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The flower shop is tucked away between a buffet restaurant and a laundromat, small and unassuming with only a sign above the door that simply says Lannister Floral Arrangements. It's exactly the sort of place Brienne is looking for.
She doesn’t know what she expected upon entering, but certainly it wasn’t the single most handsome man she’s ever laid eyes on. He’s wearing a dark green apron, and there’s a dusting of salt and pepper scruff against a sharp as glass jaw. It seems like a slight against the human race that anyone is this good-looking. Then he looks up at her and smiles in greeting and the easy happiness of it, the kindness in his storm cloud grey eyes nearly fells her.
Brienne has never been prone to fluttering and giggling, but for a moment that’s the only thing she can think to do. The feeling bubbling out of her stomach and into her chest nearly bursts out of her mouth. It’s absurd that any human should look like him, much less one she’s forced to look at in a flower shop of all places.
“How can I help you?” He starts toward her and it’s all she can do not to flee.
“Uh,” she begins, her heart thumping in her chest. It’s all terribly ridiculous. She swallows and tries again. “My best friend’s older brother died and I need flowers for the funeral.”
The grin slips off his face replaced by a perfect sort of sympathy.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
It’s a rote phrase, the thing you’re supposed to say to anyone, impersonal and detached and yet, somehow, she finds herself believing he means it.
“I never met him it’s just --” Brienne falters. “You send flowers when someone you care about loses someone.”
“Of course. Well, this won’t take long if you’d like to wait while I put something together?”
Brienne nods vigorously and a smaller, but just as genuine, smile tilts at his mouth.
He keeps up a running commentary as he wends his way through the maze of flowers. “White stargazer lilies are cliché, but they mean sympathy so they’re an excellent choice and, oh, I should have asked, do you have any preferences?”
“No, I have no taste in flowers.”
Brienne watches, slightly mesmerized as he plucks flower after flower from their various pots, gathering them in a basket hooked over his arm.
“White statice for remembrance, white chrysanthemums signify grief, a single dark red rose conveys sorrow.”
Brienne watches as he plucks some other colored blossoms as he goes, but he doesn’t bother providing commentary for those. Little as she knows, she assumes they’re just to fill out the arrangement and make it prettier.
He hums to himself when he’s back at the counter, carefully arranging the flowers. Brienne wanders, resisting the temptation to touch the delicate blossoms. She breathes in the scent of gardenia, letting it flood her senses like a warm blanket. Her mother always wore perfume that smelled of gardenias. It’s one of the few memories Brienne has of her.
“I didn’t ask your name.” Brienne startles and turns to find the florist glancing up at her briefly before looking back at the arrangement.
“Brienne,” she answers quietly. He nods, moving the white flowers this way and that until they form a perfect grouping.
“Jaime.” He looks up at her again, a smirk at the corners of his mouth. Brienne flushes. “My name is Jaime.”
“Do you own the shop?” she asks, stooping to smell a pink bundle of tiny blossoms she doesn’t recognize.
“Yep. Bit of a passion project.”
“That must be nice.”
“It would be nicer if my family were actually supportive.” His tone shifts to something edgy with bitterness. “But that was never going to happen once I dropped out of law school.”
“I’m sorry,” Brienne says and finds she means it. When she turns around, it’s to find him already done with the arrangement. He’s facing away from her again, pulling a length of ribbon from the line of spools on the wall behind the counter.
“Don’t be. Dropping out was the best thing I’ve ever done.” He looks over his shoulder, a sheepish smile on his face. “Well, after opening my shop. Do you want to write the card out, or should I?”
“I’ll do it.” She walks up to the counter and takes up the pen sitting next to a simple card edged with vines. I’m so very sorry for your loss. It feels empty to write it, but she doesn’t know what else one would write on a card for funeral flowers. “How much will it be?”
“Sixty.” He’s still turned away, his hands busy with something. It’s strangely rude considering his earlier attentions. Brienne shrugs it off and pulls her wallet out of her bag, waiting for him to turn around, credit card in hand.
When he finally does face her again, there’s a posy of brightly colored flowers in his hand. He holds it out to her and reaches to take her credit card at the same time. She stares at it confused. When he doesn’t seem inclined to take it back, she hesitantly takes it from him. She automatically brings it to her nose to take a deep breath, savoring the blend of scents, a perfect mixture of sweet floral and something spicy.
“What is this?”
“A posy.” He doesn’t seem inclined to expand on that sentence.
“Okay,” Brienne says, drawing out the ‘o’, still very befuddled about the purpose. “It’s nice, but I know nothing about flowers. But it’s very … pretty.”
He chuckles at that, handing her card back to her. “It’s for you.”
“But --” Brienne frowns. “Is it complimentary with the order?”
“No.”
If anything, Brienne is more confused.
“It’s a gift,” he finally supplies.
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Because I wanted to.”
“Thank you.” She feels almost numb, a weightless swooping sensation in her gut. It’s utterly ridiculous. He’s just a very nice man.
“Do me a favor?” he asks and she almost groans. Of course, there’s a catch. “Look up their meanings when you get home.”
Brienne thanks him once more and takes the posy and the larger arrangement. She glances back only once when she exits. He’s watching her walk away an expression on his face Brienne can’t quite decipher.
---
Brienne stops at home before going on to the funeral home. She doesn’t want the little bouquet to wither and dry out while she supports Renly. She plops it into the largest glass she can find. There’s not a vase in sight. She’s not in the habit of keeping flowers.
She stares at the small bunch. She knows she was supposed to be at the wake half an hour ago already, but she can’t resist the urge to pull her phone out and open the web browser. She quickly searches “flower meanings.”
It’s not until then that she realizes she has no idea what half of the blossoms are. She groans. She should go. She should absolutely leave and do this later. Instead she plucks the card from the arrangement for the wake and dials the number of the shop.
“Lannister Floral Arrangements, how may I help you?”
Even just his voice settles warmly under her skin.
“This is Brienne.” She pauses and then dumbly says, “I was in your shop earlier. I bought the funeral arrangement. You gave me a little bouquet.”
“Yes, I remember you.” He chuckles warmly. “It can’t have even been an hour.”
The mortification swamps her.
“You asked me to figure out the meaning of these flowers, but I don’t even recognize half of them.”
“Do you have a pen or pencil?”
“Give me a moment.” Brienne, flustered, fumbles around her junk drawer for a pen, barely resisting the urge to cheer when she finally pulls one out. “Okay, I’m ready.” She takes a sheet of paper from the grocery list on her fridge.
“The pink clusters are hydrangeas, the coral colored ones are peonies, and the yellow are ranunculus.” She writes them down, guessing at a few of the spellings. “And a hint, make sure you specify the color of the hydrangea when you search the meaning.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Of course. I hope to see you again soon.”
Brienne blushes furiously, glad he can’t see her and hangs up.
She quickly searches for the pink hydrangeas, heartfelt emotion. Brienne’s brow furrows. She types in ‘peony meaning’ next, romance, prosperity, compassion. Her heart thumps heavy against her ribs as she types out ‘ranunculus meaning’, radiant charm, you are charming, you are attractive.
Brienne vacillates wildly between fury at being mocked and a wicked sort of hope that the pink hydrangea is genuine. But surely not. No one has ever accused her of being attractive or charming. It’s ludicrous. She knows she’s not charming. She’s awkward and lumbering and her face is a mish-mash of asymmetrical features.
But then she remembers the smile on his face, and the way his eyes would flick to her, warm and kind and -- and interested, maybe.
She presses the feeling down. She has to go to the funeral. She has to ignore the fluttering, dreamy haze and be a good friend. She has to.
---
It takes Brienne three days before she’s brave enough to go back to Lannister Floral Arrangements. She had to brace herself to see Jaime again, for the possibility that he will laugh at her, at the cruel and overly elaborate joke he made at her expense.
When the bell jingles over the door at her entrance, Jaime pops his head around an enormous bunch of roses. The grin that spreads across his face immediately makes her heart stop and her breath catch. It seems so genuine and bright and stunning.
“I was starting to worry you wouldn’t come back.” He comes around the table of flowers to walk to her. He stops within arm’s reach.
“Why did you give me those flowers?” Her tone is harsher than she meant, but she feels like she’s in danger of fragmenting into a million overwhelmed pieces.
“I thought that was obvious.” He looks confused, maybe a little hurt, maybe a little curious.
“It wasn’t.” She helplessly clenches her hands, hating how red she can feel her cheeks turn. “No one has ever -- I am not charming or attractive.”
“You’ll excuse me if I disagree.” He sounds strangely harsh and argumentative. “I disagree very, very strongly.”
She can’t disbelieve him in that moment. He’s so vehement, almost angry at her denial of the gift he gave her.
“But you’re,” she gestures up and down his body, “and I’m,” she waves the hand over her own torso. “How?”
He smiles again. This close she can see the slight dimples that crease his cheeks with the grin.
He steps closer to her then, cautiously stroking his hand down her forearm, his eyes following it to where he gently grips her fingers and barely pulls to draw her closer, leaving it entirely up to her to do so or not. She goes, standing nearly nose-to-nose with him. She expects him to cringe at the height she has on him, at the fact that he has to look up into her eyes. But he doesn’t, just continues to smile and stroke his thumb across her knuckles.
“I just know that the moment you walked into my shop, the only thing I could think was, ‘God, look at her, isn’t she amazing?’” Brienne blushes furiously, looking away from the intense gaze. He squeezes her fingers lightly until she reluctantly catches his eyes again. “And the longer I look at you, the more amazing you become.”
And with that, Jaime goes on his tiptoes and presses his mouth to hers, his other hand coming up to catch her cheek. She can’t believe it. She’s standing in a flower shop, almost overwhelmed by the heady array of fragrances, and completely overwhelmed by the warmth of Jaime’s mouth and scrape of his unshaven chin against her own.
She can’t help the whimper that sounds from the back of her throat. But then Jaime answers with his own moan and deepens the kiss, coaxing her lips apart with his own, pressing his tongue into her mouth, sliding hot against her own. Brienne wraps her hands around the back of his neck, thumbs stroking along his jaw, pressing herself against him fully as the kiss becomes hungrier.
Jaime’s palm is sliding up from her hip, skating over her ribs, and moving ever closer --
Then the bell dings over the door and they jump apart as if scalded. Brienne’s entire body turns beet red. Jaime looks at her, somehow fond, as if he knows her already, and finds her entirely enchanting. The customer is wide-eyed, mouth gaping at the swollen lips and heavy breathing.
Brienne retreats further into the shop. Jaime smiles calmly, professionally at the short, plump man in the doorway.
“How may I help you?”
The young man stutters out some story about asking out the girl he’s had a crush on forever. Jaime nods along, clearly putting together the arrangement in his mind already. He looks over and catches her eye over an enormous fern and mouths, ‘Later.’
Brienne can’t help the happy giggle and slaps her hand over her mouth at the ridiculousness of it all. But then Jaime smiles broadly at her and she thinks, just perhaps, this is something worth being a little ridiculous over.