Chapter Text
Sloane is a mess. It’s seven a.m. and she’s supposed to be opening up the flower shop right now. Instead, she’s yanking her hair up into a messy bun, a chocolate muffin half-falling out of her mouth. She woke up late, alarm blaring to an unresponsive apartment.
Garfield is going to kill her.
He relinquished the key to Sloane long ago, as it was proven day after day that she always arrived earlier than he. For Garfield is always at the doors of the shop at 7 on the dot, and Sloane is always at the doors of the shop 10 minutes to opening.
… Almost always.
Hence, Garfield is going to kill her.
Sloane loves her job. She doesn’t want to get fired. Though it can be slow and boring on occasion, Garfield the Deals Warlock is incredibly eccentric, and he’s very entertaining to watch.
Not to mention all the pretty flowers. Sloane loves flowers.
She trips over her shoes as she puts them on and stumbles towards the door. She grabs her bag on the way. With any luck, she’ll make it down to the shop in less than five minutes. She can take the… mildly illegal shortcuts.
As she walks out the door, her phone buzzes. Somehow, despite not having a phone, Garfield still manages to call her. Sloane glances at the screen, sees his name and photo, and shoves it back in her bag. She’ll be there soon enough.
She leaves through the back of her apartment building and climbs the fence into the neighboring complex, sneaking by windows and cutting through the yards. In one case, she cuts through an open garage.
She gets to the flower shop in three minutes flat.
Garfield is waiting for her with an eerily chipper smile on his face. Sloane bites her lip and ignores him, brushing past him to instead unlock the door to the shop. She heads inside and flicks up the lights, drops her bag onto her stool behind the counter. She’s about to head into the back and check on the greenhouse when Garfield catches her by the wrist.
“WhY werE YOuu lAte, swEETIe?” he asks. Sloane cringes.
“I’m sorry, I overslept,” she says carefully.
Garfield narrows his eyes at her. Sloane doesn’t look away.
The little bell over the door jingles, and Sloane pulls away.
“I’ll check on the greenhouse,” she calls.
“Don’t forget your apron!” Garfield squeaks back.
Sloane lets out a breath as she walks through the mudroom. Her apron is hanging on a hook on the wall, and the hallway is cluttered with extra supplies.
Work time.