Leah was idly arranging a vase of carnations when the customer approached her: an older man, wearing a heavy coat despite the mild spring weather, and already scowling. Business had been slow, so she summoned her most cheerful smile.

“Give me a bouquet of your variegated roses,” he snapped.

Her smile flickered. “Sorry, our what?”

“Variegated roses! The red and blue ones.” He jabbed a finger at a display of small red and purple flowers. “There.”

Oh, the aubrieta, Leah thought. Idiot. “Certainly, sir.”

She arranged the blooms and wrapped them in plastic, taking care to leave the tag that identified the flowers as not roses. Her cheery facade in place, she rang up his order and gave him the bouquet. She even threw in a generous, “Sorry about that, sir.”

“Is this your first day?” he asked sourly, leaving the astonished Leah at the register. Still, she hoped he’d see the tag and feel bad later.

Within ten minutes, he returned, his face red with rage. “I asked for roses, not aubrieta! I demand a refund.”