Work was exactly as she expected it. Slow.
She was thankful considering she hadn't slept worth a damn, but it was also slow enough to let her mind wander and it made her anxious.
"How was the trip?"
Nora whirled, almost startled, earning a laugh she didn't quite appreciate from her boss.
"It was nice," she answered, a little more short than she meant to sound. "A little weird...but nicer than most places I've stayed."
"You look like you didn't sleep."
She shrugged, twisting back and forth on a bar stool at the counter aimlessly. Her black skirt fluttered back and forth with her. "I had bad dreams. I don't really know why, but they kept me up all night," she admitted. "It's not like me to have nightmares."
"I know. But hey. Somebody just called in an order, it's a Thinking of You bouquet. You wanna take it?" he asked, placing the order sheet in front of her on the counter. "C'mon. You look bored."
"I guess. Is it a delivery?"
"Said it's a pickup. For Bloom."
Nora's heart dropped. What could have happened? She thought about calling Alana, but maybe it wasn't her. There wasn't a call back number listed on the order.
"Dan, you forgot their number," she told him, but Dan shrugged.
"It's fine. If they don't come get it you know somebody will buy it. Oh, radio's out. I'll turn on the TV for noise."
He turned on the TV mounted behind the counter and disappeared, leaving Nora to her devices.
This piece took her quite a while. She struggled to put together something that really felt "sympathetic", drifting back and forth between white lilies and soft pink roses. It's not a sympathy bouquet, she told herself, nobody died. She hoped.
The TV didn't help. Of course it was the local news channel. Advertisements, senseless news, sports reports. It bounced around in the back of her head as she began shaping her wet foam, nearly smashing it down in the vase when an ad ran that was at least 20 decibels louder than the rest of the broadcast.
But then the news broadcast roared back to life and she realized they were cutting into live TV.
"Breaking news coming from the observatory, yet again," the reporter said grimly. Nora paused, giving the TV a wary glance. "Early this morning, well before sunrise, the FBI were called to the scene of a crime so horrific, we are not yet allowed to release any details."
That really caught her attention. She turned her full attention to it, twirling a lily between her fingers.
"Reports are that a former FBI crime scene investigator has been found under quite gruesome circumstances. Jack Crawford, head of the BSU, refused to release a statement as she was apparently one of his own. We'll bring you more on this story as the details are released."
She took a deep breath, trying to focus on her arrangement. None of that bode well when she thought about the things Alana and Hannibal had told her. And the Jack Alana had referred to had to be Jack Crawford. She'd heard that name before.
The order was picked up around lunch, confirming that it wasn't Alana. It was some random she'd never seen before and while that comforted her, it didn't really settle her nerves.
"I'm going to take my lunch, Dan," she called to the back, slipping her coat on. "I'm going to the noodle place. You want something?"
"Nah, I have my own today. But bring me a coke if you don't mind."
"Got i-"
As she turned to go out the door, she bashed into someone, stumbling back in shock. A warm hand steadied her, a little too familiarly, and maroon colored eyes met hers.
"Nora, are you alright?" Hannibal asked calmly, stepping into the shop to get out of the wind.
Flabbergasted, she gaped at him, struggling for words. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking!" she gasped, straightening her glasses, but he only smiled at her.
"That's quite alright. I thought I would bring you lunch," he told her, holding up what looked to be ceramic containers much like a bento box. "I apologize if it seems sudden, but I was planning on being in town today and Alana mentioned you worked here, so here I am. Have I caught you at a bad time?"
"No not at all! I actually was just headed out to get lunch but I...wow. That's...you're really on top of things," she stammered. "Come in, let's get out of the door at least."
He followed her up to the counter, pausing courteously at it when she dipped behind it.
"Hey, you can come back here. It'll be hard to eat up here," she assured him, and he nodded before following her to the back room.
She could imagine him musing at all the coolers and literal buckets of flowers. When she stole a glance at him over her shoulder, he was doing exactly that, his fingers skimming nearly everything he walked by. He had to analyze every single little thing.
"Impressive, huh?" she asked him, offering him a seat in a folding chair at the card table in their "break" area. It was really just one large room with a few counters, one with a microwave and mini fridge tucked into the corner.
Dan peered at her from the microwave, raising his eyebrows at her.
"Who's this?" he asked, eying Hannibal top to bottom. "Gotcha a suitor finally?"
She swatted at the old man playfully, sliding her coat off once again.
"This is Doctor Hannibal Lecter. He's a friend of mine," she said, but this time it was Hannibal who eyed her across the table. Oh no, she thought. Bad choice of words? Or was he just being coy?
"Well I've never met him. What kind of doctor are you?" Dan asked him.
Hannibal set to unpacking their lunch, uncovering his little ceramic bowls carefully. White rice, and a sectioned container full of something she didn't quite recognize.
"I'm a psychiatrist," Hannibal answered him simply, and to Nora's embarrassment, he pulled his chair around to the closer side of the card table so that they wouldn't be across from each other. "I have an office at my home."
"Well. Sounds nice. I'll go get a coke, then, since you're not headed to the noodle hut," Dan said to Nora, putting his dish back in the microwave. "You want anything?"
"See if they'll send us hot tea in a to go cup. They used to do it for me."
"Hot tea. Sure."
As soon as Dan was gone, Hannibal pushed one side of the split bowl toward her, handing her a spoon. "Saag Gosht," he told her, as if that meant something to her. She had no idea what that was. "It's a spinach curry. Generally made with lamb, but yours is tofu. I'm not sure how that will translate, flavor wise-"
"You made this for lunch?" she asked incredulously.
He cocked his head at her, concerned. "Yes? Is there something wrong?"
"No, not at all, it's just a complicated dish...that's a lot of effort."
"Not at all. I told you, I enjoy this."
Her heart fluttered deep in her chest and she tried not to blush at him, staring down into her dish. Whatever it was, it looked delicious.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"You're quite welcome."
They ate quietly, but it wasn't awkward. It was a pleasant silence; she enjoyed his presence even without words. And he seemed to enjoy hers. Dan came back at some point with a drink tray of tea, lukewarm now that he'd been out in the cold with it, but she appreciated it nonetheless.
When they were done, she gave him a "tour" of the shop, which was pretty much just "here's where the orders come in, and this is where I do arrangements", but he seemed amused. She ran out of things to show him and eventually resorted to explaining everything from wet foam to florist tape and the silk flower crimper.
He pulled a cut rose from her little workspace, tracing his fingers over the soft white-pink petals. She'd left it out earlier trying to do the Bloom arrangement.
"Come with me tonight," he started, quickly glancing around the store for customers or her boss before taking both of her hands, curling them around the stem of the rose. "Do you work tomorrow?"
"I work Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Saturdays when it's busy."
"Perfect. Then you won't mind if I pick you up from here after closing?"
Her face flushed and she stared down into the center of the rose, struggling so hard to keep her composure.
"Sure," she murmured, and his hands tightened around hers. "What's the occasion?"
"Nothing special. But phone calls are so impersonal. I'd much rather speak face to face with you. When do you close?"
"At 5. Just in time for it to be dark outside."
"Then I will see you at 5," he concluded, brushing the back of his fingers over her wrist and up her forearm delicately.
And just like that, he was gone, leaving Nora standing behind the counter dumbfounded and completely aghast. She wasn't dressed to go out with him. She looked like a cartoon witch bundled up for the cold. Hopefully he wasn't taking her anywhere public.
"He's got it bad for you," Dan said suddenly, making her jump for the second time. "Damn, you're skittish toady! But really. The way he looks at you...it's like he could just eat you alive."
"That's oddly specific, Dan."
"Well how else am I gonna explain it? He's intimidating."
"Sort of. In a weird way, I guess," she agreed, pulling herself up onto her stool again. "I like him. But I feel like he's way out of my league. Did you see his watch? Or his sweater?"
"I saw his car outside. Man drives a Bentley. You really hooked one."
True to his word, Hannibal was waiting for her as soon as Dan had locked the door behind them. She was almost scared to get in his car, worried that she'd track snow and grit into his spotless interior, but she was relieved to see he'd already put down a temporary cover to keep them clean.
"Where are we going?" she asked, struggling to pull her billowy skirt through the door without shutting it on the delicate fabric. "And do you mind if I change clothes? I have wool stockings on and everything but I'd rather be a little more warm."
"I thought I'd take you to my favorite store. I want to treat you to something. And yes, I assume you live close?"
"Literally a couple of blocks away. Take a left here, it's not far."
But then she realized he would see her tiny, tiny house, and she felt a little more than nervous. Surely to god he wouldn't judge her for it, but it was all she had. She squirmed in the passenger's seat, trying to distract herself by checking her nails, but when she saw a chip in her fresh gray polish it only made it worse.
"It's not a lot to look at," she said quietly as they pulled up.
"I quite like it. Very European style cottage. I'll just wait out here."
"You can come in! Don't sit out here in the cold."
He nodded, following her closely up the steps to the door, but again she balked at him being in her house. It wasn't messy in the least but...so many plants. Racks of pots, hanging baskets, trailing pothos hanging from every surface in her kitchen...it was cluttered.
When she opened the door, ushering him inside, she heard a soft "oh my" and cringed.
"I know it's really bad, I have a problem-"
"No, not at all. It's beautiful," he said quickly, interrupting her to stop her from apologizing. He meandered down the hallway toward her kitchen, pausing at nearly every display with a curious eye. "Your house is quite literally alive. I've never seen anything like it."
She watched him drift beneath a hanging basket, fingers skimming a string of pearls succulent before he moved onto her cuttings in the kitchen window. They all sat in a little row in clear glass beakers, roots barely beginning to reach out in the water.
"Those are from plants I need to re-pot," she told him, gripping her white tile counter nervously. "Sometimes they get too large for my pots so I take cuttings and start over from babies. But you can hang out in the living room if you want, it's warmer in there."
"Right. I'm just amazed that you're able to take care of all of this alone," he said, following her to her living room. He perched on her antique couch, running his hand over the burgundy crushed velvet. It was like her house was sensory overload to him; his eyes never settled, dancing from object to object, especially pleased with the simple arched stained glass that filtered light into her living room. "And this house is beautiful. Very bohemian, I think is the term."
"It's so cold and dingy without all the stuff I've picked up over the years. You should have seen it when I got it." She slipped through the beaded curtain into her sunken bedroom, rifling through her dresser quickly. "Should I dress up? What kind of place is it?"
"Wear whatever you like. Whatever makes you comfortable."
"Should I put on makeup...?"
"If you wish, but you certainly don't need it. Your skin is porcelain, Nora."
Thankful he couldn't see her, she blushed, burying her face in a sweater.
"I mean, I usually don't wear it anyway...but sometimes I like to put on a little," she tried, glancing over at her vanity. "Would it bother you? I would just feel better if I did."
"You don't need my permission. Wear what you feel the best in."
She scuttled about her room, passing back and forth at her vanity, struggling to pick an outfit. Alana had said the black jeans were flattering, but were they fancy enough? She didn't have anything more proper and they didn't particularly look like jeans save the pockets, so she settled on that before scavenging her closet for anything even remotely attractive.
Black. Black. Black. Grey. Green. Black. She thumbed through endless rows of black lace and tulle before stumbling over a sweater she'd never worn and suddenly she had an idea and an inspiration; the color of it was perfect.
The color of his eyes.
And, she thought to herself, she had lipstick to match.
She threw it on, realizing immediately why she'd never worn it. It had a large v-shaped cut out in the back that was almost the length of her hair, held together only by thin strips fabric that draped across her skin like cobwebs.
Christ, she thought to herself. No bra it is. But under a coat, it didn't really matter even with her hair pulled up as it was, so she chose her jewelry quickly and grabbed her favorite coat before putting on a soft line of eyeliner and lipstick to match the sweater. Then boots, she thought, but she was keeping him too long so she packed a purse of essentials and went about her way.
His eyes swept over her once when she stumbled up the short steps into her living room, pausing on her face.
"Perfect," he said wistfully, standing to put his coat back on. "Are you ready?"
"I think so," she breathed, straightening her coat. It always wanted to wrinkle at the hem, just above her knees. She could never keep a long coat that behaved. "Take me away, Doctor."
The entire car ride had her worked up, wound tighter than a spring in a clock. She flipped the visor down to check her makeup, minimal though it was, and Hannibal raised an eyebrow at her.
"Nora. I assure you, you look quite beautiful," he said softly. "Makeup has quite an effect on you. You obviously aren't using it to cover anything. It's simply exaggerating your natural loveliness."
Before she could retort, he was parking the car, already out and opening her door. She stepped out carefully, the heel of her boot crunching unpleasantly in the snow. Salt air washed over her and she squinted into the dark and steady snowfall, realizing they weren't far from the harbor.
"Here," he said, pulling her hood up and straightening the overlapping lapels of her coat. "It's a short walk. Don't get chilled."
And then his hand was at the small of her back and he was ushering her down a snow-covered sidewalk, talking more at her than to her about why he liked this particular place. But he still hadn't told her what it was.
They passed by a small dock before coming to a more commercial district, one lined with little brick cafes and boutiques. She'd never even seen this part of town. It was very secretive, very tucked away in a grove that looked almost like a city park. Very artisanal. The warm-colored streetlights made it feel a little less cold and the storefronts were so inviting. It was almost like she was in a different time and place altogether.
He looped his arm with hers, guiding her to a two-story building that looked like it had been a factory at one point. "I think you'll enjoy this," he told her, swinging open a mirrored door for her.
Wine racks lined the impossibly long room, lighted dimly by Tiffany lamps of every shape and size and color hung low from the ceiling. It was a very speakeasy style store, bare brick walls and ornate wooden bars where the cash registers and displays were.
"Upstairs is filled with samples and accessories. Choose whichever one you like, no matter what it is, and I'll make you a dinner to match it," he said, and for a moment she was so overwhelmed that she didn't feel his hands at her waist, his face dipped low beside hers. "Anything you like."
He pulled her hood back gently before nudging her farther inside the store, stepping back to watch her browse.
And browse she did. She drifted from rack to rack, every name completely unfamiliar to her. A sales associate followed her closely but she could feel Hannibal's eyes on him protectively, even though the man had greeted him by name and was quite happy to see him.
The sales associate rattled off so much information she almost couldn't keep up with it. Flavors and bouquets and regions and varieties.
"Is there anything that's citrus-y?" she asked, following him around a rack of white wines.
"Yes, actually," the man told her. "There's a few right here. And there's a rosé that might be what you're looking for. Would you like to try it?"
"Actually, I want it to be a surprise," she answered.
Hannibal gave her quite a look, shocked at her challenge.
After a go-around with the sales associate on what was best, she finally chose something labeled simply "Lillet". Surely Hannibal didn't know that one. But the second she handed it to him, she could see the little gears turning in his head. He already had an idea.
"Lillet Blanc," he mused, turning the bottle over in his hands. "You're quite fond of fruity flavors. But this is a challenge, considering this is usually a more summery wine."
"Well, there's your challenge. Think you can handle it?"
He simply smirked at her, sending a violent shiver down her spine.
