Flower Delivery

Spencer carried an armful of blooms into the studio and met Siri’s gaze before setting them down among the other arrangements. They worked side by side, smoothing petals into place. When the call came through that the model had dropped out, Siri’s face darkened. The phone lay on the table after the brief, useless conversation with the agency. Spencer studied the stalled set, then began sliding vases aside to clear the space. Siri watched the light catch Spencer’s cheek as she reached for another stem. An idea clicked into place. Spencer flushed when asked to model, then laughed and waved it off, but the laughter slipped away when Siri insisted there was real grace in the way she moved. She peeled down to her bra and panties, stood among the flowers, and felt the camera settle on her. Each click drew them closer. Soon the bed was scattered with loose petals and Spencer’s discarded clothes. They met there—hands gripping, mouths meeting, bodies pressing in an urgent, laughing tangle—both knowing the photographs on the memory card had already become the least of what this afternoon would deliver.