Stiles.
So he had a name now.
Derek figured he couldn't keep on calling the guy 'white-shirt man' in his head. But 'Stiles'? It was strange. Unique. Different. And it had been on Derek's mind all bloody week.
Usually all Derek thought about was flowers. Flowers and profits and store management, but more and more times, he had found himself waking up in the middle of the night with the image of a cheeky grin and a face covered in moles still lingering in the back of his mind.
"Get a hold of yourself, Hale…" he muttered, leaning against the wooden counter next to the till, checking orders of flowers off a clipboard.
"What light through yonder window breaks," said Erica in a sing-song voice, walking past Derek, struggling with a large brown cardboard box of plant feed, "It is the east-"
"Don't say it,"
"And Stiles the sun," finished Erica, winking as she attempted to lumber the box into the storage room.
"Piss off," replied Derek, oh so eloquently, but Erica just laughed, and used her knee to straighten the box, before trying again, in vain, to fit it through the door to the storage room.
Derek sighed, shook his head, and stood up, taking the box out of Erica's hands, and carrying it through himself. Sure, she could be an ass, but she kept him from climbing the walls, so he had to give her credit where credit was due. He was beginning to regret telling her about Stiles, though.
He hadn't told her everything, of course. He hadn't told her the way that the moles on his face looked like a dot-to-dot puzzle that he wanted to solve. He hadn't told her how his tongue had stuck to the inside of his mouth the first time he had seen him smile. He definitely hadn't told her about how every time the bell on the door rang, he jumped up, hoping to see Stiles walking through the shop.
Nope. That would just make her even more unbearable.
He'd only told her the basics. The guy was called Stiles. He was cute. Derek had a bit of a crush. That was all.
Derek ran a hand over his chin, and grimaced at the stubble-burn. He was going to have to have a shave.
The bell on the door rang, and Derek jumped up, practically sprinting to the counter. He heard Erica chuckle to herself from the small kitchen, but shook off his irritation. A short, slightly overweight man with a receding hairline and watery eyes stepped out from behind a large bunch of hydrangeas, and Derek struggled to not audibly sigh in disappointment. No Stiles. Yet again.
The man was looking for a bunch of 'Summer flowers', as he put it, for his wife.
"We've been together for seven years, now." The man said proudly, and Derek smiled lifelessly.
'Alright, I get it. I'm single,' he thought, 'No need to rub it in.'
He manoeuvred his way into the storage room, grabbing handfuls of yellow sunflowers, blood red crocosimas and tiny orange freesias. This looked summery enough. Bringing them back out to the front of the store, Derek wrapped them up in yellow cellophane, tied a bow around them in orange ribbon, and presented them to the man.
"That'll be fifteen dollars, please,"
The man nodded, sifted a ten and a five dollar bill out of his wallet, and handed them both to Derek.
"Thanks a lot man," he said, "My wife will love these."
"I hope she does," replied Derek, "Please visit again sometime."
The man nodded, smiled, and sauntered away, leaving Derek to slouch a little, and slump into his chair, head in his hands. Erica bounced out of the storage room, looking far too happy with herself for Derek's liking.
"So it wasn't lover-boy hmm?" she asked.
"Go shove a chrysanthemum up your arse," Derek grumbled, resulting in Erica bursting into ringing laughter.
"Someone's grouchy today…" she continued, "I must have forgotten to water you this morning."
She picked up his arm from the desk, and let it go. It flopped back onto the wooden surface limply.
"You're practically wilting, my darling." She continued, and Derek couldn't help but crack a smile. Somehow, despite everything, Erica was still managing to make him laugh.
"Come on," she said, dragging him into the storage room with her, "Someone looks like they need a drink."
"I'm fine…" replied Derek, not wanting to cause a fuss.
"You're dehydrated."
"I'm FINE, Erica…"
"Derek," Erica said, stopping him in his tracks and giving him a cold, hard, stare, "Have you had a drink all day?"
"Well no… but…"
"Iris my case." Erica said haughtily.
"What?"
"Iris my case…" she replied, a smirk playing on her lips, "Iris… the flower… like 'I REST my case', but It's a flower… so I said-"
"Okay okay I get it. Stop explaining your crappy flower puns to me," Derek interrupted, shaking his head and smiling despite himself.
"Cup of tea?" asked Erica, sauntering her way into the little kitchen at the back of the storage room.
"I'd love one, thanks." Derek replied, rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his hand, and perching next to a bunch of petunias and a stack of Plant Care leaflets.
He'd been up all night. Not working, unusually, but reading, of all things. Erica had lent him her copy of A Catcher in the Rye, and despite his best efforts, he had been unable to put it down. He'd even gone as far as to bring it into work that morning with him, in the hope that in his coffee break, he could possibly read another chapter.
"How's 'Catcher'?" yelled Erica from the kitchen, as if reading his mind.
"Great!" he yelled back, "But I'm up to chapter 15 and nobody has caught any rye yet. What's up with that?" he joked.
Erica laughed, and he heard a quite chuckle from somewhere else.
"It's a metaphor." Came a low voice from inside the shop that made Derek's heart skip a beat.
Holy shit.
He was back.
Derek jumped up immediately, knocking the bundle of 'Plant Care' leaflets to the floor in his surprise.
"Oh balls," he muttered to himself. Was this man always going to cause him to make a twat out of himself?
"I could come back later if you're busy…?" the voice said uncertainly, and Derek all but shouted, "NO! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"
Evidently, yes, this man was going to cause him to constantly make a twat out of himself. That much was clear.
Derek stumbled out into the front of the shop, his hands full of leaflets entitled, 'Keep Those Plants Green!'
"You, know, I appreciate the sentiment, and I do need to keep my plants green, but are you sure I'm going to need all of those leaflets?" Stiles asked, perching on the side of the counter in a way that made Derek's moth water, his hands once again tucked into the pockets of his jeans. His shirt though, this time, was black.
"I… um… sorry about that," Derek stuttered, dropping the handfuls of leaflets onto the counter, a few sliding off the pile and onto the floor.
The corner of Stiles' mouth twitched up, and he bent down to pick them up, giving Derek some time to compose himself.
Stiles stood up, placed the leaflets on the desk, and continued his previous conversation, "The title, 'The Catcher In The Rye' is a metaphor for 'catching' the innocence of children before it's lost in 'The Rye'."
He made air quotations with his fingers whilst talking, and Derek couldn't help noticing just how long those fingers were. And elegant. Derek didn't usually look for elegance in a guy. He was about as graceful as a baby giraffe, so he didn't like the idea of constantly being shown up by someone who walked like a bloody Russian ballerina, but somehow, it worked on Stiles. Derek could watch him walk all day.
That was creepy.
He was staring again.
Stop staring, Derek.
Say something.
"Yeah I really liked the bit with the prostitute."
WHAT?!
WHY COULD HE NOT JUST CONVERSE LIKE A HUMAN BEING HOLY SHIT!
Stiles' eyebrow quirked up in confusion, and Derek struggled to explain himself.
"You know, in 'The Catcher In The Rye', where he goes out with that prostitute, but just wants to chat…"
"Aahh…" Stiles replied in understanding, "Yeah, I know what you mean. It's a real reminder to the reader of the naivety and innocence of Holden, as well as his attitudes towards women. Like, although he talks a big game about all the ladies he wants to sleep with, he never actually gets around to it, or he bottles out at the last minute. I don't know, it's almost like he's afraid of something."
Holy shit.
Hot and smart.
Hot and smart.
Derek was finding it difficult to breathe.
"Anyway," continued Stiles, "I was wondering if I could get some purple lilies? About five? It's my sister's birthday tomorrow."
"Oh. Yes. Of course," replied Derek, practically sprinting into the storage room to find the lilies. He saw Erica, leaning nonchalantly on a protruding shelf, a large mug of tea in her hand.
"This guy's always interrupting our tea breaks…"
"Shut up. Shut up, he can hear you," Derek whispered, searching for the purple lilies.
Erica jumped down from her spot, landing gracefully, and bent down to reach under the shelf to pull out a handful of purple flowers. She handed them to Derek and winked.
"Go get him, tiger," she whispered.
Derek mouthed a very angry 'Fuck you,' to her, before walking back into the main store and handing the lilies to Stiles.
"That'll be… um…"
His mind had gone totally blank. Where was he going with this?
"Five dollars!" shouted Erica from the storage room, and for once in his life, Derek was glad that she was eavesdropping in on his conversation.
"Yeah, sorry, five… um… five dollars please. Thanks."
Stiles counted out the money and handed it to Derek, his hand accidentally slightly brushing the older man's, causing Derek to imperceptibly hold his breath.
"Thanks again," smiled Stiles, apparently unaware of the reaction that he had caused in Derek, "See you soon!"
"Yeah, come again," shouted Derek after him as he walked away, and he turned and waved, before leaving the shop.
Derek let out a deep breath that he didn't realise he had been holding, and walked back into the storage room to find Erica with tears rolling down her cheeks, silently laughing herself into a coma.
"I… I…" she struggled out between gasping breaths, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
Derek said nothing, he merely glared at her with fire in his eyes until her laughs slowly subsided, and she was left giggling to herself, shaking her head.
"Come again?" she asked him, comically wiggling her eyebrows at the double entendre.
"Get me a cup of fucking tea and then fuck the fuck off." replied Derek sulkily, placing the remaining purple lilies back in their allotted place and running a hand through his already messed-up hair.
He was in shit.
Deep deep shit.