Flower shops were always excellent places to learn about the people around you. In a sense, that was one of the reasons why you opened up your own flower shop.

 

Back in middle school, you never were a particularly popular or talkative student. You only had a select few close friends and even then, your words were sparse. While your mouth was shut, your eyes were wide open. The bright bouquets that occasionally hung in baskets outside the classroom windows always intrigued you. Confession flowers, presented with hope and wistful wishes, were more entertaining than the confession itself. You’d always looked up the nuances and romanticism of the flowers you saw handed from one set of hopeful hands to another. The internet only strengthened your interest in the language of flowers.  You’d spend hours figuring out which particular shades of a color looked just right with a certain type of flower, broadening your knowledge of flowers instead of expanding your social circle.

 

It was to no one’s surprise that you announced that you wanted to open a flower shop at the end of high school. You had always been able to memorize the taxonomy with ease, to identify the species of a flower by the texture, shape, and color of the blooms. But you didn’t want to get into plant genomics or ecology. You were more interested in their effects on the people around you. You saw the emotions that a single bouquet, even a single bloom could incite. You loved the hidden messages that could be presented through a beautiful bouquet. You always wondered what it would be like, being the person responsible for that perfect bouquet of roses, being the creator of the flowers that could bring someone to tears.

 

Your goals in life were set. In college, you double majored in Business and Biology to be able to open up your own flower shop. By graduation, you already had a name, location, and flower suppliers for your new business venture.

 

You had chosen an odd place to open, one that was a high business risk. Choosing to avoid the flower markets, with all of their competition, you opened up a tiny place in a high-end shopping area. The rent was expensive and there were less customers and farmers who were willing to ship, but the reduced competition made it worth it. The clients in the area were rich; you assumed that they’d be fine with buying a slightly over-priced bouquet of roses.

 

You were right.

 

Within a couple of weeks, you were known as the only worthwhile custom flower shop  in the area and were getting customers that would pay a pretty penny for custom flower arrangements and big orders. More work for you, but it also meant a comfortable lining in your pockets.

 

But that’s not why you loved the job. You loved it because you could spend every day comparing the textures of different flower petals, arranging them in crystal or ceramic vases and creating beautiful displays. Individual bouquets were fun. Wedding orders were exhausting but rewarding. Funeral flowers were sobering and deserved extra attention.

 

When you ran the only flower shop in the area, you got to know your regular customers. You remembered their orders most of the time, sometimes even making them in advance. But there was one customer’s order you always spent a little bit of extra time on, let him linger just a little bit longer in your thoughts as you filled his request.

 

You only knew a couple of things about him: his name, and his flower requests:

Huang ZiTao and a single flower. Every day. Sometimes, he only provided a meaning, and you went in search for the corresponding flower. Sometimes, he pulled up a photograph, and asked you what it meant. Every day provided something different: passionate love, beauty, loyalty, compassion. They were all beautiful, in form and in meaning.

 

However, there were the other things you noticed, silly, small things: his broad shoulders, his feline eyes, the way his suit sat on his form just so, and the breathy sound of his voice when he came to pick up his flower every day. You suggested once that he just take a bunch home and save time and effort that way. But he insisted that he wanted different flowers every time, and insisted on the freshest ones of the day. You didn’t mind; that meant that he would be coming in every morning.

 

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing. Whoever received the flowers was very lucky. So few were willing to spare that degree of effort to show his devotion.

 

This particular morning, you were arranging a bouquet for a wedding. This was always exhausting work, seeing as you didn’t employ any assistants. You’d arrived at the shop early to get your materials ready, and then to receive the morning delivery. The colors that the bride wanted were garish; a bright, almost neon shade of fuchsia paired with dandelion yellow. You’d tried to convince her out of it, but she hadn’t listened. You relented, and now you were stuck with arranging the ugliest bouquet of flowers you had ever put together. It was nearly noon, and you’d only finished the bridesmaid’s bouquets, let alone the arrangements for the pews, tables, and centerpieces. For now, you set to work on the bride’s bouquet, an arrangement of baby’s breath, lily of the valley, and white stargazer lilies. It was a shame. The flowers were gorgeous, their ribbons and vases, not so much.

 

The chime of the door made you pause. Right, it was 9. Huang ZiTao was here. You hurried to the counter where his delivery sat, just as he came in through the door. Today was special. There came a seasonal delivery of white jasmine: sweet love. You had wrapped up a bundle in pale lavender tissue, ready for him. You didn’t know what he would ask for, but hoped that he would like it. But to your surprise, he shook his head as you held it out to him.

 

“I have a question.” His voice rang out. You smiled in response.

 

“Hopefully I have answers.” You answer, voice cracking from lack of use. You lightly tapped your chest and cleared your throat.

 

“What flower would say ‘ you?” He asked calmly. Your eyebrows shot up at the question. His demeanor was calm, despite his question. But his velvety voice had a bite, a bitterness, like the ache of wine at the back of your tongue.

 

“Um,” You hesitated. “I’m not sure that-“

 

“It’s fine. If you can’t help me then-“

 

“I can find something.” You cut in, eyes darting around your shop. You were sure you could think of something. But as your ran through the list of flowers available in the shop, you drew a blank. Flowers meant romance: new beginnings and secret rendezvous. There was nothing here to match the quiet anger simmering in his tone. Finally, you thought of something and disappeared into the back of your shop.

 

You rummaged through your disposal pile, looking for the bouquet of roses that a child had inadvertently sent flying yesterday. When you returned to him, you handed him a single disheveled rose. ZiTao smirked.

 

“Gutsy.” He placed it on the table and reached for his wallet. “Thank you. How much?” You held up your hands in protest.

 

“You shouldn’t pay me for a thrown-away rose, sir. That doesn’t seem right.”

 

“I’m taking a flower from your shop, you should be compensated for that.” ZiTao pulled out a bill and pushed it forward across the counter. Wordlessly, you took the money with a small bow. He watched you place the bill into the register with a smile and continued. “Not to mention the irony that all this time you’ve understood what I wanted to say and the intentions I wanted to express better than the woman they were intended for. I feel like I’ve been making a huge mistake these past couple of months.”

 

You gaped at him; you could not quite ignore the hum that simmered across your skin at that statement. He was referring to the flower meanings. You didn’t want to read further into it. You sighed and bowed.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He picked up the rose and using it, gave a light-hearted wave as he walked out the entryway, uncaring of the haphazard wobbling resulting from the half-broken stalk or the lone petal that drifted towards the ground. The door closed behind him with a snap of finality.

 

And for a while, that was the last you saw of Huang ZiTao.

 

***

Beta'd by Shooka24. 

 

Welcome into my venture into 2nd person point of view! This should be very short and very fluffy, I hope you enjoy!

 

See you next update!