#pinkgrapefruit

Vanessa runs into Katya’s store six days before Valentine’s day. She’s huffing and panting and by the time she reaches the counter Katya is struggling to understand what the poor girl is saying as sweat drips from her temple. It rolls all the way down her neck, colouring the maroon of her tank top with burgundy splodges. Katya struggles to hold back a laugh and the sound of her stifled snorts shuts the panting girl up. Vanessa fans herself with her hands, long scarlet nails waving in the soft breeze from the door (which was left swinging on its hinges by the red tornado).

“What can I do for you today then, Miss Mateo,” Katya asks, teasingly - two fingers walking themselves up and down the soil dusted countertop.

Vanessa quirks her eyebrow and tilts her head, eyes scanning the board behind Katya’s head before she comes up with an answer. “Can you make me a bouquet that smells like chocolate?” She asks with the unmistakable confidence of somebody who desperately needs to be correct.

Katya takes in the full picture. The missing thumbnail, the loose baby hairs and the half untied shoelaces trailing through the damp muddy floor. She assesses the level of sarcasm she can approach this with so as not to make Vanessa (who clearly has some pent up emotion) punch her. She unequivocally decides none.

“When do you need it?” She asks instead, pairing up flowers in her head as she scans the room. She identifies a carolina allspice towering in the back of her greenhouse and pictures the dark maroon bloom with some baby’s breath, heuchera and chocolate cosmos. She’s pretty sure she can source the latter from her exotic flower guy and is just trying to remember where she stuck his business card when Vanessa answers.

“Can you do it for the twelfth?” She asks, voice hurried and Katya smiles reassuringly.

“Of course I can,” She responds, “paying on collection?”

“Uhuh.”

When Vanessa returns on the following Wednesday, the floor is cleaner the counter is smooth and she is dressed in a long red bodycon dress. Katya has to resist the urge to trail her eyes up and down the shorter woman as she clips delphiniums and hydrangeas for a different bouquet. Upon the girl’s arrival to the counter, Katya smiles.

“You scrub up well,” She comments, a joking hint behind her voice. She and Vanessa have been friends for years - her ex brought her once and even when they broke up Vanessa remained a loyal patron. Katya has a few of those - loyal customers, they typically come to her for flowers and then cross the street to Yellow Cloud Patessiere for some of Trixie’s handmade chocolates. They’re a good team, working across the street in tandem sorting people out for anniversaries, holidays, big dates and small dates. They also run discounts between the stores - a free box with twelve roses, a discounted floral arranger for a wedding order. Katya looks through the display window and smiles as the blonde potters around the patisserie, apron covered in flour and chocolate.

“Bitch I would like the flowers sometime soon,” Vanessa jokes loudly to bring Katya back into the room. “I know your boo has a fine ass but I have a date.”

Katya coos like a teen cheerleader who’s just found out her best friend lost her virginity to the quarterback. She places the bouquet on the counter and leans forward conspiratorially.

“I. Need. To. Know. Everything.” She tells her and Vanessa gives a coy smile.

“Well, she about this tall,” She waves her hand high above her head. “And she’s blonde. Very you but Canadian and hot.” this makes Katya cackle, arms flailing, knocking a tin watering can off the shelf behind her. “Calm yourself Mr-fucking-Tickle,” Vanessa attempts to say in a stern voice but she’s too excited to hold it.

“She sounds great Ness,” Katya says, utterly sincere. “The bouquet will be fourty five ‘cause I had to call in my exotic flower guy and I’ll be honest the allspice is hella hard to breed and now my entire shop smells more like chocolate than usual-” She rambles til Vanessa cuts her off.

“I am gonna be late to this date if you don’t shut up and just let me pay you. I don’t care about the cost.”

“Good luck.”

“Bitch, I don’t need luck - I have flowers that smell like chocolate.”