I gotta stop following so many blogs that give prompts on Tumblr. I don't remember where I saw the idea for a Florist AU and didn't save the post because I didn't think I'd write anything, but here we are. I tried to link pics of each flower so you'd know what I was talking about, but sucks, unfortunately.
Oliver always tries to guess the eventual purchases of his customers—a holdover from when his mother used to bring him with her when he was a child and needed to find a way to keep him from getting restless. It's a habit rather than a distraction now.
So, the first time she walks in, he takes in the prim ponytail, glasses and playful pastel color of her skirt and thinks, "lemon geranium, of course," only to be surprised when she picks a handful of the horribly-named but still-lovely rainbow sorbet roses. Though when she brings them to the counter, he realizes that was the obvious choice. There's something reminiscent of them in the prettiness of her blonde hair and bright pink lipstick.
When she comes in again a week later, she surprises him twice. First, because he doesn't have many repeat customers, making most of his profits on men buying apology flowers or last-minute gifts for important occasions they've belatedly remembered. Second, because instead of going straight for the roses like last time, she picks violets instead. He understands why when she comes to the counter to pay and notices that they match the polish on her fingernails.
He doesn't even bother to guess when she comes in again. She chooses hibiscus, in a shade of red only slightly less pleasing than that of the dress she's wearing. He assumes that since she has come in at the same time every Monday to purchase a single bouquet that this might become a habit. So, Oliver decides it's time to get to know the mysterious girl who seems determined to match her purchases to her attire.
"Either you're the best girlfriend in the world or you did something pretty bad if you've got to give her flowers every week," he jokes when she hands them to him.
"What?" she starts, confused a moment before she understands. "Oh no, I don't have a girlfriend," she says with a laugh and blushes. "Despite those rumors about Sara and I in college," she mutters to herself before addressing him again. "No, these are for me. I like to have a little color on my desk at work since my office is so blah."
"Ah," Oliver replies with a nod, feeling a twinge of excitement that she's at least on his team even if he doesn't know if she's available. "What do you do?" he asks conversationally as he wraps the bouquet.
"I'm in IT at Merlyn Global," she says proudly. "I love the job, but sometimes I need a reminder that there's nature outside of my computer screen."
"Well, I'm glad you chose Queen Florists to buy your reminders," he says and gives her the wide, charming grin he knows works on most women.
"Of course," she replies and gives him a dazzling smile that nearly knocks him off balance. "It's beautiful in here," she says, gesturing to the shop around them. "You've got the best selection in the neighborhood if not the city. How long have you worked here?"
"My whole life, really," he says. "My mother opened it and I took it over when she retired. My sister was pretty happy about that. Thea never grew out of the 'flowers are so boring' phase."
"Her loss," she replies and then hands him cash for her purchase. "What made you grow out of that?"
"I was kind of a wild kid," Oliver says, smiling at partial memories of debauched nights. "My Dad gave me an ultimatum when I got thrown out of college: either I start working in one of the family businesses or they cut me off. Flowers seemed like an easier living than law, plus girls seemed into it, so I chose this," he adds with a shrug and she gives him a smirk. "But I ended up liking it," he admits and turns to gently runs his finger over the frilly petals of a nearby buckbean. "Flowers are simple even if they seem complex. They're all unique in their exact needs, but the essentials are the same: water, light, space to grow. And they make people happy in a way that nothing else does. They're one of the few things that exist simply because they're beautiful." He turns back to find her staring at him with half-lidded eyes and her lips parted. He tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow questioningly and she seems to snap back to attention, clearing her throat and shuffling nervously.
"So true," she says a little breathily.
"'Til next week?" he confirms, holding out her change and the bouquet.
"'Til next week," she agrees and turns to go.
Oliver is looking forward to seeing her the next Monday but is surprised when she walks in without her usual look of untroubled contentment. Instead, she's holding her cellphone to her ear and looking decidedly unhappy about what the person on the other end is saying.
"No, Mom, I'm not," she says angrily. "Why is that always the first thing you ask me? My job is going really well, if you'd care to know." She pauses as she listens and the furrow in her brow deepens. "Yes, I am sticking with this 'whole computer thing'" she says acidly, her free hand making air quotes. She reaches out and roughly grabs a pre-bundled bouquet heavily featuring scotch thistle, listens a moment and then seems to interrupt her mother mid-sentence, almost yelling to get her attention. "Mom, Mom! I have to go. I need to get to work."
She hangs up with a frustrated sigh, slams the flowers down on the counter and then rubs her eyes.
"Everything OK?" Oliver asks as he begins to wrap the flowers. Her hand slides down so she can seem him over her fingers and her shoulders slump.
"My mother," she says, her tone making it sound like a sentence. "She doesn't seem to understand that leaving Vegas for MIT and then coming to Starling City wasn't all just some elaborate plan to find a husband. God forbid I think my life has meaning even if I'm not dating anyone right now." She throws her hands in the air and then looks up at him. She grows embarrassed and then speaks again, this time more timidly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to rant at you. Two people don't need to have their days ruined because of my mother. How much do I owe you?"
"They're on me today," he says and holds out the bouquet.
"Really?" she asks, smiling for the first time since she walked in.
"Absolutely," he says firmly. "Think of it as my attempt to salvage your day."
"Thanks," she says bashfully. "What's your name, by the way? I never asked."
"Oliver," he says and sticks out his hand.
"Felicity," she replies.
"Beautiful," he comments and feels a little proud when she blushes and bites her bottom lip to hold back a smile. She pulls her hand away without another word, grabs the bouquet and leaves.
Oliver starts preparing for the next week immediately.
He spends a few days trying to think of the right flower and finally settles on orchids. Cliché as they are, he's always loved them–their delicacy, their difficulty–it's all worth the reward of how singularly beautiful they are. He picks orange epidendrums at first and then decides he wants something with fuller petals and softer coloring. He considers the phalaenopsis family for half a second before dismissing those as too sterile and nearly jumps in the air when he realizes the only real choice is cymbidium. At first he picks a light green variety, because that's his favorite color, and then realizes she would probably like a pink or yellow more. He finally settles on the former because something about the soft pink petals, yellow throat and dark pink, almost red lips seem to fit her. He replants the stalk in a pot and doesn't trim the leaves back too much, liking the way the blooms contrast with the green.
The flowers are waiting and hidden behind the counter for her on Monday morning. Oliver doesn't even give her a chance to browse before drawing her attention the minute she walks in.
"Felicity," he says excitedly, beckoning her over. "I have something for you." Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise and then she tilts her head, giving him an intrigued look. She walks over and he takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing.
"I know you like getting fresh-cut flowers ever week and I certainly don't want this to stop you from coming in, but I thought you might like something a little more permanent." He lifts up the pot and places it on the counter, gauging her reaction. Her mouth drops open in surprise and she reaches up to feel the flowers' waxy petals.
"They're beautiful," she mutters dreamily and Oliver sighs in relief. "But aren't orchids really hard to take care of?" she asks, coming back to the moment. "I'd have to buy a book well, Google them probably, or—"
"Or I can tell you how to take care of them," Oliver cuts in, "maybe over dinner sometime this week?" She blinks at him a moment, mouth open in surprise, and then her cheeks flush as she realizes what he's asking.
"OK," she says softly, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
"Great," he says and grins. "You free Wednesday?"
"Wednesday's perfect," she agrees.