Page 42 of The Rogue and His Flower

“You don’t have to buy me things,” she protests softly.

“I know I don’t, but Iwantto. Let me do this for you, Daisy.”

“But—”

“I’ll buy you every damn dress in this shop if that’s what it takes to make you smile.”

She stares at me for long moments, and it isn’t until Matilda clears her throat that she finally nods in agreement.

“Okay.”

“Wonderful. Now where should we start?” Matilda asks.

For the next couple of hours, I keep myself occupied by logging into my work email and responding to messages whilst Daisy tries on a multitude of dresses, her laughter lifting up in the air as she chats with Matilda. By the time she’s made her decision the sky is darkening and my stomach is rumbling loudly.

“Thank you so much for all your help, Matilda. You truly are very talented,” Daisy says as she emerges from the dressing room in her uniform.

“You’re not going to show me what you’ve chosen?” I ask, pocketing my phone as I look up at her.

“It’s a surprise,” she replies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright, making her whole face light up. As much as I enjoy her snarkiness when she’s mad, it actually feels surprisingly good to see her happy.

Behind her Matilda emerges from the dressing room holding a zippered garment bag that hides the chosen dress inside. She hands it to Daisy with a warm smile. “There we are, dear.”

Daisy gratefully accepts the bag, gingerly folding it over her arm like a precious treasure. “Thank you again.”

“You are very welcome,” Matilda responds graciously, before adding, “I often believe that it isn’t us who choose the dress, but the dress that chooses us. This one was made for you.”

Daisy’s beaming smile widens even more at this sentiment. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“Are you hungry?”I ask as I place Daisy’s dress in the trunk, and hand over her coat.

Daisy nods, pulling it on. “I could eat.”

“Let’s find somewhere then,” I suggest, scanning the quaint village street.

As we stroll along the cobblestone pathway, the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and rich sauces wafts through the air, leading us towards a small Italian restaurant nestled between a flower shop and a bookstore. The restaurant’s exterior exudes an old-world charm, with a worn wooden facade andstring lights twinkling above a sign that readsTrattoria della Nonna.

“What about here?” I ask.

“Sure, I love Italian food,” she replies, as I push open the heavy wooden door and we step inside.

The interior is adorned with chequered tablecloths, flickering candles in wine bottles, and soft music playing in the background. A friendly waiter greets us with a smile, leading us to a cosy corner table by the window.

“Today’s specials are listed on the chalkboard,” he explains, pointing to his left. “Of course, you can also choose from the menu.”

“Thank you,” I reply, scanning the menu he just handed to us both. “We’ll need a moment to choose.”

“No problem. Would you like some water, olives, bread?”

“Yes, to all three,” Daisy replies, smiling up at him.

As the waiter walks away, I focus my attention back on the menu and not on Daisy, whose bright eyes, flushed cheeks and plump lips are, admittedly, becoming more and more of a distraction.

“Dalton…” Daisy begins, her voice trailing off as I meet her gaze.

“Yes?” I ask, sensing her unease as she fidgets with her napkin.

“Thank you for the dress.”

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