The question, though simple and innocent, seems to strike a pensive and uncertain chord with the man. Clearly, nothing is actually very "simple" about this, at all, and now he's rethinking it like someone who's been reminded of an unfortunate drawback to an otherwise great deal.

"Love...? ...forever?"

He stares hard at the roses.

"...I'm actually not sure. About either of those. I want to be, before I commit to that kind of bouquet."

He's so lost in thought that he appears to be stymied and he's not answering the question about how many flowers yet. Jacob, dude, you might have lost this sale.