Why she had waited until the last minute to pick up flowers for Brittany and Santana's wedding, Quinn doesn't know. She looks up at the grey clouds looming ominously overhead and frowns. No doubt she was going to have to brave the rain, because the wedding is tomorrow and there would be no time to pick up anything after today. Squaring her jaw and nodding to herself, Quinn gets into her car and drives off to the flower shop Brittany had mentioned in passing — the one that has, and Quinn quotes, "flowers like me and Santana were in high school."
She still has no idea what Brittany had meant by that.
Sure enough, once Quinn arrives at the flower shop, the New York skies open up and it starts to pour. Groaning, she looks around her car for an umbrella. The only thing she manages to find is an old newspaper in the backseat. She sighs, but still grabs it. At least it's better than nothing. The blonde then slides out of her car, closing the door and locking it quickly, and, holding the newspaper above her head, runs into the flower shop. She stands inside for a moment, looking down at her dripping wet clothes, and glares at the limp newspaper in her hand. "So much for you," she mutters, tossing it into the waste bin by the door.
A soft giggle catches her attention. Quinn turns her head towards the sound, her gaze landing on a brown-haired woman towards the back of the store, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She must have been previously busy watering the plants there, judging by the spray bottle in her hand.
The blonde quirks an eyebrow, her lips slightly parted. This is no laughing matter; her outfit is drenched! Then, realizing the woman must have been laughing at the newspaper, Quinn relaxes slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. "I wasn't exactly prepared for the rain, as you can probably tell," she admits, reaching a hand up to shake some of the wetness from her hair.
The woman laughs again, setting the spray bottle down and walking towards the new customer. "It happens," she says with a smile. Quinn blinks, caught off guard by the woman's accent. Is that British? It has to be. Quinn gazes into her warm brown eyes for a moment, surprised by how beautiful and welcoming they are. "So… what can I help you with today?" asks the woman, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Quinn blinks again, then nods. Right. To business, then. "I need to buy flowers for my friends' wedding tomorrow. Last minute, I know," she adds quickly at the woman's humorous look, "but hey, better late than never, right?"
"Right," agrees the brunette with another grin. "What kind of flowers were you thinking? Roses? Or something different?"
The blonde falters slightly. How is she going to explain this? "Well, um… one of the brides mentioned you had flowers that…" She closes her eyes. "Flowers that are like she and her fiance were in high school." Wincing slightly at the horrible description, Quinn asks, "Does that make any sense?"
With a laugh, the woman nods. "Sure, it makes perfect sense. You'll just need to tell me what the two ladies were like in high school." Quinn tilts her head, pleasantly surprised that the woman had caught her 'one of the brides' comment, and not so much as bat an eye in response. She smiles. "Well, they were always the best of friends, ever since they were in Kindergarten. Even when they weren't together because of one reason or another, they truly loved one another and stayed friends through it all. Does… does that help at all?"
Another warm, knowing smile from the woman, her features soft as she listens to Quinn's description of the two girls. "More than you know." Quinn's interest piques, and she smiles again. "I have a few ideas," continues the woman, turning towards the flowers behind her. "Like the primrose here," she says, pointing to a flared yellow one, "signifying happiness and satisfaction. It says 'I can't live without you.'" The woman pauses, then shakes her head. "And then there's the red camellia here," she says, gesturing to a red flower that looks similar to a rose," which says to someone 'You're a flame in my heart.'" Quinn's brow quirks and she nods, a smile on her lips. That sounds like Brittany and Santana, alright.
The woman places a finger on her lips in thoughts, as if neither of those choices were good enough. "But perhaps the best flower would be this." She picks up a flower Quinn actually knows, bringing up to her nose and sniffing it slowly. The blonde wets her lips, watching her intently. "The honeysuckle shows the bonds of love, and how they last through it all. It signifies devoted affection and generosity." Turning back towards Quinn, she smiles and holds it out for the blonde to take and smell for herself. Quinn reaches her hand out to take it, her fingers brushing the woman's softly. She blinks at the touch, her heart fluttering. Her cheeks turn slightly pink as she takes the flower, allowing a small smile to cross her lips. She inhales the sweet scent of the honeysuckle and closes her eyes, humming pleasantly as she exhales. "Lovely," she says to the woman, whose smile broadens.
"I thought you might like it," says the brunette, tilting her head to watch Quinn smell the flower, observing how the long petals drag easily across the skin under her nose and around her lips. Quinn opens her eyes and notices the woman's gaze upon her. Her skin tingles slightly, and she parts her lips to speak. "I'm Quinn, by the way." She holds out her hand. "Quinn Fabray."
The woman blinks, raising her gaze back up to Quinn's eyes. "H-Hermione," she replies with a smile, taking her hand gently but firmly and shaking it. "Hermione Granger. Lovely to meet you, Quinn."
For a fleeting moment, the blonde marvels at how soft Hermione's hands are, considering she's a florist. Before she got the chance to feel for any scratches or cuts, the contact ends, though Quinn's fingers linger for a second longer than Hermione's. The brunette notices, and smiles slightly, before turning and moving towards the counter. "So, uh… how many will that be?" she asks, picking up a pencil and looking back up at the blonde. Quinn's brows furrow a bit as she tries to think. "Um… well…" She brings a hand up to scratch the top of her head, and realizes her hair is still wet. How many had Brittany and Santana wanted? She can't for the life of her remember.
Hermione watches her for a moment, her eyes lifting to look at Quinn's damp locks, her lips parting slightly at they fixate on the strands that stick to her skin. Noticing Quinn's floundering, she shakes her head quickly and looks back down at the paper on the counter. "How about I just put together two bouquets for you, one for each of the brides? And then I can throw in some flowers that will go nicely with the honeysuckle for the rest of the wedding. Does that sound okay?"
Quinn sighs and smiles gratefully. "Yes, thank sounds perfect. Thank you so much for this, I really appreciate it."
"It's no problem. Really," replies Hermione, writing down the order with a grin. "It's the least I can do before I leave. Now, what are the names of the brides?" The blonde pauses for a moment, not sure if she heard correctly. "I'm sorry, did you say you were leaving?" Hermione pauses as well, then looks up and nods. "Yes," she replies after a small hesitation. "I'm going back to England tomorrow. I was in town for the week and I thought I'd help a friend by looking after the shop while she went on holiday. Now…" she presses once more with a small smile, "the names of the brides?"
Quinn blinks. "Uhm… Brittany and Santana." She shakes her head in confusion as the woman writes down the names and moves to begin assembling the order. "Wait, so you don't even live here?" Hermione's lips twitch into another small smile at the question. "No, I don't. Have you not been here before?" she asks, picking out the appropriate number of honeysuckle and taking them back to the counter. Quinn shakes her head, feeling ridiculous for assuming things she had no idea of — and for assuming she would get another chance to buy flowers from Hermione. Her face falls slightly, disappointment bubbling beneath the surface of a faltering smile.
"Oh come on, now," says Hermione softly, "don't be like that. I'm not nearly as good as Trisha, the girl who really owns this place. You'll be in better hands when she gets back, trust me."
Quinn lets out a laugh. "Yeah well, that's not what I was—" She stops herself, her eyes darting back and forth, the lingering smile on her lips slowly fading. Hermione pauses, looking up from her work. She quirks an eyebrow. "Not what you were… what, exactly?" She sets the flowers in her hands down and watches Quinn, her gaze intent. The blonde looks down at the ground for a moment, then lifts her eyes up to meet Hermione's. She bites her lip, her heart pounding, before answering. "That's… not what I was upset about."
Hermione stands there for a moment, her head tilted to the side. Her cheeks turn slightly pink and she looks down at the flowers. She pulls her lips inward, then nods. "Yeah, I know." Quinn's heart flutters, and she raises her head all the way. "You… do?" The brunette nods once more, holding Quinn's gaze. She hesitates before adding, "You're… quite a beautiful woman, Quinn," her voice low and cautious, nervousness lacing her words. She bites her lip, her fingers playing with the flower stems. The blonde's breath hitches in her throat. What in the world is going on? She can't be feeling like this, not for someone she just met. It's absurd. Completely and utterly absurd.
Outside, the rain continues to pour down, big droplets trailing down the glass of the windows. The sound of the downpour fills the silence after Hermione's words, a silence that Quinn isn't sure she wants to break. Her stomach turns and her heart pounds even harder beneath her chest. She feels her face flush and her ears burn. She looks down at the floor, taking a breath to steady herself, then lifts her gaze back up. Hermione is still looking at her, watching her, her eyes boring holes right through her. Quinn's skin tingles again, her heart racing even faster.
"Fuck it," she mutters, throwing caution to the wind and, closing the distance between the two of them in two quick strides, slides her hands under Hermione's jaw and pulls her into a sudden, passionate kiss. The brunette's eyes widened in surprise, then shut as she reciprocates the kiss, her own hands lifting almost immediately to tangle in Quinn's drenched locks. In response, Quinn pushes her against the counter, pressing her lips harder against Hermione's, her tongue drifting across them, requesting entry. They part willingly, and Quinn takes the opportunity to explore the woman's mouth. Hermione does the same, her own tongue tracing patterns across the blonde's. It's all so sudden, and before she can stop them, Quinn's hands move from Hermione's jaw, traveling down to her shoulders, her arms, across her —
The brunette makes a small noise, pulling her hands from Quinn's hair and grabbing the blonde's, stilling them. Quinn pulls back, breaking the kiss, her brows knitting in confusion and worry. "Wh… What is it?" she asks, partially out of breath.
Hermione closes her eyes and drops her head, shaking it slowly. "I can't do this, Quinn. We can't do this."
Quinn stands there, lips parted, her body pressed against the brown-haired woman, her chest heaving. She frowns at Hermione's words, even though she knows them to be true. Sighing, she closes her eyes and drops her head as well, then steps back slowly. Hermione's hands on hers slacken, but do not fully release. "Quinn, wait," she whispers, her head lifting slightly. "It's not that… it's not that I don't want to," she starts slowly, keeping her voice low and as steady as possible. "It's just that… I have to go back home tomorrow, to… to my family…" Her gaze lifts slowly to meet the blonde's, a hint of tears in her eyes. Quinn's heart stops, then seems to work twice as hard to make up for it. "You… you have a family," she murmurs, her face flushing once more, this time out of anger and, more importantly, embarrassment.
The brunette nods, her lips trembling. "Yes. A husband and a little girl." She releases her hold on one of Quinn's hands to wipe her eyes.
Quinn curses under her breath. "God, I can't… I can't believe this. I can't believe I was so… so stupid!" She moves away from Hermione, pulling her hand out of the brunette's grasp, and turns her body to look out the window, watching the rain pour down. Hermione's hand falls, before bringing both of them up to cover her face then slide to the top of her head. "It's not your fault, Quinn," she manages, shaking her head. "Please, don't blame yourself."
Quinn glances at the brunette, her arms folded. "Who else am I going to blame?"
"No one," says Hermione with a sigh, her eyes downcast.
"But there's always someone to blame, Hermione. Always."
"No, not always. Sometimes things just… happen."
"If that's what makes you sleep at night—"
"Quinn, please, don't do this," pleads Hermione, standing up and walking over to the blonde. "Let's just accept the fact that it happened, and move on." Quinn doesn't say anything for a moment, watching the rain outside. Eventually, she sighs and turns to face the woman. "I can't accept the fact that it happened. Because," she continues, seeing Hermione's lips part, "if I accept that it happened, that means I also have to accept that it can't continue. I know we just met and everything, but there's something about you that…" She pauses, looking into the brunette's warm, brown eyes. "It's something I can't explain, okay? But it's there, and if I accept that what just happened between us actually happened, that means I'll have to accept that I may have just lost something that could truly have made me happy in life. So the best thing for me is to pay for the flowers, leave, and forget we ever met."
Hermione watches Quinn, remaining quiet as she listens to her speak. Then she slowly nods, wiping her eyes once more. "Alright."
Quinn quirks an eyebrow. "Alright?"
The woman nods. "Alright." She turns and grabs the two bouquets and additional flowers on the counter, and finishes preparing them. There's a pause, and the blonde begins to pull out her purse. Hermione looks up and shakes her head. "No, no. They're on the house. Consider them as a gift to Brittany and Santana." In the time it takes Quinn to quirk her eyebrow even higher, weigh the options in her mind, and finally decide to put away her purse, Hermione finishes the entire order. She puts them in their proper packaging, and slides them towards the blonde — which Quinn is thankful for. She doesn't need another accidental skin brush. She doesn't want to take that risk.
"Thank you," she murmurs to Hermione. The brunette looks up at her and allows herself a small smile. "You're welcome."
Quinn tries to smile, but only manages to barely lift the corners of her lips. She takes the flowers off the counter and turns to leave. It's still raining outside, so after looking back at Hermione once more, she opens the door and darts back to her car as quickly as possible. The brunette watches her run, her heart sinking in her chest. Sure, she had told Quinn that it had been nobody's fault, but to be completely honest, she blames herself for what had happened. After seeing how beautiful Quinn was, she hadn't been able to help herself, even though she was well aware of her family back home in England. So yes, Hermione blames herself; but at least Quinn isn't blaming herself anymore, which is all that matters at this point.
Sighing, she begins to clean up the store before closing time.
Outside in her car, Quinn looks back at the store one last time. She watches Hermione begin to move around the store, cleaning things up. Sighing, she starts her car and pulls away, driving off into the rest of the storm, determined to forget everything that happened at that flower shop.