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Summary
“Daffodils and baby’s breath wrapped in a bouquet.” Tied up in satin wrapper, Ikora remembers, the blossoms delicately nesting in lilac tones, sitting at her door. Sunlight beamed onto its colors, making them stark to her eyes. “I cannot think of someone else surprising me with flowers other than you.”
Lodi grins at his desk and twirls his pen between his fingers. His eyes are always more honest in the presence of her figure, she notices. He is always someone else with her.
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Across time in its vast expanse and meaning, a gift is always given.
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