It is at the edge of a petal that love waits. - William Carlos Williams

She smelled them before they ever arrived at her shuttle door, their fragrance sparking a thousand memories that flashed through her mind in three seconds: spring, the House gardens, the Louyang Peony Festival, dancing with flowers pinned in her hair, lanterns, dragons, fireworks - Sihnon ablaze with light and color and music and laughter.

Curiosity almost had her jumping to her feet to investigate but Companion training wasn’t shed just because one chose to work on a disreputable cargo ship.

Zoë, the second in command, had mentioned in one of Serenity’s impromptu, around-the-supper-table meetings that they needed to stock up when they landed on a planet that had the ability to grow them. Something about harvesting the bulbs for a vaguely mysterious home remedy.

Serenity’s captain walked in without knocking, an alarming habit he’d formed of late, his arms full of the huge blooms on sturdy stems, defensive casualness draped all over him.

“Brought you some of those flowers you set such store by. Was gonna throw 'em away, but seem to recall you likin' the smell or some such thing.”

She opened her mouth to berate his appalling lack of manners, but on seeing what he cradled in his arms she sprang up instead to bury her nose in the large blossom that he held out to her.

Pinks. Reds. Whites. Heaven. Her favorites. He remembered that she loved peonies? It had been months since the layover when she’d found some wilted specimens at a market stall: she’d laughed with delight and bought them just the same. Had he been watching? The thought gave her a small, illicit thrill that she completely ignored.

He smiled a little when he thought she couldn’t see him, seemingly pleased at her reaction, which charmed her in a convoluted way. When she made a show of looking up he was stern again - all manner of couldn’t-care-less. It was an odd little dance they’d recently begun to perform.

“You don’t want or need ‘em - just pi