An anniversary in Hoboken is a small-room occasion. The city has no ballroom district and very little hotel stock, so the celebration is nearly always one of three things: a two-person table in a dining room that seats fifty, a dinner cooked at home in a kitchen the size of a hallway, or a walk along the water with the Manhattan skyline doing the decorative work. That shapes what to send far more than the anniversary number does. Take the restaurant case first, because it is where most anniversary bouquets go wrong. The rooms Hoboken books for this are genuinely small and genuinely old: Amanda's at 908 Washington Street in a brownstone parlor, Anthony David's at 953 Bloomfield Street, Dino & Harry's Steakhouse at 163 Fourteenth Street up at the north end, the Elysian Cafe at 1001 Washington Street — the room has been pouring since the 1890s — Leo's Grandevous at 200 Grand Street, an Italian room since 1939, and the Washington Street standbys, The Brass Rail at 135 Washington on the Second Street corner and La Isla at 104 Washington for Cuban food. None of these has a back-of-house cooler with room for a florist's delivery, and in most of them the host stand is three feet inside the front door. A bouquet arriving at 7:30 on a Saturday is an obstacle; the same bouquet arriving at 3:00 in the afternoon, with the reservation name on the card, is something the staff can set on the table before service. So the practical instruction is: deliver in the afternoon and ask the restaurant to hold, or send to the home instead and let your partner carry it out. The second Hoboken-specific problem is the surprise itself. In a couple who live together, a delivery to the apartment is usually accepted by one of the two people it is meant to surprise, and in one of the elevator buildings along the water — 1500 Hudson Street in the old Lipton plant, the Maxwell Lane blocks, the Shipyard, Wonder Lofts on Clinton Street — the front desk sends a text to whichever phone number is on the lease. If secrecy matters, send it to an office, to a neighbor, or to the restaurant. And if the address is a brownstone on Willow, Bloomfield or Hudson Street, remember that this city has no porches: a stoop, a vestibule, and a column of bells that often carry no names, so the floor and apartment letter belong on the order.