Sugar and Stems

Azalea Three weeks in this town. One week running my tiny, slightly sad-looking flower shop. And how many customers had I gotten so far? Two. Two people. And neither of them actually bought anything. Do they even count? Honestly, they might as well have been mannequins wandering in by accident. The first walked in, sniffed some flowers, and left muttering something about next week. Next week? Sir, it’s flowers, not your high school science project. Do you even know how photosynthesis works? The second? An elderly lady who whispered, “Oh, how beautiful,” and then… nothing. Just disappeared. I swear the daisies smirked at me afterward. I brushed a stray petal off the counter. “Stop it” I muttered to myself and the tulips, because talking to flowers is apparently normal when the world decides your dream of floral glory is only going to be witnessed by pigeons. “It’s only been a week. Seven days. And they say Rome wasn’t built in a day. Maybe flower empires aren’t either. Keep your chin up. Hydrangea, I’m counting on you.” Arranging a bouquet of daisies, I tried to make them look like a party instead of a funeral, ignoring the sticky note I stuck to the vase — Buy more peonies! Great. Money I don’t have. Energy I barely have. But optimism? I had that in spades, or at least in awkward, fluttery bits. Then it happened. The door chimed. Actual, real-life human steps. My heart nearly did a tap dance on the counter. “Oh! Hello! Hi! Welcome!” I chirped, probably too loudly. My cheeks warmed, but I didn’t care. Finally someone who might actually want flowers, not just to look at them, sniff them, or… ugh, focus, Azalea. He paused in the doorway, hands in his pockets. He looked around, careful and calm. Something about that quiet made me relax a tiny bit, though my hands still shook with ridiculous excitement. “Hi,” he said quietly. “Uh… hello!” I said again, loudly. Smooth. I cleared my throat. “I mean… can I help you? Flowers? Bouquets? Advice? Life wisdom?” He raised a brow at the last one. I mentally kicked myself, because of course I always have to embarrass myself. But then he smiled. Just a little, a tiny curl at the corner of his mouth, and it made something lighter flicker in me. And just like that, my three-week streak of absolute irrelevance in this new town seemed to shrink to nothing. Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something. Or at the very least, a purchase. Please, flowers, please.