“True.” She peeks into the tote bag I brought her clothes in. “Are these mine?”
“Sorry I didn’t wash them.”
“No big deal. I didn’t wash your dress either. The tag said dry-clean only. That, and I wouldn’t expect you to spend all your quarters to wash such a small load.”
“That’s what I’m looking forward to about the house I’m buying. A washer and dryer. Well, at least the hookups.”
“Yes. That’s a must-have. Get a washer and dryer, and I’ll be at your place once a week to do my laundry.”
“Maybe I’ll conveniently forget to give you my address.”
“No big deal. I’ll just follow you home.”
“Stalker.”
Anne takes the tote bag with her clothes, leaving me to focus. I go on air wearing regular clothes and wonder if any of our viewers will be disappointed that I’m not just a floating head anymore. Maybe Patrick will turn the green dress into my new uniform.
I wrap up my last report for the day, then head back to my desk. I’m surprised to see Anne standing next to a bouquet of flowers with a stack of paper in her hand.
“Are those for me?” I make a show of clasping my hands together. “Oh, Anette. You shouldn’t have.”
“You got a ton of fan mail, too. And not from your penemy. You got real fan mail.”
“Already? It’s only been a day.”
“That’s the magical thing about the internet,” she says. “It allows us to use email. I think you’re the only person I know who still uses snail mail for anything other than paying doctor bills.”
She hands me the stack of paper. “You printed the emails?” I ask. “Why not just forward them to me?”
“I thought it would be more fun to read them this way.”
I read over the first email, the gist of which is the same as the comments on my bodiless weather reporting video. I hand it back to Anne and turn my attention to the flowers.
“Who sent these?” I lean in and take a deep breath, enjoying their fragrance. It’s been a long time since anyone has sent me flowers. I wonder if they’re from Jake.
I pull out the small white envelope, open it, and take out the card. I recognize the handwriting.
“Luca,” I say out loud before I start reading.
Dear Naomi,
A million microscopic bugs live inside these flowers, and when you smell them, all the bugs will get sucked up into your nostrils and eat away at your cartilage until you don’t have a nose anymore.
Xoxo,
Luca
“He sent you flowers? Interesting.”
“He also told me that I’m going to lose my nose.”
I hand her the note. She reads it and laughs. Then she turns the card over and frowns.
“What?” I ask.
She hands the card back to me. “This is a local florist.”
“So?”
