Chapter 1
I always liked plants. Plants are easy. Plants don't nag, or ask why your chores aren't done, or care if you want to lie on a hill and look at clouds all day. Plants get it. The world moves too fast sometimes, and on those days you want to slow down and see what the sky looks like. That's all plants ever do, really. Notice the way things are.
It was early on a Tuesday, the sun just beginning to burn away the fog, and I was wearing an apron at the front desk of my father's flower shop with several textbooks open in front of me. My parents needed the help and I needed to study. This was our agreement: they would pay my university fees if I helped out in the shop a couple days per week. I told them fine, but they have to let me do my homework there. You don't get a botany degree by explaining the difference between annuals and perennials to the ill-informed.
Not that I didn't like the shop. I always loved it there, despite the constant annoyance of my mother's nagging. When I was a kid, my father used to walk me around and tell me what all the flowers were. He would point out interesting features like the shape of the leaves or the length of the stem and tell me how to identify each type. Even when I was young, I could tell our customers exactly which flower was which, my father smiling gently with pride. It was him who wanted me to be a botanist. Shikamaru, he'd say, you're too smart for a place like this. I could only agree.
That was why, on this particular Tuesday, I turned our sign to OPEN and promptly opened my evolutionary biology textbook. My midterm was the next day and I had too many taxa to memorize. An easy task, but a time-consuming one. Thank god it was my mother's day off.
A shuffle from the stairs leading to our apartment above the shop signaled my father's arrival. He came from around the corner, piece of toast in hand.
"Morning, son," he mumbled through his toast.
"Hi, Dad," I replied, briefly lifting my head from the book.
"Studying?" he asked.
"Uh-huh."
Thinking that was the end of our conversation, I turned back to my book. My father finished his toast and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot I had set on earlier.
"Listen," he said firmly, "I've got a ton of deliveries to attend to today, so I probably won't be in until later. I hate to ask since I know you're busy, but I need you to drop a bouquet off next door at some point," he said.
This got my attention.
"Next door? Why?" I asked, surprised. Though the space had been available for a long time, the shop next door was empty. Had been for years.
My father chuckled.
"Shows how much you go out the front door, kid. We have new neighbors."
I must have looked confused, because he laughed again.
"Don't worry about it too much, they finished construction very fast. It's a tattoo shop and they open today. Bring them the bouquet as a welcome to the neighborhood type of thing. I trust you to make it look nice."
I rolled my eyes and sighed.
"Okay, Dad, whatever you say."
He thanked me, finished his coffee, and walked out the door to the delivery car with a quick goodbye. The bell tinkled much more irritatingly than usual.
I shoved the bouquet and the new neighbors out of my mind for as long as possible. Compartmentalizing had always been a specialty of mine, and schoolwork came first. A few customers wandered in, browsed for a while, and left without saying thank you. One or two bought something, probably to apologize to their wronged wives. That's how business always is in the flower industry. My father used to say that he could feed his family on the dime of cheating assholes.
Around eleven, I couldn't put my father's request out of my mind anymore. With a heavy sigh, I closed my textbook. What a drag.
The most logical time to bring the flowers over would be at noon when we closed for lunch, as I couldn't just leave the shop unattended. I would run over, hand them the flowers, mumble some words of welcome, and go back to study and eat lunch with my mother. An annoyance, but it would be over quickly.
Glancing around the shop, I took stock of the flowers. The freesias were browning around the petals like someone held a match to them; the tulips drooped sadly towards the floor. Without thinking too much, I grabbed some purple hydrangeas and a few orchids, arranging them haphazardly in a crystal vase. Throwing in some white roses for contrast, I stepped back to view my handiwork.
"Good enough," I said to the air.
The sign was big and gaudy with stylized lettering that read ONE TAILS TATTOO. It stood in stark contrast with our small, clean NARA FLOWERS sign, a disparity deepened by the shredding guitar coming from the tattoo parlour. I stood outside a moment, preparing myself for loud noises in a place that was nothing like the sky. Heaving a sigh, I opened the door.
I was greeted with a loud blast of cold air and a bored, gum-chewing teenager staring at me blankly. He had spiky brown hair and purple lines tattooed all over his face. Weird.
I approached the counter, cradling the vase in the crook of my arm. The bored teen showed no interest in the stranger walking towards him, continuing to chew obnoxiously and flip through the magazine he was holding. I reached the counter and coughed softly.
"Do you have an appointment?" the teen asked in a monotone without looking up.
"Uh, no," I replied, uncomfortable, "I'm from next door. I brought you flowers."
The teen finally picked his head up to give me a confused look, then flashed to the vase I was holding. He raised his eyebrows.
"Next door. Nara Flowers. My dad's a florist and he sent these as a welcome gift. So, uh, welcome, I guess."
I placed the flowers on the counter with a harsh thunk. The teenager continued to stare at them for a moment, then turned around on his chair.
"TEMARI!"
Thinking about her name now sends echoes reverberating inside of me. At the time, however, all I wanted was to leave that shop and get back to my textbooks. I opened my mouth to say that I had better be going, that I didn't have time to meet anyone else, but before the words escaped my throat a woman emerged from behind a curtain in the back. Emerged is putting it lightly. She didn't simply walk out from the back, she swirled, she gusted, she flew, all in a rapid succession that resembled a tornado. Not for the last time, I thought that she was like the wind.
As quickly as the maelstrom had started, it ended, and she was standing right in front of me, her hand on her hip.
"Who the hell are you?"
To say that she captivated me immediately would be a lie. Her gale-like display was, if anything, frightening; her eyes seemed alive with something otherworldly. Despite this, she had an aura of overwhelming indifference to the world around her, particularly to strange boys who bring flowers at lunchtime. I found her startling at best and dangerous at worst, writing her off almost immediately as a troublesome but uninteresting woman.
"Nara Shikamaru," I replied, making the boredom in my voice as evident as possible, "From Nara Flowers next door. My dad sent me with these."
I gestured at the flowers on the counter. Her face softened ever so slightly. She stared at the flowers for a long moment, then flicked her eyes up to meet mine.
"Tell me, Nara Shikamaru, what on Earth would possess you to bring flowers to a tattoo shop?"
Her question caused me to recoil slightly in shock. Troublesome, irksome woman! Couldn't she just go doe-eyed and coo about how beautiful they were like a normal woman so I could go about my day? My eyes narrowed involuntarily.
"Listen, Toots, if you don't like them I'll just take them back," I responded, my words laden with venom.
At this, her eyes exploded with preternatural green flames. Her strong shoulders tensed and I watched with amusement as her anger crescendoed.
"Don't you EVER call me Toots again," she yelled with surprising ferocity. The sight was almost intimidating but mostly comical. I drank it in, this strange woman with her strange blonde pigtails fuming at me. She wore black jeans and a white Rolling Stones tank top, revealing the tattoos that crisscrossed down her arms. She was the artist, then. An artist with a bad temper at that.
"Excuse me," I apologized sarcastically, "Temari, was it? If my flowers offend you, I would be happy to take them back and sell them for actual money to someone who actually appreciates them."
She looked momentarily taken aback, the fire in her eyes dimming. Her rage
subsided all at once, much to my extreme confusion. Her eyes became warm and inviting, crinkling with her half-smile, and the angry red blush faded to a pleasant rosiness in her cheeks. She looked like an entirely different woman, a development that I found immensely perplexing.
"Thank you, Shikamaru," said Temari, smiling sweetly, "They are very lovely flowers."
Her voice was filled with either honey or with bees; which one it was, I couldn't tell. She moved the vase to the center of the desk and stuck out her hand. I took it without thinking. She smelled like daffodils.
"It was nice to meet you," she grinned, the picture of friendliness. I responded quickly
that it was nice to meet her as well, adding the same to the teenager at the desk.
"Call me Kankuro," he grunted.
I left the tattoo shop feeling flustered, the smell of daffodils on my hands.