of dandelions and roses - chapter 1
ao3 - chapter 1, chapter 2
tumblr - chapter 1, chapter 2
pairing - xavier x fem!reader
tags - dilf!xavier, age gap (xavier is in his 40's and reader is in their 20's), spanking, fingering, flower shop au, no beta we die like josephine
The flower shop is quiet this time of day. A few loyal customers would come in and out periodically looking for simple flower arrangements, but besides them no one else showed up for hours. Glancing at the time on your phone, you see that it’s only 1:30pm. Taking your apron off, you walk to the back room for a short break.
A soft chime rings out and you sigh in defeat. Of course the moment you decide to take a break is when someone has to come in. Oh well, maybe they’ll buy a premade arrangement and it will be over in a minute or two.
“Hi, how can I help you?” You offer in your usually cheery voice, but a man with silver—almost light blonde—hair ignores you as he ponders some of the smaller bouquets.You clear your throat, but he plays with his matching silver beard while muttering to himself.
“Would red roses be too much?” He whispers as he glances back and forth between roses and lilies. Clearly lost in thought, you try to capture his attention again as you walk around the counter and make your way to where he stands.
“Hello, sir. Do you need help?” Finally he looks up at you, giving you a warm but brief smile before looking back down.
“Ah yes,” he starts as he rubs the back of his neck. “I’m looking for a bouquet for my daughter, you see it’s her birthday coming up and I thought that it would be nice if I gave her flowers. She always talks about them, you see and—” He stops talking and a deep red like the roses rises in his cheeks.
“If you don’t mind me asking how old is your daughter?”
“She’s turning fifteen in a few days,” he replies, and then sighs while closing his eyes. “Oh god, she’s turning fifteen.” You stifle a laugh, but quickly recover before he notices.
“What’s her favorite flower?”
“Daises,” he says before pausing as if trying to remember something. “And roses, too.”
As you pull together the bouquet in the back room, you find yourself smiling at nothing. Maybe it’s the pride of this father that’s infectious, or maybe it’s his love for his daughter that’s making you all sappy. Either way, a warmth grows inside your chest at the thought of his determination to make sure he makes his daughter happy despite his doubt in his own capabilities. Wrapping up the arrangement in paper, a sudden pang in your chest makes you halt. This is the first time you’ve felt like this, whatever it is, towards a customer.
“It’s beautiful,” he says, his smile sending your heart in a spiral. “She’ll love it.”
“Let me know what she says,” you blurt without thinking, but it’s too late. He’s beaming at you, blushing yet again.
“Of course,” he says, smiling at you sheepishly. “Thank you again for your help.”
Flowers in hand, you watch as he walks out the door. The bell jingles and once again you’re left alone until your shift ends, but at least you can occupy yourself thinking about the charming silver-haired man.
To your surprise, he shows up again the next day. You just opened shop, tying the back of your apron when he shows up with that blinding smile and dusted pink cheeks.
“Good morning,” you say, trying your best to stay as professional as possible. Trying to keep your heart in check as he approaches the counter.
This time he’s not buying his daughter flowers, but just for the sake of having fresh flowers in the home. Or so he says. Truthfully you don't seem to believe him. Especially when he stumbles when you ask him what’s the occasion.
Saturday mornings are always the busiest, with familiar and unfamiliar faces alike flooding the small shop. Teenage girls taking photos of bouquets that catch their eye, couples hand-in-hand taking a stroll between rows of blossoming flowers, and older women searching for a center-piece to place on their dining room table.
Every time the door opens, your head swivels hoping the handsome father will walk through at any moment. But instead of shining locks as bright as the moon you're met with dark-haired men looking for flowers for their girlfriends.
Disappointment floods your heart as the week carries on. Not once has he showed up, not even on the slow afternoons. It’s weird to think how much he affected you, how he managed to leave you wishing you could hear his honey laugh again.
You were so fucked. Were you really crushing on a man who is at least double your age? For all you know, he’s happily married. He has no reason to uphold a selfish request from some random flower shop employee.
“You're good to lock up, right?” Your coworker asks as she peels off her apron.
“Yeah,” you reply. Perched on the stool behind the counter, you glance at the clock that hangs above the door. This week had been particularly busy with the unseasonably warm weather; the days dragging into each other until even the strongest coffee couldn't keep the ache from settling in your bones.
Taking your time switching off the lights, you spend a few extra minutes soaking in the peaceful atmosphere. No loud customers, no sugar-sweet pop music blasting from the speakers, it’s just the flowers keeping you company. Even in the darkness they soak up the minimal light, their colors still vibrant as ever. A different kind of beauty that you didn't want to interrupt.
Just when you're about to switch off the last light, a familiar soft ring echoes in your ears and a glimpse of shining hair flashes in your vision. It’s as if you had summoned him here yourself. Hiding a rising smile, you shrug your tote bag over your shoulder.
“I saw the lights turn off, and I…” His cheeks are bright red as he tries to catch his breath. “I didn't want to miss you again.”
“Oh,” you breathe, fidgeting with the star charm that hangs from your necklace.
“I meant to come earlier, but the past week has been busy with work.” Why was he making up excuses? It's not like you know each other well. He is just another customer and you are a broke college graduate who worked at a florist. You were just being professional. Friendly.
So why were you so happy about it? Borderline ecstatic that the universe answered your calls. You try your best to stop another smile, but the hope that rises up in your chest is quicker than your willpower.
“Let me make it up to you,” he insists. “Are you free now?”
That's how you find yourself getting dinner with a man who could easily be old enough to be your father. It’s a simple meal, or so he says, but this is not something you could afford even after receiving your paycheck.
He pays. Of course he does. For all of it, not even giving you a chance to set your credit card down. His reflexes are too quick.
“It's on me, don't worry.”
You quickly find out that he will always insist on paying. It didn't matter if it’s an afternoon treat that consists of ice cream and lemonade or a latte with extra foam. Before you can reach for your wallet, he’s already tipping the cashier. It’s something that should make you uncomfortable. Yet a part of you likes being pampered and taken care of like this.
But what was this exactly?
It’s been three months since you and Xavier began to see each other. Three months of wonderful and magical dates that you tuck in your memory as if they will fly away if you don't hold onto them. You know it’s selfish, but you don't want your time with Xavier to end. So you make sure you dress extra cute for a man who can easily slip through your fingers if you don't pay attention.
You figure there must be something wrong with you. There’s no other explanation for why you haven't kissed yet. Sure, you enjoy holding his hand while taking a stroll in the park in the sunny afternoon, but you want his skin pressed against yours—desperately craving more and more.
Xavier is the gentlemanly type, after all. His hands never go lower than your waist or higher than the bottom of your ribcage even if you want them exploring every inch of your body.
When the two of you are out, Xavier opens the car door and turns his head away if you wear a skirt. But you want him to look. So you start to wear skirts that are a bit shorter and tops that are slightly more revealing just to see if he’ll notice.
To your dismay, Xavier behaves the same. Keeps his hands mostly to himself and makes sure he’s respecting your space. Though in the right light you can see a tinge of pink on his cheeks that spreads to the tip of his nose.
Seeing his physical reaction to your wardrobe upgrade fills you with pride and a newfound sense of confidence, but his jaw clenches when people’s eyes linger for too long and his usual bright aura darkens with stormy intent.
Now when Xavier drops you off back at your apartment after a late night date, he simply gives you a curt goodbye before rushing out of the door—leaving you wondering if you pushed him too far.
