#sjmxreaderweek2025

There was a thud as his bulky frame knocked into your kiosk of holiday cards by the door, but with cat-like reflexes, he caught it before everything could go tumbling to the floor. You had to bite your lip to stifle a laugh.

He was always dressed in similar attire, no passion for fashion to be found. Today it was jeans and a battered green jacket that somehow made him look even bigger. Like a knight who’d wandered out of an old storybook and gotten lost in the city.

Once he reached your counter, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, and glanced at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at you.

“So,” he said slowly. “I, uh… need flowers again.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Same friend?”

His face flushed. Pinker this time, almost adorable if you were being honest. “No,” he said too quickly. “Different… person.”

You had to suppress a smile. Right. Different person.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” You dusted your hands off on your apron and rounded the counter, brushing past him on the way to the cooler. You didn’t miss the way his breath caught, just for a second. “Any idea what you want?”

He followed you, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. “I was hoping you could… help.”

You pulled open the cooler door and gestured at the shelves of roses, lilies, peonies, and hydrangeas. “Big event? Anniversary? Birthday? Lover?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “No, none of that.”

You blinked. “Then what’s the occasion?”

He cleared his throat. “Just… because.”

Your heart gave an irritating little stutter.

He wasn’t buying flowers for a significant other. He wasn’t trying to apologize for something. He just… wanted flowers.

You pretended to examine a bucket of pale pink tulips so he wouldn’t see you smiling.

“Well,” you said lightly, “if it’s just because, you can’t go wrong with something cheerful. How about these?”

You held out a tulip, the petals soft and blushing like a sunset.

Tamlin stared at it as if you’d handed him a priceless relic. “They’re… nice,” he said finally.

Your cheeks burned as you fought back a laugh. “You don’t know anything about flowers, do you?”

He grimaced. “No.”

“Well, lucky for you, that’s why I’m here.” You twirled the tulip between your fingers. “Pink is for affection. Yellow is friendship. Red is—”

“Love,” he said gruffly.

Your eyes flicked to him, surprised.

He shrugged, looking away. “I read it somewhere.”

You tucked the tulip behind your ear and reached for a small cluster of wildflowers next.

“These are my favorite,” you said. “No fancy meaning. They just make people happy.”

Tamlin watched you, something soft and wonderstruck in his eyes.

You had the sudden, ridiculous urge to fidget. Instead, you handed him the bouquet. “Here. These.”

He took them carefully, as if afraid to crush them with his large hands. His fingers brushed yours—warm, callused—and you sucked in a breath you hoped he didn’t hear.

“They’re perfect,” he said, voice low.

“For your… friend?”

Tamlin hesitated.

And then, slowly, he smiled. It wasn’t like the shy little half-smirks you’d seen from him before. This was something fuller, brighter—like the first crack of sunlight after a long storm.

“No,” he said. “For me.”

Your mouth opened and then closed again.

You hadn’t expected that.

He shifted closer, cradling the bouquet between you. “I was hoping,” he said, almost shy, “you might help me pick out more next week, too.”

You tilted your head, smiling despite yourself. “You planning on buying out my whole shop?”

His grin turned a little crooked. “If it means I get to see you… maybe.”

You laughed. You couldn’t help it. Mother help him, he was terrible at flirting. Awful. And somehow… it was endearing. At least you knew he wasn’t a player.

“I’ll tell you what,” you said, pretending to think it over. “You come back next week, and I’ll teach you how to arrange your own bouquet.”

His brows lifted. “Like… professionally?”

“Exactly.” You grinned. “At this rate, you’ll be ready to open your own flower shop by the end of the year.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made the tiny shop feel even smaller, even warmer. “I think I’ll leave that to you.”

You rang him up at the register where he argued with you about paying double the price the bouquet cost—he won—and walked him to the door.

As he stepped out into the sun, he turned back, that same soft, hopeful look on his face.

“Oh,” he said, as if just remembering. “By the way.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I think pink suits you,” he said, voice rough with something you couldn’t name.

You tilted your head in confusion, and then remembered the tulip tucked behind your ear.

Before you could thank him or find something clever to say, he was already walking away, the little bouquet clutched carefully in his hands.

The bell jingled as the door swung shut, and you were left alone with the flowers… and a heart that was suddenly beating far too fast.