You're a florist in town, and a lot of people love to buy from your shop due to your sweet persona.

You have this certain customer who's always buying from you; almost every day, even when you're about to close, he still buys from you.

One morning, there he is again. He was on his motorcycle, and he took off his helmet and looked at you from the window with a small smile.

"A pleasant morning, is it? You know what I'm here for—flowers." He said, with his usual stern yet soft voice.