Chapter Text
It was a rather casual Wednesday at the Leafling as Jamie passive-aggressively takes unintelligible notes from the soon-to-be-wife opposite her.
She knows by now that none of the bride’s dreams will come true. They usually don’t.
It’s a damned circle of life; to dream of things and places and people and to come out having none.
Jamie knows this better than most. She’s lived a life filled with disappointment and resentment.
Not for herself; but for others. For dreamers, like that bride who still can’t decide between red and white or blue and white.
“I just don’t see the difference, honey. They’re just flowers.” Jamie’s internal demeanor does a flip, her outside smiles right through the pain as much as she can. “No offence.” The bride waves her off.
Jamie just grins at her and places her chin in her right hand. Bored or concentrated; both looks work for her from the outside perspective.
She has since given up on taking notes and simply doodles her thoughts for a wedding that definitely needs to be saved.
If not by the caterer or the priest or whoever attends these things, then at least by her beautiful flowers.
The given budget can easily be worked with and from what she has gathered about these two…interesting lovers, she knows exactly what kind of flowers work for them.
Jamie decides on flowers that look beautiful even if they burn.
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One disaster saved Jamie decides to move on with her day.
There’s an internal battle about closing up early and going to witness Owen’s tremendous ego in his newly established Restaurant, or staying until late, hoping or more praying that some random guy bursts through her brittle glass doors again.
Again, trying to save his love, his marriage, his whatever.
Jamie doesn’t care and she doesn’t start now. As if her body had just turned 90, she slumps from her stool next to the messy counter filled with doodles and arrangements and loudly sighs into the empty shop.
“If one more of ya suckers dies I’ll- “Her glass doors open with such a force, for a blink of a second Jamie feels them shatter into a million pieces. They don’t. Not yet.
“It’s a nine! It’s a- “His hands digging into his knees, back hatched like an old lady, a head full of black curls (ones Jamie isn’t jealous of) and round Harry Potter glasses that went out of style 20 years ago he finally catches his breath as Jamie stares on:
“I need the nine! It’s- “Another annoying breath intake.
“It’s bad.”
Jamie rounds her head away from the clearly distressed and quite annoying tall man. She sighs as she does a loop around the store and puts together a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
“Bubbly and happy, right? You said.” Jamie doesn’t make or need eye contact to feel the confusion on the guy’s face.
“Last time. When you burst through ma’ doors.” Her voice doesn’t indicate anger. Pure annoyance is more like it.
“Ohh! Yes. That’s correct. She’s, well, she’s beautiful and perfect and…” The tall man now actually stands tall as Jamie rounds back to her counter, still a mess, as she pushes notes and arrangements aside.
“Don’t need to hear it, mate. That’ll be $14,50.” Still no need for eye contact.
Jamie can hear the tall man shuffle closer; her eyes now lift from anywhere else to him.
He fidgets with his wallet, pulls out a $20 bill and hands it with shaking hands to her still very clearly annoyed face.
“For the door-thing. I promise, it won’t happen again. Scouts honor.” He smiles at her.
Jamie wishes she could mentally vomit.
She nods at him and takes the money with a quick swift movement from his fingers.
“Good luck.” You’ll need it she doesn’t say.
“Thank you. And hopefully not until next time.” His laugh is steady and he smiles as he says it.
Somehow, Jamie still feels offended.
“Treat her right.” Is what flies out of her mouth before she can kick the counter with her boot for getting involved and offering advice.
“I will, thanks again.” He bursts out of the store even more quickly than he burst in.
Somehow, she finds this impressive and finally, damn finally, it’s quiet again.
Jamie still stands behind the counter, $20 bill in hand when the glass doors close and don’t reopen.
Violently she opens the beat-up cash register and puts the money inside. A day’s work.
With the click of the closed register, as Jamie looks back to her store’s doors; one of the glass door shatters into a million pieces.
All she does is watch and stand steadily as people gather and look at the glass on the floor as if a person just died.
And Jamie thinks; maybe one just did.
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After shooing away the so very helpful and innocent bystanders with nothing more important in their lives than shattered glass on the floor, Jamie picks up the broom and gets to work.
The garbage talk from most of the onlookers make her ears hurt, if that was possible. She feels like it is.
Of course the best solutions to this are headphones; swiftly put in after she brushes a bit of brown curls out of the way. Not quite sure what her mood is or is supposed to be; she sets her playlist to shuffle.
She’s not angry or blames the tall weird guy, who ever decided to build pure glass doors into this establishment was an idiot and now she finally has a good reason to get them replaced with different ones.
Wooden; maybe with safety glass? Will that fuck up her budget? Yes. Will that stop glass from shattering all over her precious store? Definitely.
She thinks on it as she moves the broom from one end to the other, moving the million pieces of glass around. Like a dance, with only herself.
A tap on her shoulder gets her to grab the broom like it’s a weapon, which everything handled the right way in her hands is; she noticed.
In a practiced, but not perfect defensive stand, broom in both hands, ready to strike, she looks at a now sad tall weird man. Harry Potter glasses and a faded smile.
Nothing like earlier.
“Jeezus, you scared the shit outta me, man.” With an unnecessary but cool trick she puts the broom down, leans it against her, and pulls her headphones out.
Reaches for her phone and presses pause.
“Sorry, I was just walking back home and I saw you here and just thought you maybe needed help?” He tries to smile but it’s not working.
What about her amazing dance-moves with a broom and her calm demeanor told him she needed help? It’s glass. On a floor. She has a broom. It’s not 1850 anymore.
“Don’t need any help.” Cold but direct. She won’t ask why he looks like his mum told him he can’t have a sleep over. Absolutely destroyed.
Her eyes don’t leave his for a while, but as they slowly do, she notices her bouquet is no longer in his possession. She makes no comment on it.
“Gotta finish this, yeah.” She tells him while she moves around, back to her shattered glass door that’s now in a million pieces.
“Wait- Just. I could use some advice. Flower advice?” His feet move a little closer and he almost reaches out for her. Jamie hisses internally.
She bets it’s not flower advice he seeks.
“Mate, my front entrance is scattered across the fuckin’ floor. Can’t put up a sign that says “Closed” so just imagine it, yeh?” Jamie continues to clean the glass off the floor; she doesn’t put her headphones back in. She doesn’t know why.
“I know, I just. I gave her the flowers and she loved them but I just- I think she doesn’t love me?” At the second love his voice breaks a little. Just like his heart, Jamie assumes.
She can’t contain the sigh that leaves her lips.
“Look, mate. I don’t get involved in my client’s love-life. But if she doesn’t love ya, she doesn’t love ya. Can’t force love, ‘s simple as that.” Jamie doesn’t look at him, she knows exactly that her words hurt. The truth usually does.
“Yeah, you- you’re right, I guess.” He sniffs. “I just love her so much, it’s- “
Jamie turns sharply, some unseen glass splitters creek underneath her boot.
“Can’t force it. Let it go and don’t bother your local florist with your love life. See a therapist or some shit.” At this point Jamie has given up what he thinks of her. She’s tired, annoyed and most of all: not interested.
“Sure, thanks.” The little annoyance in his voice gives Jamie a boost she didn’t know she needed.
Glasses-guy starts to walk away and Jamie dares to take one last look at him.
“Or glass doors again now that he’s gone.” A small chuckle.
Jamie unpauses.