Luckily Graham was not even close to human (no, those days were far in the past, dusk and a steam and the emergence of something called the railroad), so he wouldn't mind if the woman went ahead of him. It seemed like she was having a rough go of it anyway, as in, Stormflowers could be filed under 'least favourite errands, would rather drink paint.'
"I'm actually not certain what I'm after," he confessed, studying the vibrant lavender petals of one particular bouquet. "All I know is that the spice saffron comes from the crocus." He'd read it somewhere, in a book - unsurprising, considering he was surrounded by tomes. Day in, day out. "But if you know what you're after, please, go right ahead."