A special night.

Last night I actually had an encounter at work that brought me to tears.

It was Saturday night, about 7:40 (I’d been there 12 hours at this point, ouch) and my co-worker and I were starting to finally close up.

The phone rang and before I could get out the “Fresco Flowers, How may I help you?” the voice on the other end interrupted me with a frantic “What time do you close??” Frantic. Distraught. Panicked.

I told him we would close at about 8 p.m., which he did not like. He begged me to help him out and pick out the prettiest, most vividly red long-stem rose and wrap it beautifully for him. He said he was jumping in his car that second to drive from Allston to the South End. I could hear the desperation in his voice, so I agreed to wait for him, even though I wanted nothing more than to go home, take a bath and crawl into my soft bed. (At 9 p.m. on a Saturday nght. I’ve turned into a grandma.) He just sounded so sad and desperate I felt like I had to help him out. It only made it better that he had the cutest British accent ever.

So while my co-worker continued bringing in flowers I went to the cooler and dug through those long-stem roses. I endured pokes and stabs from the thorns and cut up my poor hands even more. But I found the perfect rose. I tore off a piece of cellophane that we wrap flowers in, grabbed a piece of the deep brown tissue paper and placed it on the cellophane. I decided to go with grass for the greenery to decorate the rose and laid it on the paper. I found the thickest and fluffiest piece of baby’s breath I could and laid it on top of the grass. Then, after cleaning the stem, I gently and reverently placed the rose on top of its bed of baby’s breath and grass. I tied it all up neatly with a bow and set it aside to wait for its recipient. (Or, the person who would be giving it to the recipient.)

Luckily it took longer to close than I antcipated so we were still there at 8:15 when a guy raced up to the store, sweaty and out of breath.

“Are you Katie??” he gasped.

“Galvin?” I asked, smiling.

Relief passed over his face. “Oh my god,” he said. “I adore you right now. Do you hear me? Adore you?”

I led him over to the counter and presented the rose to him, praying he would like it. I’ve never wrapped a flower with so much care or even cared so much about how someone would like its presentation.

He loved it and explained to me his reason for being so desperate for a flower. Apparently it was his first anniversary but had to work all day and then got off work late and needed something quickly.

When he left he thanked me profusely over and over. The gratitude was sincere and I was so glad I was able to stay late enough for him to get his flower.

After he left, with more strains of “I adore you,” trailing behind him I stood for a minute, wondering why this barely-put-together and desperate man made me so sad. It made me tear up a little thinking about how much he wanted that one flower.

I can only hope that the girl the flower was for appreciated it enough to warrant his distress.