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Regular customers were Castiel’s favorite. Some of them were sweet, like the tall man with the beautiful hair who was in the shop every Tuesday afternoon to buy a dozen white irises for his boyfriend, or the mom who came in twice a month to buy mixed wildflowers for her daughter. Some of them were a little sad, like the guy with the green eyes who came in regularly for flowers to put on his mother’s grave. Some of them were fun, like the short guy with the golden eyes who came in every Monday morning and bought something completely different every time. One week it might be the traditional dozen red roses, and the next he’d have Castiel put together the weirdest stuff he had. This week, he’d asked for a bouquet “that looked like a pack of Starburst. They’re my dude’s favorite candy.”
Then there were the obnoxious ones. There was a man who came in almost every Friday to buy two arrangements – usually a very expensive, romantic one, which he put a different woman’s name on every week, and then whatever was cheapest. The card on that one read “to my darling wife.” He’d been coming in for over a year, and Castiel still had no idea what the wife’s name was. Another woman came in frequently, spent half an hour fussing and adjusting and complaining, and then half the time she would decide it wasn’t good enough and leave without buying anything. Castiel would ban her from the store, but Zachariah insisted she be allowed to stay, and as he was the owner, Castiel couldn’t do much.
Getting a new regular customer was exciting. After the third Thursday she came in, Castiel started paying attention to what she bought. It was usually on the inexpensive side, but Castiel got the sense that wasn’t because she didn’t care. The flowers were different types, but she always picked some kind of yellow, at least as the main color. Beyond that, Castiel knew nothing about her or who the flowers were for. She didn’t volunteer information, always took the arrangement with her to deliver herself instead of having them deliver, and paid cash so he couldn’t get her name from the credit card. She’d been coming in for three months when that changed. “Is it weird to send flowers to someone you don’t really know?”
“I am the wrong person to ask what’s weird,” Castiel said. “Why do you want to send flowers to someone you don’t really know?”
“Well, see, it’s… kind of complicated?” She smiled nervously. “I promise it’s not anything creepy. I just… I’ve been going through a rough time lately, seems like half my family’s died, and even though he didn’t know anything about it he was a huge help in getting through it. I’m trying to figure out a good way to say thank you without making it too weird.”
“Ah. I’m sorry to hear about your family. Do you have a plan to get the flowers to him?” That was the biggest creep factor Castiel could see in the plan. Random flowers might confuse the guy, but her having figured out where he lives or having the flowers delivered to him at work would definitely push it over into “weird” territory.
“Yeah, actually. I was talking to my friend Tessa, trying to figure out exactly that problem, and her sister overheard. As it turns out, she’d dated him briefly and knows he hasn’t moved since then. She offered to take them over along with a letter of explanation.”
The name Tessa sounded vaguely familiar, but Castiel decided to ignore it. It may not be the most common of names, but it wasn’t like her name was Elefanta or something. “That works as well as anything, I suppose. What flowers did you have in mind?”
“I’m not sure. If you’ve got recommendations, I’m all ears. After all, I have no idea what kind of flowers he likes or doesn’t like.”
Castiel had just finished cleaning up after his supper and settled in with an old Saturday Evening Post when there was a knock at his door. The only time someone came to visit him unexpectedly was when they were trying to sell him something, so he ignored the knock. They would give up and go away after a few tries. The knock came again, a little louder, and then there was an insistent thumping. “Castiel, don’t make me throw a rock through your window!”
The only thing that could have been more surprising than an actual unexpected visitor was for it to be this unexpected visitor. Castiel dropped his magazine and ran for the door, pausing only to determine whether he should open it or lock it up even tighter. His brief relationship with April had ended extremely poorly, and she just might be here to follow up on her comments about wanting him dead. “Why are you here, April?”
“Relax, Castiel, you’re not worth the jail time. I’m just playing delivery girl for my sister’s friend. Now open up so I can give this to you and get out of here.” Castiel hesitated long enough for April to get impatient. “Okay, dude, rock through the window it is.”
“Wait.” Castiel opened the door. “Give me the delivery and leave.”
“Gladly.” April handed Castiel a bouquet of flowers. “I’m out of here. Don’t be an ass to my sister’s friend or I’ll have to come back, understand? No warnings about rocks through the window then.”
“Whatever.” Castiel rolled his eyes and slammed the door closed. He found a vase to put the flowers in, professional pride causing him to tweak the arrangement just a little. Then he noticed that the arrangement looked familiar. And, after all, it should. He’d helped put it together just that afternoon.
He reached for the note that had been tucked into the wrapping. Why would she go to all this trouble instead of simply thanking him at the shop? What was she thanking him for anyway? All he’d done was offer advice on flower arrangements, which he assumed were for the funerals for her deceased family members. This didn’t make any sense.
I know this probably seems overly complicated, but doing this in person seemed weird. Thank you for everything these last few weeks. It was really nice to come into your shop and buy flowers without having to explain that they weren’t for a love interest or relative. They’re for me. A bright spot in dealing with all the crap of the last couple months. Between the flowers and the ease in getting them, it’s really helped me not just decide I was done and give up.
Feel free to never mention this again. You got the message, the flowers will die in a week or so, you can throw this note away, and it’ll be over. If you want to talk sometime, my name’s Hannah Johnson, I’ll be back in the store next week sometime, or you can call me.
There was a phone number at the end of the note, and Castiel stared at it for a long time. He appreciated the trouble she’d gone to in doing this in a way that didn’t make him feel creeped out or obligated to respond at all. He glanced at the clock – was it too late to call tonight, before he could talk himself out of it? Possibly, but it wasn’t all that late. The worst that would happen would be that she’d be angry at him for calling and stop coming to the store. The worst that was likely to happen was that she’d tell him to talk to her some other time. He called.
Hannah answered. That was promising. “Hello?”
“Hannah? This is Castiel, from Sandover Floral. I got the flowers.” He hadn’t thought beyond calling, so he didn’t know what to say next. “Thank you.”
“I really appreciate everything. I don’t care why you did it, it helped me deal. I’d like to get to know you away from the flower shop, but no pressure, okay?”
“Sure. I think I’d like that, too.” Was this a date or meeting with a friend? Should he ask? Maybe not directly. “Should I bring flowers?”
“No. It’s kind of silly, don’t you think? You shouldn’t need to cheer me up, and I’m not dead. Not really into the whole romance thing, not the traditional way anyway. And you work with flowers, you must get sick of them.”
“Not really, but they don’t excite me much, either.” Castiel was still confused about whether this was a date, but he decided it probably didn’t matter.
“Can I ask you a weird question?”
“Of course.”
“Why does the silly poem say that violets are blue? They’re purple. Can’t they get it right?”
“Of course not. Nothing rhymes with purple, so poetic license makes them blue. After all, depending on certain factors, some violets very much do appear to be almost blue.” Castiel paused. “Personally, I would have gone with bluebells are blue. It’s accurate, it fits the meter, and it maintains the alliteration of roses are red.”