florist lily evans x perpetually returning customer james potter
yes, her name is lily. yes, she’s a florist. and no, it is absolutely not funny. she’s heard enough jokes—and if one more customer comes in today and makes a crack about “how she was, like, destined to become a florist”, lily evans is absolutely going to commit murder and use the body as plant fertilizer.
enter james potter—sunny, enthusiastic, and utterly single 22-year-old son out buying his mum flowers for her birthday. problem number one: he knows absolutely nothing about flowers. problem number two: he just made a joke about the totally gorgeous shop owner’s name and she looks like she’s about to kill him.
somewhat begrudgingly, she does help him pick an assortment of flowers, arranges them nicely, and wraps it all up for him in a nice bouquet. he chatters away the entire time, complimenting the store and her hair and the flowers and is she aware that her eyes are really the most stunning shade and—
well, you get the picture. he’s charming, obviously, and ridiculously charismatic, even when he’s been a stupid git who makes stupid jokes and knocks over display stands while wildly gesturing with his arms. lily evans is not swayed. no sir, she is not. she is not charmed, or moved, or even remotely attracted to this absurdly cheerful, generous, and gorgeous young man.
yeah, no. that would be crazy.
james, however, is totally gone after only fifteen minutes. like, absolutely gone. completely. utterly. irrevocably. super duper wholly completely—
anyway, james potter comes back. and then he comes back again. and again, and again, and again and again and again. each time he returns, he makes sure to chat up the owner, who seems to be slowly succumbing to his charm and has even begun to smile when he comes in. she doesn’t really believe him when he walks over and slams his hands down on the counter and dramatically announces that his best friend’s little brother’s third cousin’s once removed boyfriend (cut him some slack, he’s beginning to run out of people and excuses) is having a birthday party tomorrow and desperately needs flowers as a gift. he then proceeds to say that he really needs help finding the perfect bouquet and that only she—who is an utter genius, by the way, has he mentioned that?—can help him with it.
no, lily evans is not falling for the gorgeous boy who happens to be sweet and talkative and lovely and always brings her a special cup of tea (which he managed to somehow find out was her favorite) from the place next door when he comes to shop. definitely not. that would be crazy.
okay, fine. maybe she’s lying to herself just a little bit. maybe she does fancy him too.
it certainly doesn’t hurt when the bell rings the next day and he sweeps inside, hair mussed and handsome as ever, and tells her that he needs a bouquet for this really brilliant florist that he desperately wants to invite to dinner, maybe at the italian place down the block, maybe at six tonight, and he really does need a bouquet, but no lilies, she doesn’t really care for those, but she does adore sunflowers and snapdragons and baby’s breath and he just fancies her so much and do you think she maybe fancies me back and—
he’s answered with a kiss and a resounding yes. they have a lovely time at dinner. he doesn’t end up buying a bouquet from the store, but rather gifts her one made up of flowers he grew himself in his garden. it’s beautiful and she tells him so. for once, she goes on a date that does not involve any jokes about her shop or her botanical name. and for once, she receives a bouquet without a single lily (yes, they’re her least favorite flower, no, it is really not funny) inside.
