He was the least romantic person anyone could imagine. It was obvious he cared. But would it have absolutely killed him to make a romantic gesture sometimes? Like bringing me flowers.
"But I know nothing about flowers", he told me when I stopped hinting and demanded.
"Any flower is better than no flowers", I replied tartly.
For our Anniversary, he brought me a plumeria plant. One measly flower. I hid the cut-glass vase I'd taken out, and pretended I loved it.
He knew what he was doing. He's no longer in the world, but I still get flowers every month.
A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.