Yates Anderson, ex-military strategist, part-time assassin, and full-time flowershop owner is one hundred percent focused on finding his elusive mark, Mr Stevenson.
He has not gotten distracted by the young man who wandered into his shop and asked to die. He has not taken it upon himself to look out for this tragic case, and he wants nothing more than Dylan to stop lingering around his shop like a bad smell.
Except, he doesn't smell bad, he smells like strawberries, and with each encounter, Yates wants to add cream to that equation. His big watering eyes and twitching eyebrows do things to Yates, dirty things. Dylan is pathetic, so pathetic, but what does that make Yates?
He craves pathetic, longs for it in his bed, and once it's there, he's not sure he wants to kick it out the next morning. He doesn't do caring or emotions. He's heartless, robotic, yet he's falling for Dylan.
Dylan knows (or doesn't) just how to play his one last remaining heartstring, and maybe, just maybe, Yates doesn't want the lonely, cold existence he claims.
Maybe, just maybe, he wants Dylan to be his.
And maybe, just maybe, that one remaining heartstring is going to break.