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“I swear to god, there’s something weird about him.”
“Stiles, you are so fucking paranoid,” Erica informs him, clearly only half-paying attention.
Stiles watches as Derek Hale, the new florist across the street from Stiles’ bakery, carries a bucket of roses out of his shop and refills his sidewalk stand. He waits until Derek goes back into the shop, trying to see if he does anything suspicious.
“Have you seen him, Erica? He doesn’t look like he should run a flower shop.” For one thing, he’s incredibly buff and looks like a supermodel that got lost on the way to the catwalk. And for another, his eyebrows are drawn down in a distinctly stern fashion that makes Stiles think he’s got murderous thoughts.
Erica sing-songs bitingly, “Are we judging books by their covers, Stiles?”
“No.” He gnaws on his lip, intent on dropping the subject. The door to the flower shop opens again and Stiles sees Derek bring out another bucket of flowers, this time some white frothy thing. “It’s just… well… I mean, look at him.”
Erica sighs, hops down from her seat at the counter, and peers out the window without even trying to hide what she’s doing.
Stiles rolls his eyes at her utter lack of stealth. He stands to the side of the window, biting his thumbnail and watching his best friend’s face for any reaction.
After another moment of openly staring, Erica gives her verdict: “Well, he’s hot as fuck.”
“That’s it?”
She shrugs, heading back to the counter. “That’s all I got.”
He throws his hands into the air. “You are utterly useless.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Stiles. He’s just a really hot guy who’s apparently really good at making bouquets.”
“There’s something weird about him,” he insists. “And I’m gonna find out what it is.”
She glances at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be getting the muffins ready? Our after-school rush starts in fifteen minutes.”
He lets it lie, for now.
-----
Stiles lives above his bakery, like any proper city dweller. He closes the shop in the evening and retreats upstairs to read or watch movies or sleep. Whatever he wants, since he’s single. So single. Single as a Pringle, which doesn’t really make much sense, considering Pringles come in sleeves with like, a hundred more…
Anyways.
Stiles enjoys his time alone, really he does, but sometimes it’s nice to have company. Lately, company has come in the form of a big stray dog that ambled up onto his balcony one night a couple weeks ago.
It’s become routine, now, that Stiles closes up shop and his visitor is usually by about thirty minutes after.
That night, he smiles at the sound of claws on the steps and grins when two black ears poke over the edge of the steps followed by a long snout and curious eyes.
“Hiya, bud,” he greets, patting his knee. “How was your day?”
The dog huffs and trots over to him, leaning hard enough to almost knock him over.
“Easy, dude. God, you’re strong. Who’s a big, strong man? Hmm?” he coos, scratching under the dog’s chin while its eyes half-close in bliss.
He pushes up his sleeves, prepared to reach around to get both hands on the scruff that drapes over the dog’s shoulders. Stiles laughs as the dog licks at the exposed tattoos climbing up his arms.
“Like them, big guy?” he chuckles.
He points to each one, explaining them: the compass for his mom, the star for his dad, the stylized measuring cups for his babcia, the sleek black cat for Erica…
“I want more, but I figure two sleeves are good for now.” He pats the dog’s chest as it pants happily at him.
The dog’s ears prick forward and it gives Stiles’ cheek one last lick before it clicks away down the stairs.
“Later, dude,” Stiles calls before going back to his computer.
See the thing is, Stiles is a researcher.
Well, obviously, professionally he’s a baker and a damn good one at that. But in his personal life, he’s been known to be sucked down many a rabbit hole when it comes to an obscure subject.
Since he’s suspicious as all hell about Derek Hale, he looks Derek up online. He gets a website for Derek’s shop and a couple of articles from the Beacon Hills newspaper about the place opening. Though he’s tempted to hack into the BHPD database with his dad’s access credentials, he leaves that route alone and settles for getting his information another way.
He moves on and researches flowers. The meanings of flowers, the uses of herbs, the symbolism of certain corsages, and anything else he can find. There’s a lot of occult use for flowers and medicinal ones, but Derek doesn’t strike him as witch. But hell, maybe he is. Stiles doesn’t know what a witch looks like since he doesn’t know any.
At least, he doesn’t think he does.
Hmmm. Another mystery for another time.
On one Tuesday morning, he catches sight of Derek putting out flowers and notices that the sides of his displays are lined in white heather.
“Why does he have protection flowers around his stands?” he mutters to himself.
Erica makes him jump when she replies lowly from right next to him, “Maybe to keep creepers like you away.”
Stiles glares at her and doesn’t bother to comment, just storms away into the kitchen as Erica goes back to the counter to talk to the customers.
-----
The first time Stiles actually speaks to Derek is weird.
Stiles is perusing the avocados at the grocery store when someone reaches across him, picks one up, and holds it out for him. “This one is perfect.”
Stiles takes it, then he realizes who’s standing next to him.
Up close, Derek Hale is even more magnificent to look at. Long lashes, thick beard, some kind of kaleidoscope eyes. Goddammit.
“Uh, thanks,” he mumbles, dropping the avocado in his basket and about to dart when Derek speaks again.
“You’re Stiles, right?” Derek’s voice is soft, softer than Stiles thought it would be. “You own the bakery across the street from my flower shop.”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
Derek smiles and it’s soft and slightly flirtatious. “I heard you have the best cookies in the entire county.”
Stiles smirks, always apt to brag about his baking reputation. “Three counties, actually.”
“Three counties. Well now I’m impressed,” Derek teases and something flutters in Stiles’ chest.
He reels himself back. Don’t fall for that smile and those dreamy eyes! He’s hiding something! “Mmhmm.” Maybe I can get it out of him. Or at least talk to him enough to figure it out myself. He slyly offers, “Come by the bakery sometime and you’ll see. They’ll change your life.”
Derek nods. “That sounds great.”
“Okie dokie,” Stiles replies, turning around and walking in the direct opposite direction.
The first step of his plan is done. Now all he has to do is catch Derek in the act. The act of… whatever it is that he’s clearly up to…
-----
Stiles didn’t really expect Derek to come the next day, so he’s confused when Erica pops her head into the kitchen right when they open and says, “Hottie McHotstuff is here to see you.”
“Who?” Stiles asks, half-distracted as he pulls muffins from a tin and places them on a tray to cool.
Erica sighs. “Derek, obviously.”
“Oh.” He dusts off his hands. “Wonder what he wants.”
“I wonder…” she mutters as she goes back out front.
He glances down at himself and unties his apron, patting at himself to shake off the excess flour and scratching at a patch of dried blue frosting on the stomach of his t-shirt.
When he emerges, slightly less floury, he sees Erica talking to a pretty redhead girl at the end of the bar. Rolling his eyes, he scans the place and finds Derek looking at the shelves filled with his babcia’s baking tools.
“Cool, huh?” he asks, sliding up next to Derek.
“Very.” Derek glances over, his nostrils flaring a little, and nods at the hand-mixer. “Family heirloom?”
“Remarkably spot on.” He points at the bowls, propped up to display the painted bottoms. “I learned how to make my first cookies with that mixer and those bowls.”
Derek’s looking at his arms, running his eyes over the tattoos if Stiles had to guess, but he smiles and teases, “Your Three-County-Wide Famous cookies.”
Stiles grins, heading back behind the counter. “What kind do you like?” he asks, leaning over the glass.
Derek points out the peanut butter – not serial killer material, most people like peanut butter – and white chocolate lemon – Stiles’ mom’s favorite, he can’t be mad about that – and caramel – perfectly normal choice, his caramel cookies are divine.
Half mad that he can’t narrow anything down by the man’s cookie preferences, he puts the special twist in the bag that keeps it closed and hands it across the counter to Derek with a smile. “Enjoy them. Have a good one.”
Derek blinks then smiles. He takes the bag, shaking his head a little as he leaves, the redhead trailing behind him.
When he turns around, Erica is staring at him, mouth open. “What?”
“Did… did you just brush off the hottest guy that’s ever flirted with you?”
“I didn’t brush him off. And he is not the hottest guy to ever flirt with me.”
“Ehhhhh…” Erica squints and wobbles his hand in the air.
He glares at her. “Why the hell are we friends?”
She shrugs. “Got me.”
“It doesn’t even matter,” Stiles adds under his breath. “He obviously just left with his girlfriend.”
“Who, Lydia?”
“Whatever the redhead’s name is.”
“She’s not his girlfriend. She said they’re practically brother and sister and she came to help him with the flower shop for a couple months.”
“Really?”
The small voice in Stiles’ head starts shouting, insisting that there’s something extra weird going on.
He’s just got to figure out what it is!
-----
Stiles sprawls on his back porch and fiddles with the dog’s toes.
His new friend is almost wriggling with pleasure, which is odd because normally dogs hate having their feet touched, but it’s helping him think, so it’s whatever.
“I have a problem, dude,” he sighs. “There’s this guy…”
The dog huffs when he stops his ministrations, snorting and kicking his feet.
“Oh, right, sorry.” He starts back up. “Anyways, there’s this guy who is… a conundrum. I don’t know what to think about him. He’s… man, he’s good looking and he’s a florist, of all things. And, I’m not exactly an expert on flowers even after all my research, but he seems really good at it.”
He sighs, wondering how he can get Derek to talk to him.
“Maybe… maybe I can get a tour of the greenhouse? Or his shop…” he muses half-aloud. That could definitely work. “We are new neighbors, after all…”
The dog snorts again and rolls to its feet, shoving its nose against Stiles’ face and licking him.
“Ew, dude, gross!” he laughs, pushing the dog away.
The dog’s tongue lolls out and it wags its tail before trotting away and down the stairs.
-----
Derek looks up as Stiles enters the shop a couple days later. “Stiles.”
“Hey,” he greets, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Thought I’d come by and see the place. Maybe get a tour, if you’ve got time.”
Derek nods, looking pleased, and gestures to a side counter. “I have to finish an order, but I’ll only be a second.”
“No worries.” He ambles over and looks at the vases on display, enjoying the smells and colors of the flowers around him.
Lydia pops up next to his elbow and he jumps. “See anything you like?” she asks with a cat-like smile.
“Uh, not… not really?” He glances over her shoulder as two guys come from the back and walk over behind the counter.
“This is Scott and Isaac,” Lydia offers. “They work here too.”
Scott gives him a look, takes a deep breath, and asks, “Can you make stir-fry?”
“Uh,” he shakes his head, “I’m not a very good cook.”
“But you’re a professional baker,” Isaac almost accuses.
“Yeah, I bake things. It’s not exactly the same.” He thinks about it and adds, “I mean, I guess I’m okay at like… casseroles but that’s about it.”
“So you can’t make stir-fry?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I could try I guess.”
Scott frowns. “How are you alive if you don’t cook? What do you eat?”
He laughs. “I subsist mainly on take-out and frozen food.”
Lydia pokes a sharp-nailed finger at his abdomen. “How are you so skinny then? That food is terrible for you.”
“Hey, I’ve got muscles. I can carry three bags of flour by myself.”
“Not bad, I guess,” she sniffs.
The three of them look toward the door as Derek comes through.
He looks between them. “What’s going on?”
Stiles notices the angelic faces that Scott, Isaac, and Lydia wear and he turns to Derek. “Hi again.”
“Hi.”
“Would you care to save me from the Inquisition? They’re making me feel bad about my inability to cook and also my weight, I think.”
“Sure,” Derek laughs, jerking his head toward the door. “Come on.”
They go through the back of the shop, past coolers and sinks and a big storage room, and end up in a small alley that leads to a door.
“Greenhouse,” Derek explains, opening the door and gesturing him inside. “I need to water the plants anyway.”
“Cool.” He keeps his hands in his pockets, sure that he’ll kill something if he touches it. He’s got a notorious Black Thumb. “So,” he starts, aiming for casual interest, “what brings you to Beacon Hills?”
“My family lived here before.”
“What? When?”
Derek frowns at him. “Your dad is the Sheriff. Surely you’re familiar with the Hale fire?”
It clicks – he’s an idiot because it shouldn’t have taken him this long to put two and two together – and Stiles shakes his head. “Holy shit. I guess I just didn’t…” He clears his throat. “Sorry.”
Derek shrugs. “It’s fine.”
“Wait… so… you moved back to town, even though your family’s house almost caught fire?”
Derek shrugs. “No one was hurt. And the land is still in our name. I wanted to branch out to my own shop. It made sense.”
“Oh yeah, totally,” he mutters, but his mind is going a mile a minute. There’s not really anything strange about Derek’s story… so why does Stiles still have the weirdest feeling that he’s hiding something?
Derek holds a sunflower out to him with a smile.
“Oh, cool, thanks.” He tucks the flower behind his ear and grins. “How do I look?”
His eyes do a slow sweep over Stiles’ face, lingering on his mouth. “Really good.”
“Aw, thanks dude.” Stiles claps him on the shoulder.
Derek clears his throat, stating slowly. “I have to be honest, I’m kind of getting some mixed signals here.”
Stiles blinks at him, half-started on another spiral of thought about what Derek’s deal could be. “What?”
Derek smiles, shaking his head. “Never mind. Do you want to see the hybrid orchids I’ve been working on?”
“Sure.”
-----
Everything is hunky-dory for a while. Stiles tries to figure Derek out, Derek shakes his head at him with that strange smile and always sends him back to the bakery with flowers or plants.
It’s all good until the night of the full moon when he realizes he’s forgotten his phone charger at Derek’s shop.
He wonders if he has an extra somewhere, but guesses he probably doesn’t since the port on his new phone has rendered all his other chargers useless.
“Stupid upgrades,” he mutters, pulling himself up from his bed and shoving his bare feet into his shoes.
It’s a quick jaunt across the street and he loops around the back. The door to the greenhouse is open and he’s about to slip inside when he sees the black dog that’s been hanging out with him.
Before he can call out to the dog, it shivers and starts to change. Its body shifts, elongating and twisting and moving until Derek Hale, in all his glory, is standing in the dog’s place.
Stiles freezes, his heart climbing into his throat.
Derek is… Derek just… what the fuck? What the fuck?!
He takes a step back and Derek whips his head around, snarling with a mouthful of sharp teeth as his eyes flash bright red.
Stiles squeaks and takes off, sprinting across the street and scrambling up the stairs until he half falls into his apartment. He locks his doors and windows, pulls all his curtains closed, and sequesters himself in his bedroom with a baseball bat.
He has pretty fucked up dreams, so he barely sleeps. When Erica comments on how tired he looks the next day, he just levels her with a flat stare and keeps kneading his bread dough.
“Damn, okay,” she says quietly, clearly getting that he’s not having it today.
The only other time she bothers him is to poke her head into the kitchen and tell him Derek is out front.
“I’m busy.”
She frowns, studying his face. “Is there something I need to kick his ass for?”
“No. Just tell him I’m busy, please.”
“Okay…” She goes back out front. A few minutes later, she comes back in and asks, “Are you sure I can’t kick his ass?”
He snorts. “No. It’s not something you can fix by kicking his ass. No matter how entertaining that would be.”
“Hmf. Well, let me know if that changes.”
“Will do.”
-----
A purple hyacinth is waiting on the doorstep of the bakery when Stiles comes downstairs the next morning. Curled up next to the pot is his phone charger.
He stares down at it and sighs, lips pursed. He grabs the charger and thinks about taking the plant inside but, when he thinks about Derek’s glowing eyes, he decides to leave it where it is.
Even though he knows purple hyacinths mean that the giver is saying I’m sorry and he’s not actually sure that Derek needs to be apologizing for anything anyways.
At seven, when he’s locking the front door, he sees the flowers are still there. After a moment, he leans down, grabs the pot up, and brings it inside, placing it in one of the windows.
“What is that?” Erica asks as she sweeps.
“Purple hyacinth.”
She studies it, touching the flowers gently. “What does it mean?”
Stiles hums, leaning on the counter. “‘I’m sorry’.”
She glances at him. “You gonna forgive him for whatever he did?”
He shrugs, walking back into the kitchen.
-----
It's been a week and he misses Derek.
It just freaking figures that while trying to figure out Derek’s secret, all Stiles did was end up developing a fondness for the guy.
He curses his own foolishness as he tries to figure out a plant that he can bring by that says sorry I freaked out once I realized you were apparently a creature of the night please hang out with me again and also maybe go on a date with me because I kind of like you a lot.
It ends up being too hard, so he does what he does best: he bakes.
When Stiles enters the shop, it’s empty. He looks around, still a little jumpy, and rings the small bell.
Lydia is suddenly behind the counter and Stiles knows she wasn’t there a second ago. She raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. “What do you want?”
Stiles plays it cool and holds up the container in his hand. “I come bearing a peace offering.”
Lydia eyes him then gestures for him to go through the opening in the counter. “He’s in the greenhouse.”
Stiles tries to stay out of snatching range, just in case, and Lydia snorts, clearly amused.
When he pokes his head into the greenhouse, Derek is standing stiffly next to the herb garden.
Stiles makes his way over. “Hey.”
Derek eyes him warily. “Hi.”
“So, uh, I was gonna get you a mistletoe plant but I researched it and apparently mistletoe is just a giant parasite, so. Then I thought, well, maybe a holly plant. It kind of reminds me of you. It symbolizes hopefulness, but that seemed a little too Christmas-y, you know? Next it was red tulips, to tell you that I like you but I couldn’t find any red ones for some reason.”
Derek blinks at him, looking startled at the flow of words.
Stiles, of course, keeps talking. “Plus, I don’t really speak Flower the way you do, at least, not that type of flower.” He chuckles nervously. “F-L-O-U-R I totally speak fluently. So, here, I made these for you with my sick translation skills.”
Then, like a totally reasonable adult, Stiles shoves the container at Derek and flees before the other man can even say a word.
When he gets back into the bakery, he walks straight past Erica and into the kitchen, throwing himself down on the ratty couch in the corner and putting his hands over his face.
“What’s the matter? He didn’t like the cookies?” Erica asks after a moment from somewhere near his feet.
“I have no idea if he liked them. I just word-vomited about plants and then shoved them at him before I fled like the hounds of Hell were chasing me.” He almost chokes on a laugh at the inadvertent turn of phrase.
Erica sighs. “You’ve got serious issues.”
“I know!” Stiles wails. “I’m gonna die alone!”
“Probably,” Erica tuts sympathetically as she pats his foot. “I, on the other hand, am going to marry Lydia and we’re going to have lots of pretty, pretty babies.”
“You’re really bad at comforting people,” he complains.
“Yeah… luckily that’s not why we’re friends.”
“Why are we friends again?”
Instead of joking, she answers honestly: “Because it’s important for you to have someone to kick you in the ass every now and then.” She stands up and points down at him. “Now, you’re going to get up, finish baking those cranberry orange scones, and then, if Derek hasn’t come over by then, you’re going to go back and calmly ask him out on another date.”
He stares up at her, trying to figure out if he’s more disconcerted by how bossy she’s being or by the fact that it’s all good advice.
“But what if he says no?” he asks, his voice oddly small.
She gives him a look. “He’s not going to say no, Stiles. Not even you could blow this one. He’s smitten with you.”
He scowls at her. “I’m sure there was a compliment buried in there somewhere.”
She smiles, patting his knee. “I’m sure there was.”
When she leaves, he only wallows on the couch for another couple of minutes before pulling himself up and baking the scones, moping and pouting the whole time.
Instead of going back across the street, though, he chooses the coward’s route and retreats upstairs. Sitting on his porch, he sighs, wondering how long it’ll be before he lives this down.
Footsteps on his stairs make his head jerk up and, instead of the black dog, Derek appears at the top of the stairs. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
He jerks his chin at the chair next to Stiles. “Can I join you?”
“Uh… sure.”
Derek looks around curiously, brushing his fingers over the edge of the seat and scuffing his feet as he sits. He looks like he wants to say something but he’s holding himself back.
“So what’s up?”
Derek blinks at him slowly. “Just thinking that I’ve never been up here on two legs before,” he explains softly.
Stiles stares at him, taking that in. “Y’know, I… should maybe be mad at you for not disclosing that you were a person under the fur, but, if I’m being completely honest,” he winces, “I may have hung out with you so that I could figure out your secret.”
Derek raises his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yeah, but not like in a bad way?” He waves that away. “Okay, even I hear how that sounds. What I mean is… I could tell there was something about you that was different. I just… didn’t know what it was.”
“And so you decided that being alone with the suspicious person was a wise decision?”
“Well, I didn’t think you were dangerous. Just…” he shrugs, “on the run, maybe. Like, witness protection or something.” He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Look, I know it was pretty dumb, I just, sometimes I get hyper focused on things and can’t let them go. You were a mystery I was trying to solve.”
Derek huffs a laugh. “Well, did you solve it?”
“Almost, but I… I have to ask.” He pauses, trying to phrase it the right way. “What are you guys? Like… you know what I mean.”
He nods. “Scott, Isaac, and I are werewolves. Lydia is a banshee.”
“That’s… interesting.”
“That’s it?”
“Forgive me if my reaction isn’t what you expected,” he drawls. “My former take on reality is kind of imploding a little.” He lets out a long breath. “Okay, so, you guys are werewolves. Why are you really back in town?”
“My mother told me that someone from the Hale pack is always supposed to live in Beacon Hills. There was one relative still living in town, a human pack member. Recently, she got married and moved to be with her spouse. My mom sent me and my pack to take her place.”
Stiles stares at him. “You’re being very forthcoming with information that seems pretty sensitive.”
“I guess,” Derek muses, “I feel like it’s okay if you know. I… I trust you.”
“Well that’s…” Stiles can feel his cheeks warming. “Um, thanks, I guess.”
“So, was that the only reason?”
“What?”
“That you hung out with me. Because you were trying to figure out the mystery?”
Stiles answers honestly. “Initially, yeah. I can’t lie that I’d like to get to know you, though, for real this time. Uh, if you’re… if you’re still interested.”
Derek studies him for a moment, then holds out his hand. “Derek Hale, Alpha werewolf, florist, still interested in you.”
Stiles smiles. “Stiles Stilinski, human, baker extraordinaire, amateur detective, oblivious idiot, definitely interested in you too. Would you like to go on a real date with me tomorrow?”
Derek smiles back. “I’d love to.”