishly. “I am so sorry, Dr. Lecter.”
“Please,” he waved her off, smiling wider. “It ended up being... fortuitous. I need another arrangement sent to Will, please.”
“Of course,” she blurted. “Of course. It will be on the house because of my mistake.”
“Nonsense,” he chuckled. “It was fate, I believe. I’d like Amaryllis, Blue Bells, Calla Lilies, Pink and Red Camellia, heliotrope, Hibiscus, and Ivy.”
She wrote his preferences down quickly, mentally visualizing just how massive this arrangement would be. She’d never made an arrangement of this size, so she’d need her biggest vase for it. “I only have one vase that will fit an arrangement of this size,” she said apologetically. “It’s simple glass.”
“Perfect,” he smiled. He plucked a card that said, ‘You’re Beautiful,’ from the counter before writing something on it. He placed it in an envelope, then handed it to her. “How soon can it be delivered?”
“As early as tomorrow,” she promised. “I’ll stay late tonight to ensure it.”
“You are the best,” he smiled, making her sway on her feet.
She peeked in the envelope after he left, feeling somewhat ashamed of herself for doing it. In his signature elegant script, it said, ‘Friday, seven PM. I look forward to seeing you, beloved.’
Will strolled into her shop late on Monday, looking slightly worse for wear despite his lazy smile that stretched his lips. There was a vibrant hickey on his neck that spanned from under his ear, straight down to the collar of his sweater.
His hair was a mess, his limbs loose and pliant. “Hey,” he greeted with a laugh, lightly touching his massive hickey as if he were slightly ashamed of himself. “You have any flowers that say someone was the best fuck of their life?”
She choked on a laugh. “No,” she shook her head. “We can... say something similar? Maybe that you’re... happy?”
He blinked at her with wide, glassy eyes. “Jesus,” he breathed. “I am, aren’t I?”
“Are you?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he snorted. “Fuck. I am.”
“We can send him some Marjoram,” she suggested. “It’s an herb, too. Something he can use when he cooks dinner.”
“Wow, that’s weirdly perfect,” he chuckled. “What’s it mean?”
“Joy,” she smiled. “Happiness.”
“That is absolutely what I’m sending him,” he laughed. “You have any dick shaped planters?”
She paused, raising an eyebrow at him. “No?”
“Shame,” he grinned. “What about... roosters?”
“I have a planter that has a rooster on it,” she giggled. “It’s kind of... farm themed, though.”
“I’ll take it.” He snatched a ‘Happy Birthday!’ card from the counter. She was beginning to think he picked the random ones just to irritate Dr. Lecter. He scribbled something down, smiling to himself the entire time. Once he was finished, he flashed her a look, then stuck the card into a little white envelope. He licked it to seal it shut, pressing it closed with his fingertips. “Can you deliver it tomorrow?”
“I absolutely can,” she promised, taking the card from his fingers.
After he paid, he left the store with a little bounce in his step. He hadn’t written anything on the little white envelope, so no one would ever know if she read it.
With a discrete look around the store, she cracked the envelope open to read what he wrote.
‘The pig wasn’t the only thing that was long. I thought about you all day, Hannibal. All day.’
She frowned while rereading it. The second sentence was sweet, but the first... the first made no damned sense whatsoever.
He and Dr. Lecter didn’t look like an obvious match, but... their humor was just the same.
A few days passed before she saw Will again. He came into her store with fresh hickies on his neck, looking dejected while coming up to the counter. “Penny,” he said lowly. All his confidence was seemingly gone, as was his ability to look her in the eyes. “That... that arrangement he sent. The... the roses and the chrysanthemums. It wasn’t meant for me, was it?”
She tried to keep her facial expression neutral, but the flush of her cheeks clearly gave her away. “I...”
“You can tell me,” he sighed. “Someone... well, I guess you know, don’t you? Alana told me she got an arrangement that really offended her. So... I think she got mine, didn’t she?”
“There... there was a mix up,” she admitted. “I’m so sorry.”
“What did he send me?” Will asked softly. “What was the arrangement that was meant for me? Tell me what it looked like, and tell me what it meant.”
“It... Will, does it really matter?” she asked boldly. “He’s crazy about you.”
“He’s just plain crazy,” Will frowned. “Please just tell me.”
“The vase was a little glass yellow duck,” she said softly. “It looked like a rubber ducky. The flowers were... buttercups.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, the person who received the arrangement is childish and ungrateful,” she blurted. “I’m sorry.”
Will’s expression hardened, as did the set of his jaw. “He just let me think that those flowers were for me. And I just... fell for it. Like a stupid fucking whore. Wow, I’m... I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not,” she sighed. “Will, do you know what the last arrangement he sent you means?”
“The... the big one?” Will asked. “The one that barely fit through my door?”
“That one,” she smiled. “Do you know what those flowers mean?”
“No, but I imagine you’ll tell me,” he drawled.
She ruffled through her order forms, yanking out Dr. Lecter’s from a few days before. “Hibiscus and Calla Lilies mean that he thinks you are absolutely beautiful. Delicately beautiful, in fact. Amaryllis means he feels pride regarding you, usually meaning... pride in that you are his. Blue Bells mean humility, usually in that the recipient makes the sender feel humbled. Pink Camillia means that he longs for you, and Red Camillia means that you inspire feelings in him that no one else ever has. Heliotrope is thought to have a deeper meaning than red roses, because it means that he is eternally devoted to you. That he loves you deeply. He asked me to include Ivy, which... is unusual for such an amorous arrangement. It also means fidelity, but heavily implies that he feels connected to you through friendship and deep affection.”
Will’s eyes were wildly glassy as he stared at her. “You... you got all that by the flowers he picked?”
“I did,” she smiled. “Flower language can be just as specific as poetry. Combine the flowers he chose for you with how happy he was when he ordered them... Will, you’re special to him.”
“I know that already,” he sighed. “I just... don’t trust it. I don’t trust what it means.”
“Would... would you like to send him an arrangement?” she asked hesitantly.
He shook his head while backing away from the counter. “I don’t think so,” he murmured. “I don’t think I’ll be sending him anything.”
Without another word, he left her shop wearing his broken heart on his sleeve.
She wasn’t surprised when Dr. Lecter came in. His suit was not as pristine as it usually was, and his tie... his tie was crooked. He was clearly upset, because she’d never seen him so disheveled.
“Good evening, Penny,” he said, still polite as ever.
“Dr. Lecter,” she smiled. “How are you?”
“Not at my best, truthfully,” he sighed. “I would like to send serial arrangements, if it’s possible. I realize that this taxes your delivery person, so I will pay extra to do so.”
“Serial arrangements?” she repeated.
“Yes. One after another. Two or three arrangements a day for as long as it takes,” Hannibal cleared his throat. “Money is no object, of course.”
“We... I can do that, but... Dr. Lecter, forgive me if this is forward of me, but... why don’t you just go talk to him?”
His eyes flashed. “Whom?”
“Will,” she frowned. “This is about Will, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he said warily, eyeing her up and down. “He and I do not do well with honesty. We converse better in metaphors.”
“I will send him whatever you’d like, as many times a day as you’d like,” she assured him. “As a florist, I adore metaphors. I adore flower language and poetry, and saying things without really saying them. There comes a point where... the words need to be said. All the red roses and heliotrope in the world aren’t as potent as those three words.”
He stared at her, and for reasons she could not explain, it felt like a threat. “Has he come in here? Have you... discussed this with him?”
“This is... so out of line for me, but yes,” she huffed. “He came in and confirmed that there was a mix up, but... I explained what the big arrangement you sent him means. I explained every flower, and I told him that... that he’s very special to you. He said he knew that, but didn’t know how valuable that information was. I have no context for that, obviously, but I do know that if you spoke to him, with words, it would clear it up.”
He stared at her for so long that she grew somewhat uncomfortable. His stillness was vaguely alarming, as was the firm set of his jawline. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded paper, placing it on the counter. “That is the schedule I would like followed,” he told her. “For each delivery, please give your driver a twenty-percent tip for his time.”
“Of course, Dr. Lecter,” she nodded. “Thank you very much for your continued business, and I apologize if I was too forward with you. I just... I want you to be happy. The both of you.”
He tilted his head while staring at her, but the small smile he gave her made her feel a bit more at ease. “You’re forgiven, Penny,” he smiled. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Would you like to fill out some cards for the deliveries?”
“No,” he frowned. “The flowers will speak for themselves, thank you.”
He left shortly afterwards, and she unfolded the paper, nearly dropping it with how detailed each instruction was. She made a decision then that she’d never made with any other client.
She would send Will a brief message with each arrangement to explain each flower’s meaning. Dr. Lecter seemed to assume that everyone knew what every flower meant, but it wasn’t reality. Being in the flower business, she knew exactly how little people knew about it.
Will knew the big ones, like roses and green carnations. Dr. Lecter wasn’t sending him a single rose, though.
The following day, she sent Will an arrangement of red and white chrysanthemums. On the card, she wrote, ‘Red chrysanthemum – I love you. White chrysanthemum – I am telling you the truth.’
That afternoon, she sent him an arrangement of red and purple columbine, with a card that said, ‘Anxiously awaiting a resolution.’
In the evening, she sent out a final arrangement of red tulips with a card that said, ‘I am passionately in love with you.’
The following day, she sent him two arrangements. One with Blue Salvia with a note that said, ‘I’m thinking of you,’ and an aloe plant with a card that said, ‘I mourn the loss of you from my life.’
On the third day, she sent an arrangement of clematis, with a note that said, ‘Your mind is beautiful.’ Later that day, she sent a planter of Hydrangeas with a note that said, ‘I feel gratitude that you see me and understand me as well as you do.’
On the fourth day, Will came in looking wildly frazzled. “Can you stop?” he asked while storming up to the counter. “I know he’s paying you to fucking spam me with flowers, but can you please stop?”
“I was... I was just about to send one out,” she admitted sheepishly. “Since you’re here, would you like it?”
“What? No! Are you hearing what I’m saying? My house looks like a fucking funeral parlor! I live in a god damned jungle, Penny!”
“It’s just an herb,” she said anyway, pulling the little planter out from the fridge. “Tarragon.”
Will stared at it. “What does it mean?” he asked warily.
“That his interest in you will never wane.”
“What a creep,” Will sighed, pulling a hand through his wild curls. “He’ll never stop, will he? He’s trying to kill me with an allergic reaction, I think.”
“This one is for you, too,” she admitted with a vivid blush. She withdrew a gorgeous arrangement of Zinnias from the fridge. “This means he’s thinking about the loss of your friendship. That he has lasting affection for you.”
“Why can’t he just say it?” Will blurted. She noticed that he still took both arrangements and held them to his chest. “Why can’t he just... like a fucking normal person? He’s taken so much from me! So much! And he still wants more!”
She didn’t know their situation, so she stayed silent.
“He has a schedule, doesn’t he? What else is he planning to send me?”
“Calla lilies,” she blushed. “They mean he thinks you’re beautiful. Hyssop, which means that he would sacrifice everything for you. He plans to send you daffodils, which mean that he holds you in the highest regard. Unequalled love and devotion.”
Will swallowed thickly. “Please don’t send them to me. He has... he has no idea what I’m doing to him, Penny. What I’m... planning to do.”
“I delivered those arrangements to your work,” she said softly, recapturing his attention. “You could have thrown them away, given them to someone else. You could have set them down in a hallway or just... ditched them in a break room. You brought all of them home, Will. That means something, don’t you think?”
“It means I’m an idiot,” he sighed.
“It means you love him, too,” she said boldly. “Whatever the two of you have done to one another, there’s still love there. Do you think he’s lying?”
“No,” Will frowned. “I don’t think that.”
“I’ll tell you what I told him,” she said slowly. “Flowers are good sometimes, but there needs to be a conversation. A real one, with words. No more metaphors, no more flower language. Honesty. Truth. If that doesn’t work, then it’s time to move on.”
He stared at her in much the same way that Dr. Lecter did, which made her slightly more than uncomfortable. “How much do you know, Penny?”
“Not much,” she mumbled. “Just that he put you in an institution, and you love each other anyway.”
“You must think we’re nuts,” he chuckled.
“People grievously wrong one another all the time and try to fix it with flowers,” she admitted. “I’ve seen worse than this, if you can believe that.”
Will seemed to consider that, dropping his eyes away. “I can believe it. I’d like to send him some daisies, please.”
“Really?” she blurted. “More flowers? Do you know what that means, Will?”
“It means that I love him,” Will acknowledged. “It means that I’ll never tell anyone about... what I know of him. His secrets are my secrets.”
“Yeah,” she frowned. “Is that... is that what you mean to say?”
“It is,” Will nodded. “It’ll be the last arrangement I send him, because... it’s time we talked. You’re right.”
He snatched a card from the counter, and she noted that this one said ‘Thinking of You’ at the top of it. He wrote, ‘See you at 730, Hannibal.’
“Thank you, Penny,” he said, handing the card off to her.
“You’re welcome, Will.”
Neither of them ever stepped foot in her shop again, but that did not mean she had no idea what happened to them. It was all over the news.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter was the Chesapeake Ripper. He and Will brutally attacked and wounded Agent Jack Crawford when the agent came to Dr. Lecter’s home to arrest him. Alana Bloom was wounded; apparently thrown from a window by a girl that had gone missing months before.
Hannibal the Cannibal and Abigail Hobbs, daughter of the Minnesota Shrike.
Will Graham ran away with them that evening, earning himself the nefarious title of Hannibal’s murder husband.
It was surreal to think that she’d known them. She’d spoken with them. She’d had two of Baltimore’s biggest threats in her shop, and spoken to each of them about nothing more than love.
They were on the lam, hiding somewhere where they could be a family together. It made her question her morals when she thought it was very, very, romantic.
Her shop took a hit with their abrupt departure. Hannibal alone was a guaranteed, easy, thousand or more a month.
So, when Dr. Lecter called her several months later, she never once called the police about it.
“Penny,” he said softly. She could hear the smile in his voice, as well as the barking of happy dogs in the background. “It’s been a long while. How have you been?”
“Well, Dr. Lecter,” she said nervously. “I’m well, thank you.”
“I wanted you to know that I think of you often,” he went on. “Were it not for you, I do not believe that Will and I would be where we are now. I feel I owe you a debt.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she promised. “I just wanted the two of you to be happy.”
“And we are,” he chuckled. “So very- Buster! Not the ottoman, you little terror! Forgive me,” he cleared his throat. “We are very happy, and we both feel it is due to you.”
“Well... thank you?”
He laughed. “I am calling to thank you, dearest. You’ll be getting a check in the following days. The account it is tied to will not lead the police back to us, just so you are aware. Consider it a tip for all the good you’ve done for us.”
“Is that Penny?” came Will’s voice. “I want to talk to her.”
“In a moment, beloved,” Hannibal said. She could hear his smile in his voice. “I am telling her about the check.”
“Stupid idea,” Will muttered in the background.
“I trust that she will be quiet about it,” Hannibal said with some warning in his tone. “Won’t you?”
“Of course,” she agreed easily.
“Wonderful. Thank you again, Penny. Will would like to speak with you, if you aren’t too busy?”
“Not too busy,” she said, even though it wasn’t exactly the truth.
“Take care, Penny,” he said.
“Hey,” Will drawled. “So... you know about us, I imagine.”
“Yes,” she said warily. “I heard.”
“You must regret ever dealing with us,” he went on.
“Not really,” she admitted. “Are you happy?”
“What?”
“I asked you if you’re happy.”
“Oh,” he chuckled. “Obviously. Yes. Hannibal and I... well, I proposed to him last week. He’s been walking on air ever since.”
“I’ll bet,” she laughed. “Have you sent him any flowers?”
“Actually, no,” he admitted sheepishly. “Don’t suppose you’ll deliver out of country?”
“Sorry,” she laughed. “You’ll want to send him some Myrtle. Depending on where you live, it can be transplanted outside in the springtime. It means that you love him, obviously, but it also means good luck in a marriage. As it grows, so does your love.”
“I’ll miss you,” he admitted with a laugh. “Who’s gonna help me with this shit, now?”
“I’m always just a phone call away,” she told him.
“That’s a risk,” he whispered.
“It’s not,” she assured him. “It’s not a risk, Will. Just call. I’ll tell you what to send him, okay?”
“I’d send you some hydrangeas if I could,” Will chuckled. “A whole shitload of them.”
“Not necessary,” she smiled. “Take care, Will. Remember that flowers are good sometimes, but... being honest and direct is usually much better.”
“I will,” he whispered. “Penny? We’ve got to go. We're having an old friend for dinner. Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome, Will.”
The phone call ended, and she debated her options. She could call the FBI. She could have them trace the call. She could have their whole lives upended within days.
Instead, she continued clipping flowers for the arrangement she was making. Some idiot was sending geraniums to his wife, which literally meant that he thought she was stupid as a rock.
Not everyone understood, but they did.
She made a beautiful arrangement anyway, and waited for her check from the nefarious murder husbands.