Daniel opened the side door holding three heavy plastic bags from the Thai restaurant on Colfax Avenue.

He carried a bundle of yellow tulips under his left arm.

He set the food on the kitchen island and handed me the flowers.

He wore a wide, relaxed smile that reached the corners of his eyes.

“I picked up the peanut noodles you like, plus the basil chicken and two orders of spring rolls,” Daniel said.

I took the tulips and laid them on the cool granite counter.

“You usually only bring home flowers when a contract closes.”