He gave her the flowers grudgingly. He'd felt like such an idiot standing on the street that morning, waiting for the vendor to set up shop. He'd selected almost without care, pointing to the first bunch he saw that had no red or pink. ("They're so typical," she'd said.) He had no idea what daffodils meant, and he didn't care.
They were expensive and embarrassing, he groused as he walked down the crowded city street. In his office building, he struggled to get his ID out of his pocket without losing hold of the bouquet. Everyone in the elevator gave him either conspiratorial smiles or sympathetic nods -- the gender split should be obvious -- but he felt encouraged by neither.
It wasn't until he saw the adoration beaming on her face that he relinquished his resentment and gave in to the simple pleasure of being in love.
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