Chapter Text
The doorbell chimed just as she reached for the watering can. It was barely nine, and the sun hadn't even warmed the cobblestones outside her laneway shop. Saige Adams wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at the front door, surprised anyone was visiting the store this early - let alone out buying flowers.
He was tall. Lean. Hands in the pockets of a faded hoodie and sunglasses pushed up into a mess of blonde hair that looked like it hadn't been brushed since sunrise. The kind of customer who didn't follow the difference between a daisy and a dahlia but would buy both with a crooked smile.
She braced herself.
"Hi," he said, his Australian accent thick, voice smooth, quiet and almost sheepish. "I, uh... kind of forgot my mum's birthday. I need something... nice."
Saige blinked in apparent disbelief. "You forgot your mum's birthday?"
"I didn't forget. I just - lost track of the days. Pretty long week."
She looked him over. "Okay."
He smiled, but she didn't return it. She turned and walked behind the counter, brushing past stems of lavender and eucalyptus. "Any allergies I should know about? Or strong opinions about carnations?"
"No allergies. I trust your opinion. And... you look like you know what you're doing."
She paused mid-snip. He didn't say it like a flirt. He said it like a fact.
"I do," she replied, matter-of-fact. "Colors?"
"She likes purple. And white. Nothing too loud."
A challenge. Subtle but elegant. She moved with quiet confidence, plucking a few delicate lisianthus, trailing clematis, and creamy freesias. He watched her work, standing a respectful distance back like the flowers might bite if he got too close.
"You always open this early?" he asked.
"Some people still believe in mornings," she murmured.
"Not me," he said with a half-smile. "But this was worth getting out of bed for."
She lifted an eyebrow. "The bouquet or the guilt?"
"Both," he admitted, and she nearly cracked a smile.
Nearly.
When she handed him the bouquet - neatly wrapped in kraft paper and tied with a soft linen ribbon - he looked genuinely impressed.
"Wow, these are beautiful." he said, holding them like they were made of glass. "What do I owe you?"
She told him the price. He paid in cash, a few notes crumped from a back pocket.
"Thanks again," he said, stepping back. "You saved me."
Saige leaned on the counter. "Don't make it a habit."
"I'll try not to." he reached for the door, then turned. "What's your name?"
"Saige."
He nodded slowly. "Well nice to meet you, Saige. I'm Oscar."
She offered a polite smile as the door shut behind him, the bell chiming once more. Then she looked down at the counter, where a single freesia petal had drifted loose.
Oscar.
It wasn't until her assistant arrived an hour later, eyes wide, that she learned which Oscar had just walked out of her shop.
"You met Oscar Piastri and didn't recognize him?"
"Should I have?"
"Only if you live on Earth!"
Saige didn't blink. "I don't follow racing."
But later, when she swept up the stray petal, she caught herself smiling anyway.
Just slightly.