Work Text:
Aster :
In Greek mythology, it's said that the aster was created by the tears of the goddess Astraea.
Other legends claim they were created when Virgo scattered stardust over the Earth: Where the stardust settled, aster flowers bloomed.
Today, they're known as a talisman of love and a symbol of patience.
Week 1.
Watermelon ranunculus.
Who in the Seven Bloody Hells had come up with the name watermelon ranunculus?
That was the sole thought occupying Jon Snow’s mind as he stared at the pre-made bouquet wall in Dany’s Floral Designs — the one retail establishment in all of Westeros it seemed that internet reviewers actually liked.
The offending name was written in sleek calligraphy on a laminated card, clipped to the back of a vase that held a bouquet of peach-colored flowers wrapped in burlap.
The arrangement was beautiful, but the word ‘ranunculus’ sounded like a disease.
He could already picture Sansa asking him what type of flowers they were — could hear himself mutilating the word.
Before he could further ponder that potential crisis, a door creaked open behind him — and a soft voice called out from it.
“Hi,” it said, “can I help you find something?”
Jon turned around, and he felt as though he’d been electrocuted.
The girl behind the counter did not belong to this world — there was simply nothing else for it.
He realized he was gaping and quickly schooled his face, trying his best to play off his reaction to her.
“My sister Sansa is graduating from university tomorrow,” he managed. “Wanted to get her some flowers or something.”
The girl just stared back at him — no response. His neck grew hot under her gaze.
From this distance, her eyes looked like they were purple.
“I think she likes yellow roses,” he continued awkwardly. “That should be good, right?”
His followup seemed to snap her out of whatever spell had silenced her.
She said something about how yellow flowers represent happiness, but Jon was having trouble listening. His mind wasn’t equipped to process the totality of the woman standing in front of him.
“If you’ve got a few minutes, I can put together a fresh bouquet for her,” she said, and this excuse to remain in her presence managed to cut through his madness.
Then she tossed her moon-colored braid over her shoulder, and he nearly lost the thread again.
“Sure. I’ve got time,” he replied, shrugging in a way he was certain did nothing to cover up how hungrily he was staring at her.
‘Real smooth, jackass ,’ he thought.
But she was graceful — she didn’t call him on it.
Instead, she turned to walk toward her cooler, and he very nearly groaned out loud.
Of course her ass was phenomenal, too.
Jon didn’t have long to ponder the curves of her body though, before she was back facing him, arms full of bright, rich bulbs. The moment they touched the counter, she transformed.
Any tension in her shoulders was gone — her face softened.
She seemed entirely enraptured, and it enraptured him.
Even the movements of her hands were hypnotic; he watched her lay down one stem after another: yellow, green, yellow, green. Beneath the petals were a sheet of tissue and a transparent wrap.
He pulled his phone out and eyed the time, drafting a text to Robb — he’d planned to meet him for an early dinner, but he would be late unless he left this second.
And Jon was in no hurry to go.
He would be spending the entire next day with his brother… and the day after that. Robb was in King’s Landing for four more days.
Jon was in this flower shop until he ran out of excuses to stay.
He could feel her gaze on him, curious and penetrating. He hit ‘send’ on his message and looked up — sure enough, she was staring straight at him.
She was blushing; her cheeks were rosy pink. His heart raced at the idea that he might be making her nervous as she was making him.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Do you care what color ribbon I use?” she replied.
...Or she was just doing her job, and he was an idiot. That felt more likely.
“Oh, uh… not really,” he replied, his neck burning. “I’m not great with this kind of thing.”
He could feel his phone buzzing in his hand. Robb, he was sure.
“We could do something with her school colors,” the clerk said. “Where’s she graduating from?”
That was actually a great idea.
He straightened up a bit and dropped his phone to his side — it buzzed again in his hand.
“Baelor,” he replied. “She’s a cheerleader there.”
She grinned, and it was like she had stepped beneath a stage light. Her entire face came alive.
She pulled a green ribbon from somewhere beneath her counter; and this time, when she spoke, she seemed pleased.
“Perfect,” she said. “I make sure I always have some of this in stock this time of year… I get a lot of people coming into town for Baelor graduates.”
Jon grinned back at the girl — her smile was infectious.
He shoved his cell into his pocket; he felt a buzz, and then another. He had half a mind to shut the entire thing off. Anything that distracted him from this conversation was a bother.
“I’m not visiting,” he said. ( ‘I’m available,’ he meant.) “I moved to King’s Landing a few years ago. But it sounds like I came to the right place.”
She didn’t reply, just smiled some more.
His brain worked in overtime, analyzing her last words.
She gets a lot of people in here for Baelor. He thought of the name above the shop —
“So you’re Dany, then?” he asked.
“That’s me,” she chimed. His body felt more alive than it had in years.
In his pocket, his stupid phone was still going off. He ignored it resolutely.
They exchanged a few minutes of smalltalk as she worked, Jon inching forward all the while.
It was easy to rationalize it. He would need to pay for the flowers anyway; why shouldn’t he move closer to her?
He was surprised to learn that she was his age — more surprised to hear she went to Dragonstone, one of the most prestigious universities in Westeros.
He let out a whistle of surprise, and her head jolted up.
Fuck.
Her eyes really were purple.
“I was at Eastwatch,” he told her. He was babbling about her university, and she was rolling her eyes at him.
She had all the sarcastic airs of a girl who’d explained many times before that castles were less glamorous than they sounded.
And then he was making dirty jokes about soundproof walls — gods, he was an idiot — but she was laughing them off, and her laugh really was gorgeous, and he really did want to hear more of it.
Then Dany brought up Tormund Giantsbane. Of all the absurd conversations he could’ve had with her, this might have been the last he’d have expected.
But moments after he confirmed to her that even Tormund wasn’t stupid enough to try and fuck a bear, Dany seemed to decide that it was time to absolutely wreck him.
“How disappointing,” she said. Her smile was dangerous. “At least the rumors about Dragonstone are true.”
Unbidden but unstoppable, a vision of Dany in a stone dormitory came to mind. Something dirty with it — her screaming — a challenge of how loud he could make her before a neighbor would overhear.
He needed to change the subject. Immediately.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said. “So what’s Dany short for?”
“Daenerys…”
A pretty name, he thought as she paused. It suited her.
“Targaryen,” she finished.
He tried not to react — to keep to his manners — but it wasn’t exactly a last name that could go unnoticed.
The capital was drowning in buildings named for her family: schools, hospitals, anything. If it could be endowed, chances were some Targaryen’s name would be on it.
And yet… Dany didn’t seem like some silver-spooned rich girl, standing here in front of him with her messy blonde braid and wearing an apron. She was too casual. Too friendly. Too everything .
“Daenerys,” he tested it. “I’m Jon Snow.”
She smiled at him.
“Jon Snow,” she said. “Your accent sounds Northern. Where’d you grow up?”
He tried not to preen too much that she cared to ask.
“Winterfell,” he replied. “My dad’s family’s lived there for pretty much ever. I’ve been in King’s Landing since graduation though.”
Jon finally succumbed to the urge to ask her why she was running a flower shop. Her answer was so simple, so heartfelt, that it made him feel tipsy.
And then he was telling her about the Night’s Watch, how he understood what she meant about having a calling.
“I’m one of the guards,” he said, desperate to lighten the conversation before he embarrassed himself by dropping to one knee. “No threats against your shop, right?” He winked.
Right now, the only threat against Dany he could envision was that he might refuse to ever leave.
She shook her head gently, and that was it. He needed to ask her out.
Needed to.
“Well, that’s good,” he said. “So what do you do when you’re not here?”
“Mostly, I get drunk and sleep with bears,” she joked.
He grinned at her more fully — this charming, clever thing who’d come from nowhere. She was smiling up at him in her little linen dress; it felt like something from a dream.
And then her voice cut through his spell: “That’ll be one silver stag, please.”
He tried not to let his face fall.
He’d had a limited opportunity to charm her, and he’d failed.
Jon took out his wallet and paid her, their hands brushing against one another for a moment as he handed her the money.
He thought he heard her breath hitch but shoved the thought away.
If she was interested , she wouldn’t be kicking you out the door , he reminded himself. The feeling of disappointment was profound, considering her barely knew her.
He took one last look at her before he left — white-blonde hair shining against the black of her clothing.
And then he was outside in the sun.
Jon climbed into his car, placing the flowers down delicately on his passenger seat. The bouquet was genuinely beautiful.
He pulled out his phone and realized he had two missed calls and 13 texts from Robb.
Thirteen. He was going to murder him.
Robb S. [4:01pm]
What do you mean you can’t make it?
Robb S. [4:01pm]
Are you stuck in traffic?
Robb S. [4:04pm]
I can wait if you’re just running late.
Robb S. [4:11pm]
Hello?? Can you call me?
Robb S. [4:15pm]
Are you alive?
Robb S. [4:17pm]
Dude you better be alright.
Robb S. [4:24pm]
…Scratch that, you better be dead.
Robb S. [4:26pm]
I can’t believe you’re ditching me on my first night in KL.
Robb S. [4:27pm]
Answer
Robb S. [4:27pm]
Me
Robb S. [4:27pm]
You
Robb S. [4:27pm]
Dickhead
Robb S. [4:28pm]
Ugh ok whatever but you better still be going to Sansa’s later.
The first thing he did when he arrived at Sansa’s apartment was greet his father and his wife. The second had been to slap Robb upside the head.
Jon made it all the way through dinner without dwelling too hard on Daenerys Targaryen. But by dessert, his skin was itching.
He excused himself to the restroom and pulled out his phone, signing on to his Besteros account.
She’d said she relied on word-of-mouth advertising.
Quickly, he typed out a review, trying to strike a tone closer to complimentary than creepy.
He hit ‘send’ before he could overthink it, finding himself relieved — to his surprise — once it was published.
Back at the table, chaos reigned. Apparently, Sansa had caught sight of her reflection and had some form of a meltdown over getting a small pimple the night before graduation. She was mortified that it would be in all her photos.
His youngest sister really wasn’t helping matters.
Arya was snickering, asking Sansa what she wanted to call the pimple in their photo captions.
Catelyn was scowling.
Bran rolled his eyes.
Rickon tried to stealthily slide beneath the table to play with Jon’s malamute, Ghost.
He eyed the absurdity with a warm feeling in his chest — the type that only came from having his whole family in one place.
Arya would be staying with him for the summer while she interned at a company in King’s Landing, and Sansa had decided to get a job down here after university.
With the two of them in the capital at once, it would be the most Starks he’d have nearby in years. But there was still no substitute for the full brigade.
He took his seat just as his father called for an end to the squabbles, and Jon took the opportunity to tune out.
Maybe it wasn’t the end of the world if he went back to Dany’s shop sometime. He probably knew someone else who needed flowers.
She’d sort of dismissed him at the end, but their conversation had been going well before that.
...And he really wanted to see her again.
Week 2.
By Friday morning, Jon had talked himself in and out of visiting her so many times that the arguments no longer sounded coherent.
By noon, his primary concern was that he’d walk in, and she wouldn’t remember him at all.
Dany probably saw tons of customers every day. There was no particular reason that he should’ve stood out in her brain.
At 2 p.m., he’d decided that while she probably would remember him, a second visit so soon might creep her out more than endear him to her.
Nevertheless, he’d dressed a little more carefully that day. He’d tried taming his hair — that had been a disaster. He gave up and tied it back, frustrated by its propensity for chaos.
This time, she was out front when he arrived, and she looked even better than he had remembered.
Dany locked eyes with him as soon as he stepped through the door, and her face broke out in a wide grin.
The force of her winded him.
“Jon Snow,” she exclaimed. “Welcome back!”
He smiled at her as he made his way straight to the counter. No pre-made wall for him today.
“How’s your week been?” he asked.
“No complaints here,” she smiled. “How was your sister’s graduation?”
He thought of the ceremony — how to even describe that… Sansa performed some skincare miracle and had banished the mark on her face, a fact that she’d smugly reminded Arya of approximately 400 times throughout the day.
The graduation itself had been typical enough. Catelyn had cried. Rickon had fallen asleep.
Jon had been very proud of his sister, despite the fact that he’d nearly melted in the sunlight.
He jammed his hands into his pockets casually.
“Hotter than hell, but a great day. Sansa loved the flowers,” he replied.
Dany lit up, leaning forward to rest herself on the counter.
“I’m glad to hear it. I liked your Besteros review,” she said brightly.
Gods, she really was something.
Jon wished he’d come up with a plan before walking in here — that he’d had some sort of idea ready for what they could do or where he would ask to take her.
Dinner was always good, or maybe —
“So what can I do for you today?” she asked, her voice cutting across his thoughts.
Now was the moment he was supposed to say something smooth: convince her that he was worth a date.
But she was staring at him with those wide, purple eyes.
He completely choked.
“I, er, was in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d stop in,” he replied. There was a beat, in which she didn’t respond. He kept speaking: “Pick up another bouquet, or whatever.”
He winced slightly and ran a hand through his curls. Why had he said that?
“Who’s this one for?” she asked.
And this was why he needed to plan better. How was he supposed to answer that?
The longer he went without responding, the more the easy feeling between them faltered. His brain was just refusing to work. He had no idea what words to use.
“I’ve, uh, I’ve got a date,” he finally said.
“What. The. Actual. Fuck. Jon?” his brain was screaming.
“You have a date,” she said. Her voice was flat. She looked skeptical.
How stupid would he sound if he immediately admitted he was lying?
“Yeah…” he trailed off. She was silent again, eyeing him. He rambled on, “I guess it’s a bit much, but I’ve uh, been trying to win her over for a while, so I thought flowers might be a nice touch?”
She didn’t look convinced at all.
He was such a gods-damned moron.
He’d just lied to her face for no reason at all while trying to ask her on a date. And worse, from the look she was wearing, he hadn’t lied well.
Jon could feel his face burning in horror.
“In that case,” she replied breezily, “You should consider these.” She gestured to a vase of red flowers that he didn’t recognize, apparently called “amaryllis.”
She kept going, describing a Greek poem about unrequited love. “The flower symbolizes determination,” she finished.
Unrequited love? That felt rather personal.
But he’d been silent too long, it seemed. Dany looked uncomfortable.
“I just,” she stuttered, “it’s a bit of an unusual pick. But if she was hard to win over, I thought maybe she’d appreciate something less common. I certainly would.”
Regardless of whether or not Dany believed his date nonsense, he was committed to buying a bouquet now. And if she liked them, there was no way he was picking something else.
And she’s been enthralling talking about the history of the flower. He could have listened to her all day.
“Do you know that much about all the flowers here?” Jon asked.
“Most of them,” she replied. “It’s one of my favorite things about them, learning what they mean. I guess it’s a bit silly, but I take it seriously. My older brother got me a book about different flower meanings not long before he passed away,” she said. “It meant a lot to me.”
Jon’s mind was running wild. Why in the world had he said he was going on a date?
“Do you have a card or something, with that story on it?” he asked.
She lifted her head abruptly, seeming shocked.
“You want a copy of the story of Amaryllis?” she repeated to him.
“Yeah, it’s interesting,” he said. More than that, though, he wanted to stay near her.
But Dany was still eyeing him, confused.
He threw in some nonsense about his supposed date: “It’s like you said, she’ll probably like that I got her something unusual.”
That seemed to put an end to her protests. She pulled some cardstock from beneath the counter and began scribbling quietly.
When she was done and he’d paid, his heart began pounding in earnest.
Jon wrote his name as slowly as possible, unsure when he’d see her again — if ever.
He’d bombed two weeks in a row now. How many car crashes could he force her to be a party to?
“Do you need anything else?” she asked, and her voice sounded so casual that it threw him.
He straightened, grabbing the bouquet.
Jon just wanted to hand it to her, apologize for being so bad at flirting and ask her to dinner.
“No, that’s all,” he said instead. “Thanks again.”
And then he walked from her shop into the summer sun, the amaryllis flowers mocking him from his passenger seat all the way back to his apartment.
There was a desperate whine in his mind as he stretched for something — anything — positive out of that encounter.
He could hear her voice clearly, as if she was still standing right in front of him.
“It symbolizes determination,” and “ Eventually, she wins him over.”
Dany had said the flowers’ meanings were important to her. Maybe that was something.
That night, he dreamed of her staring at him, a hand held out. He tried running to her — tried until his lungs burned and his legs gave out — but she was always just out of reach.
Week 3.
His second visit to Dany's shop had been such an unequivocal disaster that Jon couldn't stand the thought of it being their last encounter, even if he never managed to take her on a date.
He was pleased that when he made his way inside that afternoon, she seemed happy to see him.
Maybe he wasn’t completely out of the game.
“You’re back again,” she said. “Did your, uh, date enjoy the flowers?” She’d paused on the word date, a bright smile on her face.
He’d given the amaryllis bouquet to Sansa — she’d been confused, but he’d explained it away to her as vaguely as possible. Ultimately, she’d agreed that the flowers were stunning, even if they clashed with her hair.
From Sansa, that level of a compliment was practically worth gold.
He’d pawned the handwritten Amaryllis tale off on Arya.
“The flowers were a hit,” he said, trying not to laugh. “Going to have to make them a more regular part of my dating life, I guess.”
If he had it his way, his romantic life would revolve solely around this flower shop.
“Two bouquets in two dates?” she asked. Her voice was dry and sarcastic. “You’re certainly spoiling her.”
He couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing.
He’d been so worried that he’d wrecked the fledgling flirtation between them with his pathetic cover story, but she just seemed willing to extend the joke.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dany,” he said. “Different girl. Gotta keep everything fresh; you know how it is.”
Of course the moment he joined in, Dany would decide to switch back to her professional persona. She asked what he needed this time.
You. On a date with me. Preferably now.
“I guess something that’s good for a brand new person in your life.” He wagged his eyebrows at her.
That one was sort-of forward, he supposed, but she still played along.
“Don’t know her very well?” she asked. Her tone was overly casual, but her lips twitched.
“You can say that,” he replied. He didn’t, after all. “She’s quite pretty though.”
Robb had made fun of him since childhood for how bad he was at flirting. If he could only see him now.
Dany had grabbed several colors of what he was pretty sure were the same flower, spreading them out on the counter before him.
“Daisies symbolize new beginnings,” she said. “The name comes from old English. They were called the day’s eyes.”
“How’s that mean new beginnings?” he asked her.
“Well, the petals would open at dawn and close at dusk. New day, they bloom. That sort of thing.”
He would never understand how she just remembered all of this stuff. It was utterly adorable.
Jon had agreed to take the daisies — as if he was going to disagree with any flower she endorsed.
She’d been slicing the stems quietly for about a minute when she brought up his cover story again.
“Didn’t you say you’d been trying to win over the last girl for a while? Did she end up a disappointment after all that?” she asked. Her voice was deceptively light again.
Jon couldn’t figure her out. Surely she didn’t actually believe that garbage from last week?
He’d been flirting with her nonstop since he arrived — nonstop since his first visit, really.
His eyes roved across her face, searching for an answer, but all he could see was the top of her eyebrows as she continued wrapping the flowers.
No. If she actually thought he’d been out with some girl, she’d be pissed at him for so plainly hitting on her.
Perhaps she was trying to trick him into messing up — to admit that he’d made the date up.
That had to be it.
But he could play that game.
“I’ve been trying to get her to stop sassing me for years,” he said, thinking of Sansa. “Didn’t work at all. The flowers went over well, though.”
“So she liked them?” Dany pressed. She seemed unwilling to let it go.
“She made fun of me for getting red flowers for a redhead, but aye. She said she thought they were ‘a striking choice’.”
Dany’s entire face transformed at the compliment. She’d gone from graceful to sneaky to delighted in a matter of moments.
He smirked at her.
“You Southern girls sure flatter easy, don’t you?” he teased.
He didn’t have much time to enjoy the victory, though. Within seconds, a plant hit him squarely in the face, bouncing off his nose and onto the floor near his feet.
Jon was stunned. “Did you just throw a plant at me?”
“Technically, I threw a stem clipping at you,” she replied. She tilted her nose up, voice at its prissiest.
“Oh? And what’s that symbolize?” he shot back.
“It’s garbage, like your sense of humor,” she replied.
He nearly burst out laughing — it was all he could do to contain it. Dany was grinning, too, and for a minute, he thought there might be an opening.
Then she looked down at the flowers in her hands, and her wide smile faltered.
She tied the bouquet off quickly, and he interjected before she could shove him from her store once again.
“Would you write up another one of those card things about the name?” he asked.
Let me stay a little longer is what he meant.
She was finishing transcribing the old English origin of the word ‘daisy’ when he finally thought of something to say.
“To new beginnings, right?” he asked her with a shy grin. She tilted her head at him, looking a bit wounded.
Dany clipped the card to the bouquet like she’d done last time and passed it over to him. Her face was more closed off than it had been the entire time he’d been here.
“Yeah, cheers,” she said dryly, and then she turned to walk into her back room.
He had no idea what had just happened.
“See you, Dany,” he called, just before she made it into her office.
She paused, turning to look at him. Her face was completely blank.
“Bye, Jon,” she said, and then she was gone.
Later that night, he was sitting on his couch, warring with himself over what he should do.
Every time he thought he’d stepped forward with Dany, she yanked herself several steps back.
His hand hovered over the keyboard.
Jon knew objectively that writing two reviews over such a short span of time looked a bit desperate, but that wasn’t enough to stop him from logging in and sending another missive to the internet-at-large.
She’d told him she liked his review, after all.
He thought of the stem clipping bouncing off of his face — with a low chuckle, that made it into the new one.
Arya appeared in the doorway, eyes narrowed and arms folded across her chest.
“What’re you giggling about?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he replied a bit too quickly.
He smacked the ‘send’ button and minimized the screen, jumping up from his place on the couch.
“Let me know what you want to do for dinner,” he said as he passed her and walked straight back to the restroom to wash his hands.
Jon didn’t spend much time eyeing himself in the mirror, but he could see his reflection now — an unnecessary grin pulling up the corners of his mouth.
His coworkers at Night’s Watch had all remarked that he’d been eerily happy for the last few weeks, as though him experiencing a positive emotion was suspicious.
‘Idiots, the lot of them ,’ he thought fondly.
He dried his hands on the gray towel in the bathroom and padded back out into his living room only to come to an abrupt halt.
In retrospect, the mistake he’d made was obvious.
Arya was sitting on his couch, waiting for him, with his open laptop in her hands. His Besteros review page was pulled up.
“Why,” she asked pointedly, “is Dany’s Floral Designs the only florist in King’s Landing worth visiting?”
Shit.
He ran his hand through his hair, remembering a moment too late that it was one of his tells.
“I just wanted to write something nice,” he said. “The girl who runs it is pretty young. She did Sansa’s flowers a couple weeks ago.”
Arya gave him a look so withering that for the first time in his life, he saw her resemblance to her mother.
“You’re writing a review now, several weeks later, about the bouquet she made for Sansa?”
He moved to reply, but her voice cut him off again.
“Please keep in mind that lying to your favorite sister would be a severe error in judgment.”
Arya, he was certain, would never let him hear the end of it if she realized that he actually liked somebody. She’d needle him about it until one of them died. Likely him.
“Who says I’d be lying?” he tried.
It was a poor effort, and she looked disappointed in him.
“You left your account page up, Jon,” she said. “There’s another review from a couple weeks ago.”
Double shit.
He rolled his eyes but refused to concede. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Arya.”
Jon crossed over to the couch and yanked the laptop from her hands, snapping it shut.
His sister’s face morphed from irritation to terrifying, devilish glee.
That was not a good sign.
Week 4.
Jon had woken up with a good feeling.
It was Friday again, which meant Dany. This time, he was determined to ask her out.
There were no good reasons left to avoid it — Arya was already suspicious (more than just suspicious, but he would stay in denial as long as he could, thanks).
And Dany seemed pleased with his second review — she’d logged in and responded to it.
He’d felt paralyzed with shock when he’d opened his email and saw the tiny (1) beside the Inbox tab.
Subject: New Verified Review Response from Dany T.
Glad you enjoyed your visit — you never know when stem clippings will come in handy!
Dany rarely replied to her reviewers; he’d gone through and checked.
Normally, she only did it to answer questions.
So all in all, Jon was feeling pretty confident about his chances when he arrived at the shop.
His eyes landed on her, and Dany… looked miserable.
That was his first, blunt thought when he finally laid eyes on her — she seemed harried and tired and miserable .
He picked up a hand and waved nervously at her. She smiled back weakly before her face fell blank again.
“So did bouquet number two do the trick?” she asked.
This, again? It seemed that Dany was never going to let him live it down.
“It went over even better than the first,” he replied. He’d pushed the daisies on Arya, who had taken them from him with a knowing look, for once, not saying a word. “Daisies are apparently a favorite.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” she said, and her voice sounded faux-casual again. “So you liked Recipient Number Two, then? Another romantic outing on the horizon?”
He could feel his mouth pull into a grimace at the thought of anything romantic appearing in the same sentence as Arya — “Definitely not. Well, not with her.”
“I thought you said this one went better than the first,” she said pointedly.
“I didn’t get made fun of,” he shrugged, smiling. “I’ll take the win.”
Dany was inquisitive today. “What did this one do to lose your favor?” she asked.
“I don’t know," he said with a dry snort, "I guess her hair was too dark. Would be a bit like looking in a mirror.” He’d imagined Arya’s reaction to the insinuation, and the thought of it was so hilarious that he had to put serious effort into keeping a straight face.
“Well, if you’re not here for Recipient Number Two,” she began, “Should I assume you’re here because you need something for a third woman?”
Yes. You.
Jon wondered what the odds were that she would help him out and suggest herself, instead of making him say it.
Low, probably.
“...I suppose you caught me,” he said after a beat.
“You’ll have to pick today’s flower, then,” she said.
He was mollified that he’d been right. If he wanted to ask her out, she’d make him do the work.
But this felt like a pop quiz, and he was not prepared to pick out flowers for Dany — not by any stretch. His luck, he’d pick something that symbolized a disease.
“I think I prefer to go with ladies’ choice,” he said, crossing his arms protectively over his chest.
She rolled her eyes, but after a few minutes of haggling, she’d agreed to let him pick from a few options. He’d pulled out every negotiation tool he had in his limited playbook.
Ultimately, all he needed to do was beg a little.
By the time she laid the three options before him, the tension that had been in her eyes since his arrival had finally gone.
She gestured to the first flower, a pale blue one. “These are morning glory. They represent affection.”
They were a bit bland.
She moved on to the middle one: “Tulips are a declaration of love.”
Better than the morning glory, but he didn’t want to scare her away.
Finally, she turned to the third, a light pink flower that looked overrun with petals.
“Peonies are popular for loved ones. They’re many people’s favorite flower, myself included,” she said.
Dany’s favorite flower? Sold.
Jon was certain this was proof that the gods were on his side. He’d buy them and then give them right back to her. He moved his hand toward them but her next words gave him pause:
“Oddly enough, they were considered unlucky in the Victorian age.”
“Why?” he asked.
...Had his voice just cracked?
“There’s an old myth that they’re named for a nymph named Paeonia,” she said. Her voice was hypnotic. “She was so beautiful that she attracted the attention of Apollo. Aphrodite became jealous and turned her into a peony.”
Jon weighed it in his mind before deciding that he wasn’t terribly afraid of Aphrodite.
“Well, if they’re one of your favorites, I think I’ll have to go with those,” he said.
“Not worried about bad luck?” she asked slyly. Her eyes were narrowed mischievously.
“Nah,” he replied. She was so pretty that sometimes it was hard to look at her. “My florist really likes them, and she’s got great taste.”
Dany got to work on the bouquet, and though she’d already said she loved peonies, he liked to believe he would’ve been able to tell from how intently she worked with them.
She looked introspective again. He wondered if he could drag her out of it.
“My brother Robb got his mother carnations for Mother’s Day last year,” he said abruptly. “What do those mean?”
Her response came without thought: “That he forgot to buy a gift and had no other options. Carnations are terrible.”
He’d laughed loud and hard, for once unable to contain it. They chatted for a few minutes about Robb and his utter failure in choosing gifts for Catelyn.
He wished he’d worded it better, though, when she squinted at him curiously.
“Did you say your brother got his mother flowers?” she asked suddenly.
Well, there was a buzzkill waiting to happen.
He recounted his familial situation as briefly as possible — no good could come from explaining Catelyn Stark’s hatred for him in anything but the vaguest of terms.
Dany seemed to have transformed entirely into some type of soft, warm thing. She reached out and touched his arm. The heat of her skin on his was like fire.
“You’re lucky, you know,” she said gently. “To have close relationships with all of them. My brother and I… don’t get along.”
The pain in her words was audible. Visceral. His siblings were practically his life.
“What about the rest of your family?” he asked.
She smiled weakly. “Just me and him left.”
Fuck.
He’d wondered, hadn’t he? Why a Targaryen worked in a retail shop. He’d believed her immediately when she said she loved flowers — that much was obvious.
But what else had she said? That she’d put everything she had into this place.
He should’ve realized — shouldn’t have opened his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he said, as sincerely as he could. He wished he’d never mentioned it.
But Dany seemed to want to finish now that she’d started. She told him about a gas leak and her mother and oldest brother. She’d mentioned him before, too.
She’d told him a deceased brother got her a book on flower symbolism, and he’d forgotten.
And now he’d made her think about it again.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. He didn’t know what else to say.
“Me, too,” she replied. “For your mother.”
Jon couldn’t stop himself then — he reached for her hand, grasping it. Warm and soft.
It was the most comforting feeling he’d had in years.
When Dany moved to pull it away, it was all he could do to hold back from locking her hand there and keeping it.
His heart felt heavy; she’d been through so much.
Dany reached for her cardstock this time without any prompting, taking her time to loop her cursive perfectly for Paeonia’s tale.
A greedy, terrible part of him hated that he’d have to put off asking her out again, but dead families didn’t make for a great prelude to a date request.
He took the flowers from her gently, mulling over the situation.
After all that, how could he leave without saying something?
“You are… not like everyone else,” he settled on. “You’re… strong. To have done all this by yourself.”
Dany’s eyes were glassy. His heart felt dense, too dense, like a black hole at the center of a galaxy. The pressure was immeasurable.
That night, he didn’t sleep at all.
Week 5.
“Jon, this is getting silly. I am running out of vases.”
As far as he was concerned, Sansa was complaining a lot for someone getting weekly free bouquets.
He’d gone to her apartment on Saturday; and though it was not in her nature to dig too deeply, even she seemed to be reaching the end of her rope.
“Are you ever going to tell me the real reason you keep showing up with spare flowers for Arya and me?” she asked.
He supposed he might as well; Arya had probably already put her on the scent of gossip.
“The girl who runs the shop is…” he trailed off. “She’s very special.”
Jon could practically see the hearts forming in Sansa’s eyes — she had always been a bit of a hopeless romantic.
She had all but demanded he give her Dany’s entire life story; he’d pushed her off with a promise to introduce them if he ever managed to ask her out.
Unfortunately, that set off a second firestorm. By the time he’d recounted a summary of his failed attempts, Sansa was practically feral.
“You’ve just got to try again next week; and this time, don’t bring up depressing topics!”
Easier said than done, but his sister’s confidence in him had bolstered him a bit. Enough, at least, that by the time it was Friday again, he was feeling reasonably optimistic.
There was just one small problem: The woman standing behind the counter when he arrived was not Daenerys Targaryen.
And as if that wasn't obvious enough, he’d managed to bumble his way through greeting her by outright saying it.
“Hi!” she’d exclaimed brightly. “How can I help you?”
“Where’s Dany?” he replied, and he could hear how irritable his voice sounded.
Gods, that was rude of him.
“She’s not in this afternoon, I’m afraid,” the brunette replied. “But I’d be happy to assist you.”
He felt a stupid itch take root inside of him — Dany always worked Fridays.
Always.
It was the only reason he even came to the shop at the same time each week, to guarantee that he’d see her.
“Is she alright?” he asked, and he hated the nervous twitch in his throat. Hated how audible it was.
What if she’d been injured? Or she was dead in a ditch somewhere — or she’d taken the day off to go elope with someone?
“She’s fine,” the clerk replied — she was still smiling, but it had become an awkward one.
Not as awkward as Jon felt.
He turned to the pre-made wall to break the tension — he’d largely ignored it since his first visit, when he’d been focusing on that flower with an insane name.
Unbidden, his eyes found the vase that used to hold the watermelon ranunculus arrangement.
Today, the laminated card read “Madame Hardy Damask Roses.”
They were white — a stupid vision of Dany’s hair zig-zagged through his brain.
He plucked the bouquet from the vase without another thought and approached the counter.
“I’ll grab these then,” he said. He pulled out his wallet, pausing when the brunette spoke.
“How do you know Dany?” she asked, and she sounded intrigued.
Jon wasn’t sure what the best way to answer that was. ‘I’ve been trying and failing to ask her out for more than a month’ didn’t feel like a good option.
“I’m a regular, is all,” he settled on.
She quirked an eyebrow at him — appraising — but let the issue go.
There wasn’t much reason to dawdle after that.
The clerk (Tyene, she’d said) was nice enough, but she wasn’t Daenerys.
He realized as he stepped outside that this meant he wouldn’t see her for at least seven more days.
The feeling of distress that accompanied the thought wasn't something he cared to examine.
Jon had been home for maybe an hour when he decided to look Dany up on social media.
He’d found her pretty easily — her account was public, too.
No story, though, and her most recent photo was her with her arms around a grinning woman with dark features.
Posted six days ago .
That didn’t give him any clues.
He’d returned to his brooding so intensely that Arya had been concerned.
When he admitted it was over Dany’s absence, her eyebrows rose so high that they nearly disappeared into her hairline.
Then she snorted at him. “You’re being stupid. It’s one week. You’ll live.”
He’d snapped back at her — out-of-character for their relationship.
For once, she dropped her teasing. “Is this girl really that special?” she asked. Her voice was incredulous.
Somehow, her skepticism felt worse.
“Yeah,” he said morosely. “Unfortunately, she is.”
She flounced out of his kitchen after that, no doubt off to hang out with Gendry, a fellow intern that she definitely wasn’t dating, why would you even ask that?
He rolled his eyes at the thought.
Arya could shit on him all she wanted. He missed Dany.
Week 6.
She was back.
He was so relieved to see her behind the counter when he walked in that he’d forgotten subtlety entirely.
“You know you’re practically an investor in my shop at this point,” she opened with.
He’d take it.
“Well, the service is quite good,” he said, delighted to have her banter again. He leaned on the counter, eyeing her quickly. She still had all her limbs, and there was no wedding ring in sight. “Glad to see you back. Where’d you go last week?”
“I wasn’t feeling well,” she said. “Had to call out. I heard you stopped by.”
A sick day. That probably should’ve been his first thought.
“It was a Friday,” he said simply. “You feeling better?”
“Yeah, I am,” she replied. “And the service isn’t that good. I throw things at you.” She dropped to the floor to grab something from beneath her counter; and Jon literally leered at her.
What were manners compared with a glimpse down her shirt?
“Aye, that’s true. But the view’s not bad either.”
It was the type of thing Theon would say. Fourteen days without her had left him in rare form, it seemed.
“Is that how you usually win women over, Jon?” she asked, and he dropped the attitude, properly abashed.
“Not sure yet,” he replied.
He’d thought he was doing alright so far, but then Dany made a comment about him being a terrible date.
His jaw dropped. How was that fair?
And then she was harping on about all his supposed dates again, calling him out for coming in here so many weeks in a row.
The whole thing would have been quite funny if it hadn’t reminded him of one serious issue that he’d not yet addressed: Jon had no idea if she was single.
Behind the counter, Dany teetered a bit as she lifted a box twice her size from the surface.
“Any second dates for Daenerys Targaryen? Third, even?” He tried for subtlety — really, he did. But by the time she turned and met his gaze, he was certain the predatory feeling in his chest must’ve been written on his face.
“Zero, these days,” she said.
Bullshit.
“Now why don’t I believe that?” he asked.
“I’m always here,” she shrugged. “Hard to date when you don’t know anyone.”
Even if that was true, there was no way he was the only male customer she’d ever had who had retained their eyesight. Surely someone must’ve —
Dany was still struggling with the box in her arms, and the situation was beginning to look precarious. His inner turmoil could wait.
“Can I help you with that?” he asked.
Jon was surprised when she accepted; he crossed behind the counter before she could take it back, taking the box from her and pushing it onto the top shelf.
When he turned to face her, they were much closer to each other than he’d expected.
“Thanks,” she said softly. Her voice was low — it shot straight to his groin.
She was looking up at him through her lashes.
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
He moved closer to her, close enough that their bodies grazed each other with every breath.
One of the strands of her moonbeam hair had fallen in front of her face.
Slowly, he reached up and pushed it away from her eyes.
Jon thought he could die this afternoon, and as long he got to kiss her right now, it might be worth it.
“Dany,” he rasped out. She was so disarming.
His eyes flicked down toward her lips, plump and pink and soft-looking.
Then she moved in closer still, until there was no more space between them. Instinctively, he dropped his hand from her hair to her face. His other wrapped itself around her waist.
He had just enough clarity of thought to note that this was easily the most intense moment of his life. He wanted to engrave it in his mind.
And then the bell to her shop broke through them — loud and harsh — as a group of women walked in. Dany jumped back as if she’d been electrocuted, red-faced and visibly uncomfortable.
Clearly he’d overstepped. How fucking humiliating.
He couldn’t bear to see her discomfort with what had nearly occurred — in one movement, he slipped back around the counter and grabbed a random bouquet from the pre-made section.
Jon drew cash from his wallet (more than he probably needed to, but he didn’t want to stiff her). He dropped it on the counter and practically fled from the shop.
He had thought that would be the low point of his day, but his sister had other plans.
“I went to your girlfriend’s shop,” Arya said as they ate dinner that evening.
“I don’t have —” he trailed off, horrified, as he realized her meaning. “You went to Dany’s shop?”
His sister’s voice was blasé, but she was side-eyeing him hard — every one of his reactions up for analysis. “Apparently it’s the thing to do on Fridays.”
He ignored her calculated tone, repeating himself (rather more concerned than he had been a moment ago): “Why did you go to Dany’s shop?”
“Maybe I wanted flowers,” she said, shrugging. “Or maybe I wanted to see the girl you’ve been mooning over for the last month and a half.”
He bristled. “I have not been mooning over her.”
Arya rolled her eyes. “Sure you haven’t. I just wanted to see what she looked like,” she said. Her eyes narrowed. “But I was kind of surprised… She’s alright looking. Nothing special, though.”
Jon snapped at her instantly. “Nothing — are you insane? She’s absolutely gorgeous. And she’s brilliant, too. Nothing special… honestly , Arya. Are you sure you even went to the right shop?”
His sister’s stoic face melted into something positively smug , and only then did he realize he’d run straight into her trap.
“Talk,” she said. “Now.”
He finally broke down and gave her what she wanted: Within a matter of minutes, Arya had the entire story, culminating in him fleeing the shop that afternoon like the craven fool that he was.
Oddly, that wasn’t the detail that Arya focused on.
“Why did you buy another bouquet?” she asked, confused.
He just stared back at her. He felt like he was missing something.
“Because I always do.”
Week 7.
Arya had warned him that she was breaking out the big guns, but he hadn’t thought much about what she meant by that.
Until Sansa showed up at his apartment door, armed with her laptop.
“I can’t believe you had a perfect rom-com kiss fall into your lap, and your move was to flee,” was her disgusted greeting.
Sansa pushed by him and settled in on the couch next to Arya, then gestured for him to take a seat in his own armchair.
“This is an intervention, Jon. Please sit.”
“I don’t need a bloody intervention,” he scowled. “She looked like she’d been caught committing a crime when those women walked in.”
Arya looked like she was already regretting her decision to get involved in this, and Jon privately hoped she did.
Honestly — tattling to Sansa on him.
Traitor.
And yet… it seemed that despite loathing this type of ‘girly nonsense,’ as she called it, his youngest sister wanted to help.
“Why don’t you try doing something thoughtful for her,” she volunteered. “Didn’t you say she’s really into symbolism, or whatever?”
Her face was supremely uncomfortable, but Sansa was ecstatic.
“That’s perfect,” she cried. Arya shot him a distinctly ‘help-me’ look as the redhead hugged her, but Jon just shook his head.
“You deserve it,” he mouthed to her.
Beneath Sansa’s arms, she flipped him off.
After she unwound herself from Arya, Sansa turned her gaze to him. She now seemed deadly serious. “You’ll need to find a flower that conveys your emotions for her.”
“Is there one that means ‘I’m sorry I have no game?’” Arya asked innocently.
This time, he flipped her off.
They’d taken to the internet; and with Sansa’s approval, he’d settled on pink camellias — they symbolized longing for someone.
That felt accurate to him.
Sansa had insisted on making him practice, saying he couldn’t be trusted not to fuck up again without a script. Arya had raised an eyebrow.
She’d also apparently texted Robb, who’d sent him an invitation to an event celebrating the revocation of his dignity.
But standing in her shop, he was glad for the practice.
He was ready. He’d been dreaming of asking her out for almost two months, and he was finally going to do it.
“What do you think about pink camellias?” he asked.
“That’s a bit serious,” she replied, and her voice sounded more frustrated than normal. “If you just want to get laid, I’m sure you can manage to pull some girl from a bar, you know.”
What in the gods’ names was she talking about? When had he ever implied that he just wanted to hook up with her?
“Seems like a pretty lame prize,” he said, his voice flatter than he wanted. “Why do you assume I’m just in it for the sex?”
“We’ve been through this, Jon. It’s because there’s never a second date,” she said.
She was teasing him now, surely, asking who he was buying camellias for. Her eyes were fierce. His body was on a live wire.
“Not sure yet,” he joked, grinning. “Have you got any suggestions for me?”
Daenerys had a remarkable poker face. Her voice was completely even when she replied: “You want me to pick out a completely random girl for you to take to dinner?”
He could play that game.
“I wouldn’t say completely random,” he replied, his voice as blasé as he could manage. “I’ve really been liking blondes lately, so that would be nice.”
Jon looked at her meaningfully, and he nearly exhaled in relief. There it was. Cards on the table.
But Daenerys’s reaction seemed… odd.
Angry.
“Got it. Anything else I can do for you, Jon? Or will finding you a date and picking out flowers for her be all you need today?” Her voice was full of barely restrained fury.
“I… what?” he asked, desperate for clarity.
“I’m afraid I don’t know too many blondes,” she continued. Her voice was venomous. “Are redheads and brunettes still an option? Have you decided when you’ll add green to the rotation?”
Jon had never thought of himself as a genius, not by any stretch. But her fury was making him feel like a simpleton. He was running through everything he’d said since he arrived, but he couldn’t figure out what had caused this .
In a fit of desperation, he tried to lighten the mood.
“Well, when I was 14, I did actually go on a date with this girl Wylla who had dyed her hair green.”
Later, it would become clearer to him why that was a mistake.
Daenerys literally screeched, dropping her shears on her countertop and crossing over to him, inches from his face.
“I am not participating in this farce anymore,” she yelled. “I’m sitting here mooning over you like some pathetic schoolgirl and writing up notecards about Greek history while you take out every woman in this city, and it’s ridiculous.”
A fraction of his brain had splintered off after ‘mooning over you.’ The second half of her sentence seemed to imply... but...
“Dany, I don’t—” he began.
“No!” she shouted. “Don’t you ‘Dany’ me.” She prodded him in the chest. “You come in here every single Friday, looking like you do, and you flirt with me and ask me about my dating life and brush my hair behind my ears and tell me that I’m special, and then you buy bouquets of flowers from me for other girls, and I am not doing this.”
“For other girls?” he thought, stunned. “Is she — what?”
There were no words for how fucked this situation had become. He needed to tell her, needed to explain right now that there had been some awful misunderstanding.
“Get out,” she said suddenly.
No. No, no, no .
“Dany,” he started. She’d said ‘don’t you ‘Dany’ me’ just moments before. “Daenerys—”
“Now.” She snarled.
And then she all but shoved him out the door, his mouth ajar.
Everything was so wrong.
She turned on her heel so quickly that her hair whipped him in the face, but before he could comprehend what his next course of action should be, she’d made it to the cooler.
Dany pulled out a flower and stomped back over to him, forcing it into his hand.
He had no idea what this plant was, never mind what it was supposed to symbolize — all he knew was that he needed to stop this.
Jon jammed his foot into the doorway to keep her from shutting it on him. “What’s this one mean?” he asked, desperately pointing at the soft, purple petals.
“Look it up,” she spat. Then she kicked his foot, knocking it out of its wedge in the door. He could hear the bolt slide into place — her irritated face flashing before him as she flipped her sign around, and where she once was: ‘Closed.’
He still didn’t understand how he’d gotten here. He looked at the purple flower in his hand. Several search results later, he’d determined that he was even more deeply in the doghouse than he’d thought.
Jon couldn’t believe that this entire time, she’d seriously thought he was seeing other women.
Hadn’t he been flirting with her for months? Hadn’t he nearly kissed her just last week?
Exactly how much of a cad did she think he was?
The thought depressed him.
Then again, it seemed she’d been upset, too.
He supposed he should also be disappointed in himself that he’d never seriously considered Dany might believe he was dating other people.
The one and only silver lining in all this was that Dany had outright told him she liked him.
He just needed to make things right.
There was no way he could wait an entire week; Jon would have to go in tomorrow and pray she worked Saturdays.
He sat on his couch dwelling for an hour before the solution came to him.
Dany respected symbolism.
He’d give her all the symbols she needed to tell her how he felt about her.
And then he would fucking apologize.
Then.
Jon had never been so flummoxed in his life. One of the only other flower shops in the area with any remotely decent reviews belonged to a woman named Melisandre.
The Besteros community seemed pretty clear on their opinion of her: They all agreed she had a good selection of flowers in her shop, but they also agreed that she was an extremely unsettling woman.
He hadn’t given it much thought — as long as he could find all the varieties he needed, it really didn’t matter what weird shit Melisandre liked to preach to her clients.
It was almost noon when he arrived, his morning errands taking longer than he’d hoped.
Jon had been inside The Flower of Light for less than three minutes when it became plain what reviewers had been talking about.
The shop owner was dressed entirely in red. She had red hair. An entire wall of her store was covered in red roses.
Around the front room, she’d hung what looked at first glance like inspirational posters. At second glance, it became clear that they were just vaguely threatening name-tags for her products.
He eyed the one nearest to him: Let the light of the sun(flower) chase the dark terrors away.
There wasn’t nearly enough time to unpack that.
He crossed directly to the strange woman, asking for one of each of the flowers he’d selected: a magenta lilac, an orange calla lily, a cornflower, a clump of white hydrangeas and a red rose.
With a resigned shrug, he grabbed the other one he needed — a sunflower — from the vat beneath her creepy sign.
It quickly became clear that Melisandre was not just odd: She was also unhelpful.
“What message do you wish to put into the universe with this bouquet?” she asked him.
He didn’t even know how to answer that. “I’m, uh, trying to win over a girl,” he finally said. “We had a fight.”
“You should add a red poppy,” she said in a solemn voice.
Jon pulled out his phone and searched the web quickly — Poppy, red: Consolation .
“What?” he looked up, surprised. “Why?”
“Red is the color of fire. And fire is passion,” she replied.
Daenerys would know what it meant. He felt certain that mucking up any of the flower symbolism would ruin this gesture entirely.
“I think I’ll just stick with the list I gave you for now, but thanks,” he said awkwardly.
“Suit yourself,” she muttered, turning to grab his requested stems.
He couldn’t stop himself from gazing around the store some more — there was a heady, woody smell that he suspected might have been incense. It was giving him a headache.
He read another flower label: The primrose that was promised shall bring the dawn!
Whatever reaction his brain may have had to that was cut off by Melisandre, who had finished pulling his selections.
She placed the flowers in a wrap for him, and he noticed an extra one mixed among them.
“What’s that yellow one?” he asked.
“A zinnia,” she replied, “free for you. Yellow is the color of sunlight. It will bring good energy to the bouquet.”
He resigned himself to checking what it represented the moment he got outside, rather than arguing with her now.
Melisandre seemed mollified. He paid her for the flowers and relaxed a bit.
“Thanks,” he said with a grin as he took the bouquet from her. “Now I’ve just got to hope she doesn’t tell me to go to hell.”
“There is only one hell, and it’s the one we’re living in now,” Melisandre said solemnly.
Oh for fuck’s sake.
The second he left the incense-laden shop and stepped into the late-morning air, he felt better. He slid his phone out and searched for zinnias.
Zinnia: Thoughts of friends, endurance.
He rolled his eyes, plucking the zinnia from the bouquet and shoving it into his pocket. A spark of appreciation for Dany’s meticulous knowledge rose up in his chest.
It was time.
He pulled up outside her shop, nervously grabbing the flowers. The ribbon he’d tied around them had fallen open, and he hastily looped it again — mind jumping to the dreadful art store cashier he’d bought it from.
When he stepped inside, her eyes widened.
Jon practically ran across the shop to reach her, shoving the bouquet into her space before the shock of seeing him could wear off and she could kick him out again.
But Dany didn’t take the flowers from him; if anything, she just looked confused as she stared at them.
He wondered what she was thinking. Her eyes were roving over the individual bulbs slowly, and Jon was relieved that he’d pulled the zinnia out.
Dany’s gaze moved toward the pale purple ribbon he’d tied around the stems. She was frowning. The silence felt like a physical injury.
“I hope you don’t mind. I had to go to a competitor to get them,” Jon said.
“I don’t understand,” she said. Dany had finally met his eyes, but her words frayed his nerves even further.
He pushed the bouquet closer to her. His face was burning.
This was mortifying.
“I know it’s a bit stupid looking. I was trying to get one of everything I wanted to say, but they don’t really match each other very well. The other shop’s owner kept suggesting different flowers, but I don’t think she knows very much about their meanings, because none of her suggestions made sense.”
Jon pushed away thoughts of Melisandre and her dark, incense-laden store.
She was still frowning, and for a moment, he became terribly afraid that he’d gotten the symbolism wrong. He ran over the meanings in his mind again: passion, warmth, magnificent beauty, a man in love, perseverance, romance.
“You made me a bouquet?” she asked, and this time, her voice was thin. He chanced another look at her face, and her eyes looked distinctly watery.
At last, Dany took the clumsily wrapped flowers from him. He watched as her eyes found the ribbon again.
“It was the closest I could find to match your eyes,” he volunteered. “You know, for an art store, Maegor’s is pretty light on options, and the cashier was such a punk. This kid Joffrey, I’m honestly thinking of writing a complaint—”
There was word vomit, and then there was whatever he was doing.
She looked up at him, and for a moment, her eyes were gentle. Then she lashed out again, weaker this time.
“What does this mean? You’re bored of all the other girls in King’s Landing, so it’s me now?” Her voice was shaking.
He’d been so sure that she could see through him. So absolutely sure.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Dany?” he asked softly. “There aren’t any girls. It’s only been you.”
Her eyes grew wider than saucers, working over his face to find a lie. They moved so quickly that it made him dizzy.
“That isn’t,” she started. “You can’t because… Why would you tell me you’re constantly going on dates?!”
“I thought it was a bit of a joke!” he exclaimed. “I panicked the first time I came back and said it — but I did such a piss-poor job lying that I thought you could tell.”
How much time had he wasted because he thought she was messing with him?
“We discussed your dates every week,” she replied, volume climbing.
That wasn’t fair at all.
“Technically, you discussed my dates,” he said mulishly. “I kept saying I was trying to get a first date with a blonde.”
He felt like this was an important sticking point. The only reason this had gone on so long was because Dany kept ribbing him about these supposed girls.
“Every time you brought up one of my dates, it sounded like you were cracking a joke. Do I look to you like some kind of a ladies' man? I mean, honestly, Dany, I don’t think I’ve been out with seven different women in my life. I was just trying to flirt with you.”
“Then you did a terrible job!” she spat. She was still clutching his bouquet to her chest, and he tried to hold onto that knowledge. “If you wanted to take me out so badly, why didn't you just ask me?”
This was possibly the easiest thing she’d asked him yet.
“I wanted to. Every time I’ve been here, I’ve been trying to work up the nerve. A few times, I almost asked you if you’d be willing to have dinner with me… but well, look at you.”
“Look at what ?” she asked, and somehow, she was serious.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he replied. He couldn’t even believe this was necessary.
He reached out tentatively to take her hand — his relief overwhelming when she threaded her fingers through his.
“If that’s true,” she began skeptically, “then what have you been doing with all the bouquets you’ve bought from me?”
Jon had really been hoping she wouldn’t think of that.
“Mostly been giving them to my sisters,” he admitted. He explained Sansa’s floral overload, Arya’s propensity for war heroines and ancient myths.
He thought he might be getting through to Dany finally, because when she spoke again, it lacked the vehemence of just a moment before.
“But that’s — you told me you gave the amaryllis flowers to a redhead. You said she made fun of you for it!” she said.
And Sansa had.
He clicked his phone to life and turned it to show her, pointing out Sansa in her cap and gown, bouquet in hand.
She asked about the dark-haired date, and he could hear an unmistakable tone in her voice that was both hopeful and pained.
He gestured to Arya, who looked more like him than the rest of their siblings.
“I’m not — why do any of this?” she cried out, the dying breaths of her disbelief. “Why have me write out notes if they were just going to whoever you could pawn them off on?!”
He’d decided before he arrived on absolute honesty, no matter how embarrassing it made him sound. Now he had to follow through on that.
“It gave me an excuse to spend another few minutes in here with you,” he said. “Honestly, I really thought you were on to me. I’m a shit liar, and you certainly made fun of me enough.”
The last traces of her frustration lifted from her face, and she broke out in a smile so wide that it pulverized him.
“I’m going to keep doing that, you idiot,” she grinned.
Then she pulled him to her and kissed him without another word.
It was utterly perfect.
After.
He’d made it as far as four flawless dates with Dany before his family came for him.
First, it was Robb: “Sansa says you’ve got a girlfriend. Bit rude that I had to hear it from her.”
Then Bran chimed in: “I think you should call Dad. He’s sad that you haven’t told him yet, and Mum’s getting annoyed.”
Jon had expressed his disbelief that Catelyn cared who he was dating, and Bran had quickly clarified: “No, I meant she’s annoyed at you for upsetting Dad.”
That felt more like it.
Sansa had reminded him primly that he’d promised they could meet, and Arya… well, she just reminded him that they’d technically already met.
He’d forgotten about that, actually.
In any case, he’d finally given in. At the end of his fifth outing with her, he’d brought it up.
She was beaming in front of him, sitting at a green picnic table with an ice cream cone in hand.
“So here’s the thing,” he started, “my family is deranged.”
Dany laughed, and he couldn’t help but grin.
“I’m not kidding,” he said. “I’ve now received multiple threats because you haven’t met them yet.”
Her face sobered a bit. “Your family knows about me?” she asked quietly.
For the first time since he’d kissed her, Jon felt nervous.
“Er, yeah. Sansa can’t keep her mouth shut…” he trailed off. “Is that alright?
She nodded quickly but still seemed conflicted. “Of course it is! It’s just…” She pushed her hair behind her ear and took a quick breath before looking back up at him. “I told you my brother and I don’t get along. He doesn’t know anything about you. We, uh, we don’t speak. To say the least.”
She seemed embarrassed.
It was so unnecessary.
“Dany, it’s not a competition,” he said, grabbing her free hand. “I’m not keeping track of whether or not your brother knows about me.”
Whatever thought occurred to her next caused her to brighten a bit. “Well, Missandei definitely knows about you, and she’s practically family.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “I just don’t want you to think — it’s — your family’s a big part of your life, and Viserys isn’t part of mine. I don’t want you to feel like you’re some secret to me.”
He leaned over the table and kissed her.
She tasted like strawberry ice cream.
After That.
Dany looked like she was going to vibrate out of her seat for most of the meal.
Finally, just after the server brought them their dessert menus, it seemed she could contain it no longer.
“I’m sorry. I just... Have we met before today? You look so familiar,” she exclaimed.
Arya’s grin frightened him.
Eventually.
Robb was absolutely trashed.
He’d slung an arm around Jon’s neck, and the weight of his body nearly toppled them to the ground.
His brother was shouting over the racket in the bar.
“You realize now I will have sisters with every hair color, right?” he’d yelled.
“Definitely,” Jon replied solemnly. “That’s why I’m marrying her.”
Robb slapped him on the back. “Good man.”
Then he took another shot.
Last.
Dany leaned over and kissed him on the cheek — beaming at him again.
“I can’t believe you haven’t noticed yet,” she said, gesturing toward the table in front of them.
His wife. She was his wife .
He didn’t think he was capable of noticing much else than that.
But Dany pointed again to the table, and he realized she was looking at her bouquet.
He eyed it more closely, and a bubble of laughter pealed out of his mouth.
“I didn’t recognize it, for a minute there. Looks a lot better than mine did,” he grinned.
Somehow, she’d made his awful arrangement look good.
Magenta lilacs. Sunflowers. Orange calla lilies. Cornflowers. White hydrangeas. And red roses.