Well, apparently I am going to continue thinking about these two so...have a Petey/Quinn Flower Shop AU :)
Elias stumbles across the flower shop on Robson Street mostly by accident.
He’s jogging in place while waiting for the light when he sees the shop tucked into the corner. It has a rather unassuming store front, but what catches Elias’ attention is the prominently displayed bouquet, situated in a men’s hockey skate of all things.
It startles a chuckle out of Elias and he’s intrigued enough by the artistry and sheer oddity of the piece that he decides to duck into the small shop. If nothing else, he might just get the hockey skate bouquet, maybe that would stop his mom from commenting about how dreary his apartment is every single time they FaceTime.
Or maybe not.
Whatever.
A guy can dream.
“Welcome,” chirps a cheery looking brunet when Elias pushes open the door, “how can I-holy shit, you’re Petey. I mean Pettersson, I mean, holy fuck. Wait here.”
Elias looks on in bemusement as the brunet takes a couple of steps back, before dashing off into a side door as if the hounds of hell were on his heel.
That’s…concerning.
Vancouver is a hockey city, so Elias is used to being recognized but reactions like this either ends with him trying to fend off an obsessive fan or having to calm down a panicking fan before he can go about his business.
Neither of which sound very appealing.
He thinks about turning around and heading right back out, funny hockey skate bouquet be damned, but by the time his hand is on the door, a quieter voice calls out from behind him and stops him in his tracks.
“Hey, uh, sorry about before.”
The owner of this voice sounds less like they’re about to mob Elias, and after a few seconds of internal debate, Elias turns around, ostensibly to try and explain why he was about to sneak out the front door like a thief that has been caught red-handed, but then he catches sight of the man at the counter and his brain stops.
When Elias does not respond after a few seconds, counter guy looks politely (and justifiably) concerned.
“Did you need, um, did something catch your eye?”
You, Elias thinks, unable to look away from the soft swoop of brown hair that falls messily above the other’s eyes and determinedly drags his gaze away from the other’s unfairly red lips.
“The skate,” he gets out instead, “it’s pretty cool.”
“Oh,” counter guy sounds confused but there is a hint of a smile lifting up the corner of his mouth, “thanks. I did it on a whim? It’s, uh, I mean, yeah. Thanks.”
“I’m Elias,” Elias blurts out, then wants to smack himself because what the fuck.
He’s usually better at this.
He swears he has game normally?
But something about the gorgeous counter guy is short circuiting his brain.
Honestly, Elias feels a bit like someone’s caught him out mid skate and checked him hard against the board.
That’s how out of breath he feels.
Christ.
Still, his awkward introduction somehow makes counter guy smile, a proper one that makes Elias’ brain buzz pleasantly.
“I know,” counter guy says casually, “we’re pretty big hockey fans.”
“Right,” Elias replies, still staring.
“So,” counter guy continues, “were you looking for something?”
Your name?
Your number?
Your interest in dating Swedish professional hockey players based in Vancouver?
Elias inwardly makes a face and tries to regroup his thoughts into something more innocuous. “Yes,” he eventually replies, “I’m looking for flowers.”
Counter guy blinks at him before looking around the small store slowly. There’s a small smirk playing about his lips when he looks back at Elias. “Well, I have good news for you.”
Elias takes the chirp and tries not to look too visibly besotted.
Gorgeous and has a sense of humour then.
“How much for the hockey skate bouquet?” he blurts out instead.
Counter guy looks taken aback. “Oh uh,” he pauses to lick at his lips.
Elias swallows hard at the sight.
“That’s more a display item?” Counter guy sounds apologetic, “I mean, we can make one for you if you’d like but, yeah.”
“Yes,” Elias says immediately, seizing the opportunity to prolong this conversation, “I would like to commission one.”
Counter guy looks quietly pleased. “Yeah? Okay,” he says, “do you have any thoughts about what you want it to look like or?”
“Not really,” Elias shrugs, “I trust your skills.”
That earns him another smile.
“I’m, um, I’m Quinn by the way,” counter guys offers tentatively, ducking below the counter briefly to grab a pad of paper and a pen.
“Petey,” Elias retorts automatically, then tries his best to mentally smack himself.
Seriously.
He has met hotter men.
He has slept with hotter men.
What the fuck is it about Quinn that’s throwing everything off kilter?
Thankfully, again, Quinn seems to find Elias’ floundering amusing rather than disturbing because he smirks, “I know.”
Elias tries not to stare too obviously at his lips.
“So how would you like it?”
Elias’ brows rise before he can control them.
“The bouquet,” Quinn clarifies, clearing his throat with a small cough, “do you really not have any specifications about the bouquet?”
“I guess some nice flowers, preferably still in a skate?” Elias eventually offers when it becomes obvious that Quinn is looking for at least some input from him.
Quinn looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh. “No preference on types of flowers or a colour scheme?” he looks down and scribbles something on the paper pad, “or, if you, uh, know who it’s for? Perhaps I can make some suggestions?”
Elias takes a moment to think about this.
“My mom likes orchids,” he eventually offers, “maybe that if that’s possible?” He moves a bit closer to the counter, trying and hopefully coming off as casual.
Up close, Quinn’s eyelashes are absurdly long and Elias can’t help but notice that Quinn’s shoulders fill out his shirt nicely. Elias lets his gaze linger a touch longer than he really should.
“That’s,” Quinn says as he looks up, looking slightly startled at how close Elias now is before he smiles again, “that’s pretty wholesome. Any idea what kind of orchids?”
“There are different types?” Elias mutters, more to himself than anything else.
Quinn makes a face that clearly shows he’s trying hard not to laugh once more.
“So, uh, think it’s obvious that I’m out of my league,” Elias says slowly, “would be cool if the new one looks a bit like the one in the display.” He pauses to catch Quinn’s gaze, “but I trust you so do what you think looks best.”
“Yeah, okay,” Quinn replies, turning around to fuss around with some paper forms. He makes a soft sound when he turns around, a neatly written small card in his hands, “that’s your order receipt.”
“Thanks,” Elias says, taking the card and flicking his gaze down to see what’s printed.
Disappointingly, it does not have Quinn’s number.
“Do you want to-”
“So uh, thanks-”
They both pause.
“If, uh, if you want to leave a number,” Quinn offers tentatively, “we can give you a call once it’s ready?”
Elias does not hesitate to jot down his number.
He probably should.
Lectures about the value of privacy, NDAs, data protection, and other annoying PR considerations briefly ran through his mind.
But honestly, something about Quinn makes him stupid.
“That’s my personal number,” he clarifies pointedly before sliding the paper pad back to Quinn, “in case you need to reach me.”
