#florists

Chapter 1.

link to chapter 2!

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Wes agreed to give Joe a ride home under one condition: he helped him pick out flowers for his girlfriend. 

‘Because there is nothing I'd rather be doing right now than look at flowers while some old lady behind the counter tells me her life story” Joe rolled his eyes as he slid into the passenger side of Wes’s car. 

A long day at the studio should’ve ended one way.

Sofa.

Takeaway. 

Some boring documentary about whales or shipwrecks that Netflix decided people cared about this week. 

Then sleeping. 

Nothing beats sleeping. 

Instead, he was stuck helping Wes buy flowers. Apparently forgetting an anniversary meant everyone else had to suffer too. 

“It's not that bad,” Wes said. 

“It is.”

“It’s ten minutes. You will live.”

“Ten minutes of flower shopping,” Joe grumbled under his breath.

Wes laughed and pulled out of the studio parking lot. 

Joe sank lower into his seat, staring out of the window at the sitting sliding past. He could already feel himself getting annoyed on behalf of his future self, who should’ve been horizontal by now. 

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Ten minutes later, Joe was standing on a quiet street of Manhattan wondering why he agreed to this. It would've been quicker to walk home. 

“This is it?” he questioned, looking up at the storefront.

 He hated to admit it, but the place was actually quite nice. 

The exterior was painted a soft dusty pink. The kind of pink that probably had an annoyingly specific name that nobody else knew. A green-and-white striped awning stretched over the front window and flower buckets spilt onto the pavement beneath it. 

Warm light glowed from the glass. This whole thing looked like it belonged in one of those romance novels people cried about on the subway. 

“Just come in, man,” Wes said, already pushing open the door. 

“Yeah, yeah”

A soft bell chimed above them as they entered.

The smell hit Joe first.

Fresh flowers, damp stems, soil. 

It was strangely calming, not that he would ever admit that out loud. 

Wes immediately disappeared in search of the perfect bouquet for his girlfriend, leaving Joe to trail behind with all the enthusiasm of a hostage. 

Joe let his gaze drift around the shop. Buckets of flowers crowded every corner. Roses, peonies, hydrangeas and at least ten other things he couldn't name. Somewhere in the back he could hear the crackle of a record player, filling the room with music just loud enough to hear. 

It didn’t feel like just a shop. 

It felt lived in.

Joe glanced towards the counter to see if the expected old lady had seen him yet. 

Oh

His eyes flicked back a second time before he could stop them. 

Well, that definitely wasn’t an old lady 

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Three bouquets. Two centrepieces. One woman who’d spent nearly twenty minutes deciding between ivory or cream roses despite them looking the exact same. It's been a long day. 

The shop had officially closed fifteen minutes ago, but there were still stems to trim, buckets to empty and tomorrow's orders still to prepare. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, before reaching for another rose, your slightly crooked name badge catching against the sleeve of your cardigan. 

You’d meant to straighten it hours ago but never got round to it. 

The opening notes of Heaven or Las Vegas by the Cocteau Twins drifted slowly from the record player tucked away near the back of the shop. The familiar crackle of the vinyl blended in with the quiet snip of your pruning shears, filling the silence in a way that made the shop feel cozy again. You had listened to the album enough times today that you could probably recite the order of every song, but still… you could never get tired of it. 

Normally, you didn't mind talking to customers. Hearing about people's backstories to the reason they were a customer was rather interesting and cute. Birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, or just a ‘i love my partner’ moment. That one reminded you how deeply single you were. 

But today you couldn't do it, it seemed your social battery had disappeared at around lunchtime. Your feet ached, shoulders sore, neck strained. Nothing in you could bring you to force a sweet smile, the welcoming ‘customer service’ voice or wander around the store with some man for him to end up picking the bouquet of red roses at the front. All you wanted to do was close the store and head home to your two cats. 

The ding of the entrance bell pulled you from your zoned out state. 

You resisted the urge to sigh. 

Keeping your eyes fixed on the bouquet in front of you, you carefully tied a red ribbon around the stems, hoping whoever just walked in already knew what they wanted. Maybe they wanted the generic red rose and then they'd be on their merry way. Maybe they wouldn't need any help at all.

You knew they would. 

Nobody's an expert in flowers except for you which you do pride yourself in

Voices drifted through the room as you reached for the brown wrapping paper. Two young men. One sounded more enthusiastic than the other. 

Just like that you were pulled back to reality as they were already asking you questions.

“So what flowers do girls not like?” 

When you looked up both men were staring directly at you. One with a more desperate face, a plea in his eyes. The other… he was admiring?  

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Um yeah. How did we like it? Anything I should change or recomendations for my writing?

Anyways, love you guys, dont forget to smile!

Saint Dorothy

Died 311

Feast Day: February 6

Patronage: horticulture; brewers; brides; florists; gardeners; midwives; newlyweds; love

Saint Dorothy lived in Caesarea (Turkey) during the Diocletian persecution of Christians. Legend has it, that she was ordered to sacrifice to the pagan gods and refused. On the way to her execution, a young lawyer, Theophilus, mockingly asked her for “fruits and flowers from the garden” in which she proclaimed was in heaven. A basket of fruit and flowers was delivered to her by an angel which she gave to young Theophilus, who then converted and was also martyred. That’s why she’s the patron saint of florists.