Flowers on a Monday

Not your birthday. Not your anniversary. Not Valentine's Day or the day after a fight or any other occasion that comes with an obligation attached. Monday. A Monday. The worst day of the week by almost universal agreement. And he showed up with flowers because he saw them and thought of you. No agenda. No apology hiding inside the stems. No pre-emptive damage control wrapped in cellophane. Just you, and him, and the completely ordinary extraordinary fact that he thought of you on a Monday for no reason at all. You didn't know what to do with that at first. You looked for the catch. There wasn't one. Soft. Unexpected. A little more beautiful than you saw coming. Exactly like him. Place it in your warmer. Gently. Just like he handles you.