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He laughed again, such a deep, warm sound. “There’s nothing wrong with staying in, you know,” he mused. “Clubbing is overrated, and hangovers are the worst.”
“So you stay in too?” I asked.
“I do.”
“Do you watch home renovation shows?”
“I’ve seen some.”
“They have a cooking and a gardening segment,” I added. “Kinda great all-round entertainment for middle-aged gays, if I’m honest.”
He put his hand to his chest. “Well, I’m only thirty. Not sure that constitutes middle-aged.”
Hmm. Four years older than me.
But he didn’t discredit the gays part of that comment, so...
“I think middle-aged is more a state of mind,” I went on. “I’m only twenty-six, yet I’ve lived through my hussy era, my villain era, so that really only leaves the middle-aged era.”
He chuckled. “Is that the lifespan of the modern gay man these days?”
I sighed. “Apparently. My villain era was far too short. I should reconsider moving on so fast.”
“Maybe you moved on so fast because you weren’t as into him as you might have thought.”
I met his eyes, not sure what to make of that.
He smiled at me. “But I think all villain eras should be short-lived or one might veer into a bitter-gay era or a spiral era, and those can’t be fun. Maybe you should change course; see where the grass is greener type of thing.”
Was he . . . was he flirting with me?
“The grass is greener where it’s watered,” I murmured.
“True. Where it’s watered by everyone in the relationship. If only one person is watering the grass, it’ll never be green enough.”
I smirked at him. “Sounds like you know a thing or two about that.”
“Hm. Maybe. It was probably one of those home renovation shows with gardening tips I watched in my suddenly single era.”
I laughed. “Right. And how’s that era working out for you now?”
“Well, it’s been fun, but it’s been a long era, so it’d be nice to come out of it sometime.”
Well, damn.
He was flirting, right? That’s what this was?
I let out a breath, entirely unsure how to ask outright. I looked around his showroom, full of flowers, searching for some way to broach this... “So, if you were looking at maybe leaving the single era behind and maybe enter your dating era again, which kind of flowers would you choose? A white gardenia for feminine attraction, or pink carnations for a woman’s love, or?—”
“I’m more of a green carnations kind of guy,” he said.
Green carnations were for homosexuality.
Right. Well, that answered that.
“That’s... that’s good to know,” I said, trying to play it cool and failing terribly. “It just so happens that I’m also a green carnations kind of guy. Which is terribly convenient, don’t you think?”
He was trying not to smile too big. “I think it might be.”
