It's Only Logical

Prologue: Flowers and Fripperies

"Logan! Come here a moment, love."

Logan sighed, but closed the book he was reading and set it aside, resigned to forget reading until his mother allowed him to come back to it. He was tall, for a 6-year-old, and remarkably bright for his age. The word "gifted" was often slung about by the various adults in his life. He really didn't care what labels they chose to affix to him, just so long as they kept letting him study more things.

Logan sidled up to his mother, who was kneeling in the garden in front of one of her many flower beds, pulling weeds. He really couldn't understand her obsession with these silly fripperies, but they made her happy ergo, they made him happy by proxy.

"Yes, momma?"

"Do you know what this flower is called, sweetheart?" Logan shrugged at his mother's question. Flowers had never really interested him before. He knew they were the kind with the white petals and the yellow middles, but that's about it.

"These are Bellis Perennis, or the common daisy. This flower holds a wealth of medicinal properties despite its unassuming appearance." Logan leaned closer, intrigued. His mother smiled a little before continuing.

"When used in an infusion, it acts as a laxative as well as an expectorant. It is also used as a home remedy to help treat physical disorders such as arthritis and rheumatism. Direct application to the skin through an ointment or poultice can aid in healing wounds. And do you know what it means in the Language of Flowers?"

Logan stared at his mother and wordlessly shook his head again, looking at those silly flowers in a whole new light. Flowers could do all of that? And there was a language?!

"It means innocence and loyal love."

"There's a language of flowers?!" Logan's mother smiled gently at his outburst, pulling him in closer. Logan happily breathed in the unique scent of his favorite person in the world, a mix of her favorite perfume, laundry detergent, moist earth and grass. He loved learning new things, and now she was going to teach him something fascinating, he just knew it.

"Of course! The language of flowers, sometimes called floriography, is a means of communication through the use or arrangement of flowers. Meaning has been attributed to flowers for thousands of years, and some form of floriography has been practiced in traditional cultures throughout Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. It's a very ancient practice, and the history of floriography is tied with humanity. Every flower in my garden has a meaning, and I planted them all for a reason." Logan's mother explained patiently, her smooth voice soothing him as she gently moved him in front of her to see her garden with new eyes.

Logan contemplated the various blooms and colors in front of him, his brow furrowed in thought. He had dismissed these plants as useless frippery, but with this new information he thought perhaps flowers might be the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. This was why he loved his mother so very much! She explained things to him, helped him understand new things. He turned to look up at her, a bright smile forming on his lips.

"Will you teach me about them, momma?" Her answering smile was blinding.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Logan enjoyed mornings the best. The quiet stillness before the world woke up, the taste of his usual cup of coffee, the scent of his plants all around him. His mother had started him on this path a long time ago, and now he was the proud owner of this delightful florist shop and greenhouse. He ruefully smiled at the framed picture of her on the wall as he put an arrangement together, feeling her loss particularly keenly at this moment.

He had worked very hard to get this place, and when he'd finally had the keys in hand, he knew exactly what to name it. Minny's Garden, named for his mother, was the only place to get any sort of flower or plant in the entire area and he had worked himself to the bone to get it to that point. It had always just been him, but as he'd started to take off he had recently decided to hire some help to man the shop so he could be free to spend more time in the propagation house, which was more his forte anyway. Customer service was not his thing. People were not his thing, to be perfectly frank. It was one of many things he had in common with his best friend, Virgil.

Most of the time, he felt customers were more hassle than they were worth. But this time? Early in the morning, before the shop opened, before the customers and the phones barged noisily into his life? This time was all his, and he relished it.

He glanced at the orders for the day, nothing too challenging there, and sipped his coffee. Virgil owned a coffee shop called The Darkest Roast, and it was one of the most popular places in town. Their claim to fame was that each barista would roast you more than the coffee beans. If you wanted sass and sarcasm with your latte, Virgil's shop was the place to be. Logan grinned wryly at the "Fucking Nerd" scrawled on the cup where his name should be.

It hadn't always been a popular concept, but after The Darkest Roast was featured on the Travel Channel that one time, it had really taken off. Honestly, Logan was pretty sure Virgil had only come up with that concept so that he'd have a solid business model that allowed him to be as rude to others as possible and still make money. The coffee wasn't half bad either.

Logan moved around the shop on autopilot, getting ready to open for the day. This was routine for him, had been for years. Virgil and Roman both liked to tease him about being "in a rut" or "boring as fuck" depending on which of them you asked, but he liked routine, he liked knowing what to expect. There was something very comforting in knowing exactly what today, and every subsequent day, would bring. He'd wake up early, put on his usual outfit, get his daily insult and coffee from Verge while pretending not to notice Roman valiantly trying (and failing) to get Virgil to go on a date with him, then he'd come to the shop and go through his daily checklist. In a few minutes, the door would get opened, the phones would start ringing, and his day would begin.

He unlocked the door, and turned to walk away, but it was already opening, the bell above issuing a cheery sound.

"I'm so sorry, I know you just opened, but I saw from the sign in the window you were hiring...?" Logan tried to bite down the irritation he felt at having his private bubble invaded so quickly, and turned back.

Whatever response he was going to supply died on his lips when his eyes locked with the man standing nervously in the doorway, feeling a jolt of heat run down his spine. Well. This was new.