Pants And Roses

Chapter 5

The sun was brutal that afternoon, pouring down on the city streets like someone had flipped the oven switch. Roxy balanced a cardboard box of roses against her hip, her tattoos glistening with sweat. Ethan followed beside her, hands shoved in his pockets like he was the most useless bodyguard on Earth.

“Don’t you have, like, Netflix to binge or a birthday cake to slice?” she snapped without looking at him.

Ethan shook his head, smiling. “Nope. You’re my Netflix today. And besides, I can help.”

She finally turned, eyebrows raised. “You? With those noodle arms? You’d drop my roses before the doorstep.”

“I have strong arms!” Ethan protested, flexing in the middle of the street. Except a passing scooter nearly took him out, and Roxy doubled over laughing.

“Strong arms, huh? Sitcom arms maybe,” she teased, walking faster.

Ethan jogged to catch up. “Just give me one delivery. One. I’ll prove I’m not useless.”

She sighed dramatically, as if handing him her box was the same as signing her death will. But she slid it into his hands anyway. “Fine. If you break a single stem, I’ll break your nose.”

The first stop was a quaint little cottage squeezed between a laundromat and a nail salon. The front yard was lined with garden gnomes—each one staring at Ethan like he wasn’t welcome. He rang the bell with a shaky finger.

The door creaked open, and an old lady with giant glasses and rollers in her hair peeked out. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw the bouquet.

“Ohhh, aren’t you two adorable!” she squealed, clasping her hands together.

Roxy frowned. “Ma’am, we’re just delivering flowers.”

But the grandma wasn’t having it. “Young love is so sweet. Look at him holding the roses for you! What a gentleman.”

Ethan blushed so hard he thought his ears might ignite. “Uh, actually, I’m—”

“Her boyfriend,” the grandma finished, beaming. “You must be. Look at the way you’re standing so protectively. Oh, sweetheart, never let him go. Boys like that are rare.”

Roxy’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me? He’s not—”

But Ethan, in his panic, just… smiled. A weak, awkward smile that screamed yes, I’m the boyfriend you think I am but please don’t ask questions.

The grandma winked. “Don’t worry, honey. My late husband pretended he wasn’t my boyfriend at first, too.”

Roxy muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like I’m gonna kill you, while Ethan handed over the roses. The old lady gave him a conspiratorial pat on the hand, as if passing on some ancient relationship blessing.

“Now go on, lovebirds,” she said, closing the door.

The silence afterward was heavy—until Roxy broke it with a snort. Then a laugh. Then full-blown hysterics.

“Boyfriend!” she wheezed. “Oh, pants boy, you’re dying right now. I can see it.”

Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, red-faced. “I didn’t say anything! You’re the one who didn’t correct her fast enough.”

“Oh, don’t twist this,” Roxy shot back, still laughing. “For five seconds you loved being my boyfriend.”

Ethan opened his mouth to deny it, but… yeah, maybe she was right. And that thought scared him almost as much as it thrilled him.

By the time they left the grandma’s house, Ethan’s cheeks were still glowing red. Roxy was still laughing, wiping a fake tear from her eye.

“Don’t look so hurt, pants boy,” she teased. “At least one person in this city thinks you’re boyfriend material.”

“Correction,” Ethan muttered, adjusting the box. “One grandma. That doesn’t count.”

“Oh, it counts,” she said with a smirk. “Grandmas always know.”

Ethan groaned but kept walking. The next address on the slip was a block away. He squinted at the numbers on the doors, trying to look confident. “Okay, I’ve got this one. Easy.”

Roxy arched an eyebrow. “You sure? Last time you looked confident, you nearly got flattened by a scooter.”

“I’m sure,” he said, marching up the steps of a neat white house with flower pots on the porch. Without hesitation, he rang the doorbell.

Seconds later, the door swung open.

Instead of a smiling customer, a massive German Shepherd burst out like a rocket.

“OH—” Ethan’s voice cracked as the dog lunged. He bolted down the steps, bouquet still in hand, sprinting down the street like his life depended on it.

The dog barked furiously, hot breath snapping at his ankles.

Roxy? She was doubled over laughing at the top of the steps, holding her stomach. “Run, pants boy, run!” she hollered between cackles.

“This isn’t funny!” Ethan yelled, dodging trash cans. “CALL IT OFF!”

“I don’t speak dog!” Roxy shouted, tears of laughter streaming down her face.

Ethan tried to leap onto a low fence, but the box of roses made him slip. He landed flat on his back with the bouquet exploding over him like confetti. The German Shepherd hovered over him, growling, while Ethan froze stiff.

A voice shouted from the house. “Buddy! Heel!”

The dog backed off immediately, tail wagging like it hadn’t just attempted murder.

A middle-aged man in slippers appeared at the door. “Sorry about that! Wrong house—you want number thirty-two, not thirty. Happens all the time.”

Ethan lay on the pavement, roses crushed on his chest, dignity in pieces. “Yeah… happens… all the time,” he wheezed.

Roxy finally came over, biting her lip to stop laughing. She crouched down, plucked a petal from his hair, and whispered, “Strong arms, huh? More like strong screams.”

He glared at her, face red. “You could’ve helped!”

“And miss the best comedy show of my week? No way,” she shot back, grinning.

Despite himself, Ethan laughed too, even while brushing dirt off his shirt. Because somehow, with Roxy, even disaster felt worth it.

By the time Ethan and Roxy finally got to the right house, he was limping a little, shoes caked in dirt, and his pride limping even worse. Roxy still wore that smug grin that said she’d replay the dog chase in her head a thousand times just to laugh again.

“Stop smiling,” Ethan muttered.

“Can’t,” Roxy shot back. “You’re my personal comedy channel now. And the subscription is free.”

Ethan sighed but held out his hand for the next bouquet. “Fine. Give me another shot. I won’t screw this one up.”

Roxy hesitated. “You sure? Last house almost turned into Cujo 2.0.”

He leveled her with his most serious glare. “Just hand it over.”

She smirked and handed him the bouquet. “Okay, hero. Good luck.”

The third address turned out to be a mansion on the edge of town. Massive iron gates, marble steps, and a sparkling fountain out front. Ethan whistled low.

“Wow. Someone’s compensating for something.”

“That’s rich-girl central,” Roxy muttered. “Be careful. They’re the type to send back roses if the shade of red doesn’t match their shoes.”

“Sounds delightful,” Ethan said dryly, adjusting the bouquet.

The front door opened before he even knocked. A teenage girl in a glittering dress, dripping with jewelry, stared down at him like he was a bug on her windshield.

“You’re late,” she snapped.

Ethan blinked. “Uh… I don’t think so? We’re right on time—”

“These aren’t lilies!” she cut in, glaring at the roses.

“Well, the order slip says roses—”

The girl huffed, snatched the bouquet, and then—in one dramatic sweep—threw the roses straight back at him.

The petals exploded against his chest. Ethan stumbled backwards, slipped on the marble step, and crashed down… straight into the fountain.

SPLASH!

Water erupted everywhere. Ethan flailed, soaking wet, roses floating around him like a tragic, romantic comedy cliché.

Roxy gasped, covering her mouth… then completely lost it. She bent over, laughing so hard she almost fell into the fountain herself.

“Stop—laughing—help me!” Ethan sputtered, water dripping from his hair into his eyes.

“I—can’t—breathe!” Roxy wheezed, clutching her stomach. “You look like a drowned prince from a dollar-store fairy tale!”

The spoiled girl just rolled her eyes. “Pathetic.” She slammed the door shut, leaving Ethan half-drowned and humiliated.

Ethan dragged himself out of the fountain, water squelching in his sneakers. He plopped down on the stone edge, defeated. “This day hates me.”

Roxy finally caught her breath and sat beside him, dripping petals off her arm. “Correction. This day loves me. You’re basically doing slapstick comedy for free.”

He gave her a tired look. “Glad my suffering entertains you.”

She smirked, softer this time. “Honestly? Yeah. But… you’re not half bad when you’re a mess.”

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to play it cool, but the way she looked at him—smiling just a little, not mocking but almost… fond—it made his stomach flip.

He cleared his throat. “So… good trouble?”

Roxy chuckled, nudging his shoulder. “Yeah. Good trouble.”

They finally drag themselves out of the fountain, clothes sticking to their skin, shoes squishing with every step. Ethan plops down on the fountain edge, dripping like a broken faucet.

Roxy sits beside him, hugging her knees, hair plastered to her cheek.

Roxy (teasing):

“Well, Romeo, you’ve officially ruined my career as a serious rose delivery girl.”

Ethan (grinning):

“Correction. We ruined it. Together. That’s called teamwork.”

She nudges his shoulder, and for a second the laughter fades into something quieter. They’re just… staring. Wet, shivering, but warm in each other’s closeness.

Roxy (softly):

“You’re… not like the other guys I’ve met.”

Ethan (half-joking, half-earnest):

“Hopefully that’s a good thing. ’Cause if it’s not… I can return myself for a refund.”

She giggles, then rests her head on his shoulder without warning. He freezes, heart thudding like it just tried to escape his chest.

Roxy (almost whispering):

“Don’t get too cocky. I’m only letting you borrow my shoulder until we dry off.”

But Ethan can tell she means more than she says. And though neither of them confesses it out loud, the night air feels heavy with an almost.

They sit there in silence, just the splash of the fountain and the rustle of roses in their soggy paper wrapping between them.