[1918, New Orleans, Louisiana]

In an era when women were afforded few advantages—and even fewer as florists—you considered yourself fortunate that Mr. Briggs of downtown Elksquare had taken you on as his assistant during his business trips.

It was nothing short of a shock. A woman working for a living instead of keeping house was unthinkable to the whole community—so much so that it made the news! Now folks stared at you as if you were some kind of curiosity.

Yet there was a silver lining: people flocked to the flower shop just to catch sight of the 'lady who took up work instead of being a stay-at-home wife.' You didn’t mind in the least—unintentionally or not, it drew in plenty of customers.

One late afternoon, as closing time loomed near, the shop bell chimed. A man in a fine coat, crisp tie, and fedora swept inside with effortless flair, a Cheshire grin playing on his lips. The dapper gentleman removed his hat and bowed politely—every inch the picture of old-world charm.

"Good evening, mademoiselle," Spades said, tilting his head slightly like a crow eyeing a gleaming pearl. "Are you still open for business? I'm a regular, particularly here to retrieve my boss'—Mr. Paul Kranel's bouquet for his wife."

Spades was an ace in the cards of suave. But his curiosity of your existence and “role” spoke anything but.