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When Thomas Barrow first meets Richard Ellis on a rainy Saturday morning in his little flower shop in the heart of York, he is sure this man must have set foot across that threshold in a misunderstanding.
Because this man in the white shirt with the rolled up sleeves that expose his tanned arms, and the brown, dishevelled hair, seems at least as out of place in this small, chaotic flower shop as Thomas would feel in an operating theatre.
But then the customer turns to him, ice-blue eyes brush brown ones... and Thomas feels like drowning in the ocean at the sight of them. It almost takes his breath away as he examines the stranger from head to toe. From the neatly ironed shirt to the flared trousers and the sparklingly polished shoes, it just screams professionalism, making Thomas feel out of place in his own shop in his work clothes.
But what instinctively draws Thomas in is not the customer's clothes, but his smile. A smile that seems to light up the whole room, transforming the grey, rainy day into a sunny, hot summer day.
And of course the man's eyes, which still have a firm grip on Thomas, have captivated him and robbed him of any logical thought.
'He's hot' is the first thing that flashes through Thomas's mind at the sight of the man, and he might as well have banged his head against his counter at the thought.
Of course, Mr. Barrow, once again we prefer to think with our cock rather than our brain.
Thomas cautiously looks at the customer, who is now looking at the various flowers on the counters and trying to bring the carousel of thoughts in his head to a halt.
After a few seconds of quiet, but not unpleasant silence, Thomas remembers that he is the salesman in this shop and that he should rather take care of the outrageously good-looking man before he comes to the conclusion that Thomas is probably mentally unresponsive today.
Although Thomas is not quite sure whether this would be an outright lie and not at least a little bit true.
Thomas clears his throat awkwardly, his heart suddenly beating twice as fast as it was ten minutes ago. Old traitor.
'Can... can I help you?'
The gentleman turns to Thomas and gives him an almost exaggerated smile.
'I'm... I'm looking for a present.'
Thomas doesn't miss the quiet hesitation in his undertone and he raises his eyebrows in surprise.
Since when does this so confident-looking man hesitate to talk to him?
But finally Thomas just shrugs his shoulders and gives the customer a friendly smile.
'Professionalism. Professionalism!' the voice in the back of his head almost seems to scream, and Thomas jerks out of his trance, which he has spent, to his horror, looking into the man's dreamy eyes.
'Well, if you're looking for a gift, our tulips are always very popular. We have both yellow and red' he points to a small pot in which tulips of various colours are blooming. The stranger nods and a slight smile plays around the corners of his mouth.
'He has a sweet smile' Thomas thinks, and he could slap himself again for his treacherous brain and his disturbingly fast-pounding heart.
When the customer finally leaves the shop ten minutes later with his bouquet of tulips, the feeling creeps over Thomas that he has not seen the last of this man.
And he is not sure at this thought whether he should rejoice or scream about it.
It takes exactly five days for Thomas' fears to come true with a soft jingle at the shop door and a grinning customer.
Thomas' heart automatically starts beating a few beats faster and he feels his mouth go dry.
'What... can I do for you today?' he hates the way his voice trembles, the way his cheeks glow and how betraying the panicked expression on his face must look.
The man gives him an almost affectionate smile, Thomas almost throws it out of his shoes at the sight, and points to the blue forget-me-nots.
'I would like a bouquet of forget-me-nots.'
Thomas opens his mouth to retort something sarcastic, but then closes it again without having achieved anything. Something about the man's grin and raised eyebrows silences him like a fish.
The man radiates a certain... authority and dominance that was certainly not there the last time. As if the man had transformed into another person right i front of his eyes. But then Thomas shakes his head. Probably just a trick of the light.
He studiously ignores the excited tingling in the pit of his stomach, why does his entire body suddenly feel like it is covered in ants, and begins to assemble a bouquet of forget-me-nots.
The man in front of him eyes his work with a critical gaze, but his mouth is adorned with a shy smile. Thomas is sure that if the man had known Thomas was watching him out of the corner of his eye, he would have thought twice about smiling.
But Thomas cannot prevent his heart from doing an involuntary leap at the stranger's smile and his hands from suddenly feeling hot. And this despite the refreshing air conditioning, which makes the scant thirty degrees outside the shop more or less bearable.
After Thomas has successfully arranged the forget-me-nots into a bouquet and bundled them with a beige cord, he notices that the man is giving him a questioning, almost shy look. As if he would like to add something else, but doesn't dare.
This confuses Thomas even more than all the other aspects of this man.
Not the fact that he buys different flowers from Thomas every few days.
Or the looks the man gives him in an almost subtle way.
But that his body, his whole manner, can change so quickly and abruptly.
From a strapping, almost radiant aura that lights up the whole room and almost shouts authority, to an expression of shyness, almost insecurity.
Imperceptibly, Thomas shakes his head. He will probably never make sense of this man. Instead, he gives him a friendly smile.
'Can I get you anything else?'
The man must have been very deep in thought, because as soon as Thomas' voice breaks the already almost creepy silence, the customer's head shoots up so quickly that Thomas can only hope he hasn't pulled his neck with this abrupt movement.
The customer gives him a nervous look before finally opening his mouth and muttering in reply.
'Would it be possible to enclose a small card with a signature with the bouquet?'
Thomas, puzzled by the man's sudden uncertainty and shyness, just nods silently, disappears briefly into his small side room with various accessories and utensils and reappears with a variation of different coloured cards. He will probably never be able to make sense of this man and his strange mood swings.
The man takes his time to look over the various cards before finally raising his head and giving Thomas a cheeky grin.
'Which one would you take?'
This question throws Thomas so much off his stride that he just stares at the man blinking for a few seconds before finally pointing to the blue card with an inward sigh.
'The customer is king! No matter how annoying, tedious, sarcastic, pretty and sweet he may be!' it flashes through his mind in a last attempt to remain professional.
The man nods approvingly at the blue card and Thomas digs it out from under the other colours and clears his throat awkwardly 'What may I write?'
The stranger... is he still a stranger at all? Thomas has the feeling that he has spent centuries with this man in his little flower shop, and this without knowing anything about him.
'Except that he probably has a lover out there to whom he regularly gives flowers' whispers the mocking voice in the back of Thomas's head, which Thomas tries in vain to suppress. A painful twinge spreads through the pit of his stomach.
Don't think about it. Don't. Think. About. It.
If he tries with all his might to suppress this apprehension, it might not come true either. Although Thomas is aware that it is probably wishful thinking.
Naivety.
Infatuation.
'Nothing. You don't have to write anything. Except maybe... my signature.'
Under other circumstances, Thomas would now probably have been only more confused. But inwardly he had already given up the struggle to understand the man in front of him.
'And what is that?'
'Ellis.'
Thomas nods, just beaten, and writes the name on the front of the card.
The man... Mr. Ellis... Thomas gets hot and cold at the same time at the thought of finally knowing the stranger's name, nods contentedly and gives him an excited smile.
A small part of Thomas urges him to tell Mr. Ellis his own name. But this is, first of all, a stupid, impulsive decision and, secondly, not necessary.
Not when Thomas' surname is already written in big letters on the front door to his shop.
Thomas' lovesick ideas will eventually send him to his grave.
When Mr. Ellis has finally paid and the tinkling shop bell rings his farewell, Thomas hopes with all his heart to have seen this man today for the last time in his life. And this despite that grinning voice in the back of his head sneeringly whispering to him that the exact opposite is probably the case here.
Thomas could have screamed.
In fact, it is over a week before Thomas sees Mr. Ellis again. He has almost given up all hope and would have preferred to throw caution to the wind in order to find Mr. Ellis himself.
So much for 'we're not in love'.
But when Mr. Ellis finally stands in front of Thomas' counter on a sunny Saturday morning, Thomas feels as if someone has just poured ice water on him. His heart is racing, his hands feel ice cold, while the rest of his body seems to be sweating.
Maybe I'm sick... The flu! Yes, that must be it.
In the middle of summer?
Thomas almost tried to shoo away that annoying voice of reason in the back of his head with his hands, but was able to control himself at the last moment.
Mr. Ellis probably already has certain impressions of Thomas, which don't seem to be all that advantageous.
Instead, Thomas straightens up to his full height... and catches an unwanted glimpse of a large bag sitting on the floor next to Mr. Ellis.
Thomas' curiosity is now only more inflamed... he could have cursed. Instead, he gives Mr. Ellis a shy smile, which hopefully doesn't seem too shaky.
'What would you like today?' Thomas tries hard to give his voice a professional undertone, even though his entire body seems to scream anything but professionalism at the sight of this man.
His knees are as soft as jelly and his heart is pounding so treacherously fast that Thomas feels Mr. Ellis must be able to hear it, as loud as the throbbing in his ears, like the blood that must have rushed to his head long ago.
How can it be that his otherwise cool head now seems to be on fire? Whether from shame or infatuation, Thomas really can't tell anymore. His hands feel cold and in a desperate gesture he clutches his small garden shears so that at least one of his hands looks as if he has something more important to do than to control himself from constantly looking at Mr Ellis' lips and imagining what it would be like to kiss them.
In a last attempt to make himself look at least a little less pitiful, Thomas straightens up to his full height, with which he still does not tower over Mr. Ellis, much to his chagrin, and looks Mr. Ellis straight in the eye.
A mistake.
For Thomas cannot prevent his head from being catapulted into the clouds for good at the sight of these two deep oceans, and when he finally releases himself from his rigidity with a desperate jerk, he could swear he saw a lewd grin on Mr. Ellis' lips.
But before he can really grasp this, it has already disappeared and Mr Ellis clears his throat again before his gaze slides barely noticeably from Thomas' eyes down to Thomas' lips.
Out of line, like a defiant child.
This look, however brief and inconspicuous it may have been, merely rattles Thomas even more and for a few seconds he seems to sway on his feet before he finally gets hold of the edge of the counter with one hand and, breathing heavily, why does he suddenly feels as if he has just completed a marathon, returns to a firm footing.
All these little reactions seem to snap Mr. Ellis out of his own rigidity as abruptly as if Thomas had poured a bucket of ice-cold water on him. Mr. Ellis blinks five times, Thomas has counted, and only to give himself an excuse to stare rudely long into Mr. Ellis's eyes, then shakes his head gently and puts on his usual smile, which today, however, seems a lot more crooked than in recent weeks.
'Please excuse me. I was... in thought.'
Thomas almost laughed. With the last ounce of his will he just manages to keep himself from bursting into an incredulous snort. It is possible that Mr. Ellis was in thought. But hardly in thoughts of the same kind that are riding a rollercoaster in Thomas' head.
After a short, uncomfortably silent pause, during which Thomas would have preferred either to ask Mr. Ellis to leave or to kiss him, Thomas is finally shown mercy when Mr. Ellis begins to speak again.
'I would like a small bouquet of roses. '
If Thomas had not been bound to the highest professionalism by his position, in which he is apparently already fighting a losing battle, his lower jaw would have landed on the floor after these words at the latest.
Roses?
Hasn't the man bought enough from his little shop in the past few weeks?
Thomas feels a painful prick near his heart, which has now calmed down again.
You don't just buy roses to put on your kitchen table at home. Roses are special. You don't buy roses for yourself.
Inwardly, Thomas curses himself for this ridiculous reaction. Mr Ellis is a customer. Thomas only knows his name because he once asked him to write it on a small card next to a bouquet of flowers. They never spoke except for the standard 'please' and 'thank you', 'good day' and 'goodbye'.
And yet Thomas is behaving just as if his ten-year relationship had broken into a thousand shards right before his eyes.
Thomas can almost feel the blood rushing to his face again and he is more than happy to use his work as an excuse to turn his back on Mr. Ellis and take six long-stemmed roses from his work surface and start cutting them to size.
'Is there a special occasion for the roses?' Thomas could not prevent his brain, which was probably no longer ticking correctly, from coming up with these words and no sooner had his mind realised this than the letters had already jumped from his lips and are now standing in the room.
Droning loudly in the dead silence.
Thomas wishes the ground would just open up under him. But of course it does not. Instead, Thomas does his best not to look at Mr. Ellis and, if his eyes do change course at some point, to keep said look as disinterested as possible.
'Right, since your body and mind have told you often enough how disinterested you are' this perky voice squeals in his head and Thomas feels the need to bury his head in his hands and be far, far away.
Thomas can almost hear Mr. Ellis' mischievous grin. When Thomas finally turns to him and presents him with the roses, Mr. Ellis gives him a long look.
'You could say that. May I?'
Confused, Thomas nods and Mr. Ellis gently takes the roses from his hand. He then reaches for the mysterious bag next to him on the floor and pulls out a much larger bush decorated with all kinds of flowers.
Yellow and red tulips, blue forget-me-nots...
Thomas suddenly becomes incredibly hot in his work clothes. All flowers that Mr. Ellis has bought from him.
Mr. Ellis gently places the bouquet on the counter and gives Thomas such an affectionate smile that the heat now travels down his back to the back of his neck.
'Would you have a red ribbon?'
Thomas no longer reacts confused to this request from Mr. Ellis. This man really can't shock him with anything any more. Instead, he just nods his head dryly and disappears briefly into the back room to fetch red ribbon and a golden cord.
Thomas' heart has already been crushed by the roses anyway. If Mr. Ellis now wants to assemble the flowers for his lover here in front of him, Thomas is not going to stop him.
With careful, almost gentle movements, Mr Ellis begins to integrate the roses into the bouquet so that the different colours and shapes form a pretty pattern. Last but not least, he reaches for the ribbon that has already been cut and wraps it around the stems of the various flowers. As a final dab, he pulls out a small card from his suit, at the sight of which Thomas' breath catches in his windpipe. It is the same card he picked out from him a week ago.
'What do you think?'
The question throws Thomas off even more than if Mr. Ellis had shouted at him. He looks incredulously at the customer on the other side of the counter and Mr. Ellis now seems to have stopped playing hide and seek. Instead, there is a challenging grin on his lips, which Thomas would like to wipe off his face with a kiss.
Thomas takes a deep breath, drops his tense shoulders and replies as tonelessly as possible.
'The bouquet is beautiful.'
He tries to ignore the fact that the butterflies in his stomach are happily partying.
Mr. Ellis grins. But not this challenging, sarcastic grin. An honest grin, almost a loving smile, which seems to pierce Thomas, to dig into his heart.
I'm glad,' says Mr Ellis, playing with the little card on the ribbon of the bouquet.
'It would be a shame if the recipient didn't like the bouquet.'
And with these words he hands the bouquet to Thomas Barrow, who has frozen into a pillar of salt.
Within those few seconds, Thomas' body has imperceptibly jumped into 'fight or flight' mode and even Mr Ellis' encouraging smile doesn't help calm the unsettling grumbling in his stomach.
On the contrary.
With great difficulty, Thomas manages to ignore the telltale thumping of his heart and merely gives Mr. Ellis a suspicious, yet amused look.
'And you think the best way to win me over is to gift me the exact same flowers you have previously bought in my shop?'
It took Thomas a lot of effort to get this sentence across his lips without stuttering and he looks Mr. Ellis firmly in the eye. But the man in front ofhim grins mischievously.
'Who said I wanted to win you over?'
Silence.
Absolute dead silence, which eats into Thomas' bones along with its coldness, freezing his heart and making his legs give way beneath him.
His hopes, just hovering above the clouds, have just been crushed with full force by Mr. Ellis on the ground between them. Thomas feels the bile creeping up his throat and he is sure he will throw up on the floor in front of Mr Ellis within the next few seconds.
But finally Mr. Ellis breaks free from his rigidity and seems to take pity on him.
'If I wanted to win you over, I would certainly not try to convince you with such a cheap trick as your own flowers. You'll have to trust me a little more than that.'
Trust?
Thomas' thoughts are on a rollercoaster, his head seems to be spinning and he no longer knows what to think, let alone believe.
Mr. Ellis grins mischievously and Thomas would like to kiss that dirty grin off his lips.
'Instead, I would invite this beautiful, intelligent, witty and sarcastic man in front of me to dinner with the greatest of pleasure. Because even I cannot simply resist such an appearance.
Saturday night at the Italian restaurant in York? My treat.'
With these words, Mr. Ellis reaches for his hat, which he has placed next to Thomas on the counter, grabs Thomas' hand and breathes a gentle kiss on the back of his hand.
'I'd be flattered if you'd come.'
While Thomas just stares at him as if thunderstruck, Mr. Ellis turns towards the exit and is already standing with one foot in the doorway when Thomas finally catches himself.
'Thomas. And... I'd love to.'
Mr. Ellis turns around, and this time Thomas sees it. That glint in his eyes that radiates such warmth and security that Thomas instinctively feels as if someone has put a fluffy blanket around his shoulders.
The corners of Mr Ellis's mouth twitch barely noticeably.
'Richard.'
With these words he finally turns around, steps through the door and lets it fall shut behind him with a soft jingling of the shop bell.
For a few seconds, it could have been years, Thomas remains frozen, mouth open, in his usual place behind the counter, watching Mr. Ellis, until he finally gives himself a break and casts an enquiring glance at the card dangling from the bouquet of flowers.
On it, of course, is Mr. Ellis's.... no, Richard's name. But when he opens the card, he discovers something else. A telephone number. Nothing more, nothing less.
Thomas smirks and looks at the now once again closed shop door.
That door may have closed behind Richard Ellis. But Thomas Barrow has the feeling that a new door has just been opened for him.
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