I looked up at the knock on my office door. It was already half open, and a young woman with a bright smile looked in.

“Happy Monday,” she said, her voice full of enthusiasm. “I have a delivery for Ivy Nichols.”

“That’s me,” I said, a little bewildered. My surprise grew when she revealed a bouquet of flowers in a delicate vase.

She brought them in and set them on my desk. “Have a wonderful day.”

“Wait, who sent these?” I asked.

“There’s a card,” she said with a shrug. “I just deliver them.”

I pulled the card from the plastic fork that held it in place, and opened the envelope.

You love puzzles, especially of language.

~William

William? Why was he sending me flowers? And that message. I did love word puzzles, but why would he put that on a card? Was it to remind me that he inexplicably knew things about me?

The flowers were an odd mix. I wasn’t even sure what they all were. No roses or carnations or baby’s breath—things you might see in a typical bouquet. I recognized purple pansies, and a lighter purple flower with four distinct petals. Mixed among them were little blue blossoms that might have been periwinkle, and clusters of flowers with deep magenta petals and white centers. Woven through it all were sprigs of delicate green ivy.

“Hi, Dr. Nichols.” Lisa, my grad student assistant, looked in from the hallway. “Wow, pretty. They look like wildflowers.”

“Yeah, they do,” I said.

“Who are they from?” she asked.

“Yes, who are they from?” Jessica moved past Lisa and parked herself in the chair on the other side of my desk. “Did Blake send flowers? They’re pretty, but he seems like more of a roses kind of guy. This is an interesting choice.”

“Blake?” Lisa asked. “Who’s Blake?”

“The man she’s dating,” Jessica said, lowering her voice like she was sharing some juicy gossip.

“No, the man I’m not dating,” I said.

“What?” Jessica asked, eyebrow arch on full display.

I widened my eyes at her.

Lisa let out a soft chuckle. “I get the hint. Do you need me to teach on Friday again, Dr. Nichols?”

“No, I don’t think so,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” she said. Her eyes swept over the flowers, like she could tell they had something to do with why I’d skipped out last Friday. She gave me a knowing smile and shut the door.

“Talk,” Jessica said, pointing a manicured fingernail at me.

“I’m not seeing Blake again,” I said.

“Why?” she asked. “You guys seemed to be getting along so well on Friday.”

“Yeah, well, he puts on a good show.”

“What happened?” she asked. “Did he get pushy when he dropped you off?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but paused. He had been a little pushy, but William had interrupted. “Kind of, but that’s not what did it. He showed up at my house yesterday morning with breakfast.”

“That’s sweet,” she said, but I gave her my own eyebrow arch. “It wasn’t sweet?”

“Not at all,” I said. “He didn’t tell me he was coming, but I could have overlooked that. It was when he started in on how much he wanted to spend the day fucking me that I got uncomfortable.”

She winced. “Too soon, Blake. Way too soon.”

“It got worse from there, but I’ll spare you the specifics,” I said. “He wasn’t interested in taking no for an answer. And when I told him to leave, he said I was making a huge mistake and that he’s not a forgiving man.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jessica said. “Not a forgiving man? I’ll show him unforgiving.”

“Exactly,” I said.

“So, what are these?” she asked, gesturing to the flowers. “His attempt at an apology?”

“No,” I said, drawing out the word and looking at the flowers like they might suddenly bite me. “They’re not from Blake.”

Eyebrow arch. “And who, may I ask, are they from?”

I sat back in my chair, like I needed to keep my distance from Jessica. “They’re from William.”

“William, the stalker?”

“He’s not stalking me anymore,” I said.

She rotated a finger, gesturing for me to keep talking.

“Well, not really,” I said. “Stalking is the wrong word anyway. It sounds too dramatic. He’s… he’s my friend.”

“Your friend?” she asked. “First of all, what? And second of all, why is your friend sending you flowers?”

I decided to ignore her first question. “I actually have no idea. Maybe he thought I’d like them.”

“Maybe he’s apologizing for stalking you,” she said, her tone dry. “But male friends don’t send flowers. And these are… they’re pretty, but they don’t look like something a guy would send. Unless he’s a florist or a gardener or something.”

“No, he’s a model.”

“Well… okay, I can see that.” She clicked her tongue. “But Ivy, you see that this is weird, right?”

God, she had no idea how weird it was. But I wasn’t about to bring up the things he’d told me on Saturday. “Yeah, I know. It’s… unconventional. He’s like that, though. He’s different. I think you need to meet him to understand. He’s… I don’t know, he’s William.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” she said.

“Edgar likes him,” I said.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Edgar, the most anti-social dog in all of existence? He doesn’t like anyone except you.”

“He likes you fine,” I said.

“He allows me in your presence,” she said. “He doesn’t like me.”

She had a point. “Well, he likes William. He even lets William pet him.”

“How do you know William doesn’t keep dog treats in his pockets?”

I rolled my eyes. “You can’t bribe Edgar that easily, even with treats. Edgar is really friendly with him. I think that’s a good sign.”

“Hmm, maybe,” she said, by which she meant I’m not convinced but I’ll drop it for now.

There was another knock at my door.

“Come on in,” I said.

The door opened and a guy peeked in. “Hey, sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Ivy Nichols?”

“That’s me.”

He pushed open the door and came in carrying an enormous bouquet of red roses. “Where would you like them?”

I stared at him, open-mouthed.

Jessica looked back and forth between me and the guy with the flowers. She pointed to a bookshelf. “How about there.”

He set them down. “Cool. You ladies have a nice day.”

Jessica got up and shut the door behind him, then plucked the card from the plastic holder. “Do you want to read it, or shall I?”

I couldn’t seem to remember how to speak. Or close my mouth.

“Okay, I will.” She slid the card out of the envelope. “Dear Ivy, please accept my apology. I’m an idiot, and I’m so sorry for how I acted yesterday. I hope you’ll give me another chance. Blake.”

“He’s trying to apologize?” I asked.

“Looks like it.” She tossed the card onto the shelf next to the huge mass of red.

“This is so weird,” I said.

She shrugged. “Maybe he’s just really into you, and he thought you felt the same. You caught him off guard when you weren’t.”

“He was an ass,” I said. “He tried to say if he was coming on too strong, it was my fault for sending the wrong signals.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, definitely an ass. But… at least you have pretty flowers? They smell good.”

“I don’t want them,” I said.

“I’ll get rid of them if you want,” she said.

“Please do.”

“What about those?” she asked, pointing at the flowers William had sent.

“Oh, no, these are fine.”

She arched an eyebrow, but picked up the vase of roses. It was so big, she had to balance it on her hip. “All right honey, I have a class in fifteen. Sorry Blake turned out to be a jerk. But be careful with that William guy, okay?”

“I know, I will. And thank you for taking those.”

Jessica left, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. The scent of roses hung heavy in the air. I got up and opened the window. Normally I found the smell of roses pleasant, but those had been stifling. I waved my hand around, trying to get rid of the scent.

The open window was helping, so I sat at my desk and picked up William’s card. You love puzzles, especially of language. What had he meant?

I studied the flowers, wondering why he’d sent such a mix of colors. Purple, blue, magenta and white. It didn’t look like a ready-made bouquet. It was pretty, and well put-together, but it didn’t have the polished look of something a florist had designed. Had William chosen them?

The purple ones were pansies, but I wasn’t sure about the rest. I Googled and found pictures that matched. The little blue ones were periwinkle, like I’d thought. The other purple blooms were called Honesty. That was interesting.

Were the flowers a message? Was he trying to tell me he was being honest? But what about the others?

You love puzzles, especially of language. In Victorian England, there had been something called the language of flowers. At the time, the social norms had been so strict, it limited what people could say to one another. They’d often used flowers to convey messages. Could he know about that?

I looked it up and found a chart of flowers and their meanings. Periwinkles meant early friendship. I supposed that fit. The purple Honesty flowers indeed stood for truthfulness, a message of I’m being honest with you. The purple pansies said You occupy my thoughts.

And the magenta flowers… oh my god, they were called Sweet William. And there was ivy.

William and Ivy… Early friendship… You occupy my thoughts… I’m being honest with you.

I stared at the flowers and couldn’t help the silly smile that crept across my face. I was proud of myself for figuring it out, basking in the hit of dopamine I got from solving a puzzle.

He’d known. He’d known I’d be compelled to figure it out. That I’d make the connections. That I’d understand his message, and enjoy the little mystery he’d sent.

Who was this man and where had he come from?

I did a little more digging online and texted him a picture of a deep pink rose. That meant thank you, or even thank you for being in my life. A few minutes later, he replied with a picture of a pineapple plant. Already suspecting what it meant, I looked it up. You are welcome.

Biting my lip, I smiled at his text. He really did know me. Despite the strange way this had all started, I liked William. I liked him a lot, in fact. And it wasn’t because he was gorgeous. That was nice, but there was more to it than his face, his body, his smile—even his eyes, mesmerizing as they were. He drew me in, as if something in him beckoned to something deep inside me. I’d never experienced this feeling before, and I wasn’t sure what it meant.

The little pings and sparks, the flutters and shivers he made me feel were quickly becoming addictive. Maybe Jessica was right, and I did need to be careful. But I wasn’t sure if I could.