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As with so many things in Clarke's life, the free flowers thing starts to spite someone.
Although, when she thinks about it, going back, the whole flower shop thing started to spite someone. Because the flower shop has been on her father's side of the family for generations, and her mother has never liked that. Abby fell in love with her husband in spite of his working-class roots, and Clarke used to think it was romantic, until she realized how little interest her mother had in really thinking about Jake's family. Once they married, Abby expected him to give up his old life, and he had, but never as much as she wanted him too. He still helped his parents out, and the wedge between his life and his wife's expectations was enough to end the marriage.
So when her father took over the shop when she was in high school, she started working there, and stayed part-time through college, and when he died her senior year, he left it to her, and she took it over. It's actually a good fit for her, and her mother even came to accept it. Mostly, Clarke suspects, because she'd rather have a daughter to show off at parties than a daughter to talk around in conversations.
Anyway. That's how she get the shop, and it's a year later that she starts giving away roses, because a bunch of drunk frat guys come in (on a Tuesday morning, who the fuck is that drunk on a Tuesday morning?) and one starts trying to talk her out of a flower.
"It's this whole thing," he says, vague. He thinks he is much more charming than he is, which was a problem she had a lot in college. College boys are convinced they have moves, and they really don't. "You could have, like. Daily flower giveaways. If your name is Chad, you get a free thing. Whatever kind of flower."
"That is actually a really good idea," she says. "Is your name Chad?"
"Yeah. I can be your first," he adds, with a waggle of his eyebrows. "You can give me your rose."
"Wow. Tempting. Any of you named Isabelle?" she asks.
The frat guys look confused; one of them finally says, "No?"
"Cool. First name is Isabelle. If your name isn't Isabelle and you aren't buying anything, clear out of the store, thanks." Her smile is bright and cheerful. "Any actual purchases?" she prompts, when they still aren't moving.
They clear out, and the next day, Clarke buys a sandwich board to put outside: If your name is PETER, come inside for a free flower! It really is a good idea, just to get people in the door, and she appreciates it, in a limited sense.
But she's never going to put Chad as the name of the day. She knows how to hold a grudge.
*
She's been doing the free-flower giveaway for about a year when The Guy shows up.
It is, so far, a great promotional tool, and she has some grudging appreciation for Chad the Frat Bro for his insight. Maybe he was a business major. Maybe he'll actually be good at it.
She usually gives away three or four free flowers a day, which is pretty good, and some number of people come in just to ask about it, or to request their own name. Sometimes, she switches it up; when The Force Awakens opens, she does If your favorite Star Wars Character is..., and for the week of Valentine's Day, she goes with If your significant other's name is...
The Guy comes in on a Friday afternoon in October, when the name on the board is ANGELICA. She's been doing a Hamilton theme this week; she's really looking forward to doing AND PEGGY on Sunday.
She notices The Guy because he comes in during a pretty quiet period, before most people are out of work, and he's got perfect curly black hair. Clarke doesn't see a lot of guys with perfect hair. It's a big deal.
He looks around for a few minutes, but she doesn't really buy his interest, and it's not a surprise when he comes to the counter, leaning against it with a calculating look. He has freckles, in addition to his perfect hair; it's a nice combination.
"I have a complaint about your sign."
"Which one? I have a lot of signs."
"The one outside. If your name is Angelica--"
"That was my first guess. What's the complaint?"
"Don't get me wrong, I like the Hamilton theme. But you know how much those signs suck for people who don't have common names? Or, even worse, people who have common names, but don't have common names in the US."
"My name is Clarke. With an e at the end. So I get some of that. Not the non-US names, but still." She considers. "Did you have a suggestion, or do you just like complaining?"
He snorts. "I do like complaining. How do you pick the names? I know it's not Hamilton every week."
"How long has this been building?"
"You're on the way to the train station." He pauses. "And I named my little sister and then spent my entire childhood getting blamed for how she could never find anything with her name on it at souvenir shops."
"What's her name?"
"Octavia."
"Oh, wow, yeah. That one never hit my radar, honestly."
"I bet you're out of Bort license plates too," he says, and looks adorably pleased with himself when she laughs. Like Simpsons references are a hard sell or something.
"I don't think there's any natural way I can use Octavia for my giveaway without looking like I'm specifically targeting your sister. Is she local? Is she cute? Would she appreciate it?"
"She's got a boyfriend, so I don't think there's much point in you trying to lure her in with a free flower. But if they ever break up, I'll let you know."
"So your outrage is theoretical."
"You haven't hit my name yet either," he says. "I doubt you're going to."
"What is it?"
He smirks. "That would be telling."
"That's exactly what it would be, yeah. The general response to asking is telling."
"If you find it, I'll be sure to get my flower," he says. "But, like I said, there's no way."
*
She has Saturday and Sunday covered with the rest of Hamilton week, so it's not until Monday that she can put RUMPELSTILTSKIN in as her name of the day. She gets a few people coming in to claim it, and anyone who does gets a free flower, but there's no sign of The Guy, and Clarke will admit to being a little disappointed.
He makes it in a few minutes before closing.
"So close," he says, and she grins.
"Getting warmer?"
"Much closer than any of the Schuyler sisters." He drums his fingers on the counter. He bought a pot of catnip the last time he was in, and he's cute, so Clarke probably isn't going to kick him out if he keeps her a little late. "Did you get anyone?"
"For what?"
"I guess any of it. It's a cute gimmick, but I'm wondering how much it works."
"Want to know the secret?"
"Sure."
"It can't fail. It creates business because it's cute and people like coming in to talk about it. I don't check IDs or anything; it's worth a few free flowers." She pauses. "Okay, I'd check yours."
She has yet to make him laugh, not really. It's always this little huff of breath, something soft and a little grudging. It's not really a complaint; she likes it. It feels earned. "Hey, I haven't been lying to you," he says. "I'm telling you things aren't my name."
"I'll still want proof."
"Yeah, okay. If you ever find my name, I'll give you proof." He cocks his head. "Seriously, how many Rumpelstiltskins?"
"Eleven. It was a good day for me. They all thought it was hilarious. The sign is great for foot traffic."
"Glad it's working for you."
She considers, but he's here and offering conversation, and she might as well keep it going. "So, if I had theme weeks using most common names from other countries based on google, you think that would be good or kind of racist?"
"Huh." He seems to really be thinking it over. "How do you do it now?"
"Still google, just different stuff. Most popular names in a given year, sometimes theme weeks. Whatever I feel like, basically."
"I'd just switch it up," he says. "Doing non-white theme weeks is weird. Just mix them in with the other names, if you feel like you aren't getting enough. it's not like plenty of countries weren't colonized, anyway," he adds, a little grudging. "A lot of common Filipino names are going to make your boards."
"Are you Filipino, or do you just use that as your go-to example country?"
"Half," he says. "My dad was. We lived there until I was four, but he died and my mom brought us back here."
"So, I should be looking at common Filipino names."
"I wish." He looks around the counter, grabs one of the little planters she has that go on the edge of a cup. "Sorry, you're closing soon, right? Just this, thanks."
"Sure." She rings him up, and he gives her a smile.
"Thanks, Clarke. Good luck with the sign."
"Appreciated, mystery guy."
That gets another huff of a laugh out of him. "That's me, yeah. Total mystery."
*
Clarke doesn't really have regulars, not like she knows exist at bars and coffee shops, or even clothing stores. People need flowers almost every day, for dates or anniversaries, funerals and apologies, but they aren't the same people, day in and day out. She has a guy named Jasper who comes in at least once a month, because he's good at getting first dates, but not second ones, but aside from that, her regular customers are on a much longer scale. There's a guy who comes in twice a year, every year, on his anniversary and his wife's birthday, to buy her the same arrangement he's been getting her for thirty years, and that's what she's used to. That's her kind of regular.
The Guy becomes a completely different kind of regular.
He comes in at least once a week, at different times, but always on weekday afternoons. He chats with her a bit about the week's signs, all of which he's clearly read, and confirms that none of them were his name. He always buys something, like he feels guilty if he doesn't.
After a month of this, Clarke decides she'd better start snooping.
"How old are you?" she asks.
He blinks at her from behind a display of day lilies. "What?"
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-nine. Why?"
"Research. I need to figure out some way to guess your name, right?"
"And my age is going to help?"
"It can't hurt. Demographic information. Name popularity fluctuates."
"If my name was common for my demographic, I wouldn't be so sure you wouldn't figure it out."
"You know, I'm starting to think you have a really normal name. Like--" She does a quick search. "Michael."
"Michael?"
"Most common boy name in 1987," she says. "According to google."
"It's not Michael."
"Were you born in the US or the Philippines?"
"US."
"How old is your sister?"
"Twenty-two."
She does another search. "Octavia was the 563rd most popular girls' name in 1994."
"She's '93. Her birthday is next week."
"Sorry. 517. Way more popular that year."
He shakes his head. "Do you just have all this stuff bookmarked?"
"I have some weird downtime."
"You work here full-time, right?"
"More than full time. I'm the owner, and I'm trying to keep my staffing costs down."
That actually gets a surprised look. "You own it? How old are you?"
"Twenty-five."
"How popular was Clarke in 1991? For names?"
"Eight-hundred twenty-five."
"Wow. What's the site? Now I'm curious."
Clarke gives him an unimpressed look. "You want me to tell you a website instead of just giving me your name so I can check for you? Right now? While I'm doing it?"
"Don't tell me you want me to just give you the answer," he says.
"No," she admits. "But this is, like--what's in my pocket? levels of bullshit riddles. It's not a good puzzle if I don't have any way of figuring it out. And you're not making it sound like there's some demographic I'm totally neglecting, and your name is really common there. You have a weird name. Cool. If I'm going to guess, I need some more information."
"Yeah, okay. So, do you want me to tell you, or do you want to keep asking me unhelpful questions like how old I am?"
"I want to figure out better questions."
His grin is bright and sharp. "Any ideas?"
She considers. "Were you named after someone?"
"Sort of." He seems to think it over, and then says, "My mom's maiden name."
"Okay. That's somewhere to start."
He ducks his head. "Most people would have told me to fuck off."
"I might have, but you caught me on a good day," she says. "I like mysteries."
*
"How many today?"
Clarke is busy working on an order when The Guy comes in, so the sound of his voice surprises her, and she cuts her hand on a thorn.
"Ow, fuck."
He looks genuinely horrified. "Shit, are you okay? I'm sorry, I didn't--"
"It's okay," she says. "I'm surprised I didn't hear the bell."
He snorts at that, and she raises her eyebrows. "I guess you were in the zone," he offers.
"I'm always in the zone. Come on, I need to wash this out."
"Where am I coming?" he asks, but he's already following her.
"There's a sink in the back. And a first-aid kit."
"Wow. I usually just stick toilet paper on it and hope for the best."
"I was pre-med in college."
He takes a second to consider this. "How do you go from pre-med to florist?"
"It's a family business. My dad left it to me when he died."
"When was that?"
"Two years ago."
"And you're keeping it open? You get enough business?"
"My mom subsidized me at first. She hates the store but she'd be more embarrassed if I starved to death, so here we are. And I do pretty decent business. I'm supporting myself at this point. It helps that we already had a customer base, and they liked my dad."
"Huh. Good for you, I guess."
"Thanks. Your grudging support means the world to me." She puts some antiseptic and a band-aid on her hand. "I can't figure out what you do."
"You can't figure out my name either."
"But I have a lot more information about your job."
"Yeah?"
"You wear collared shirts and ties, which is more formal than a lot of places require. You said you come by after work, which is sometimes around three and sometimes closer to six, so your hours are pretty variable. You seem to get most holidays off, based on when you came in after Christmas, so--" She snaps her fingers. "Never mind, just got it. Teacher."
"Wow. I, uh--yeah. I wasn't expecting you to guess."
"I'm good at this. What do you teach?"
"History. High school."
"I can see that."
His smile is a little wry. "Thanks, I think."
"You're working a pretty strong nerd vibe."
"I was assuming it was mostly an asshole vibe, so I guess that's an improvement. Did that help you with my name?"
"Nope." She considers. "Is your name a common last name?"
"Not common, no. I know it is a last name, but--I've never actually met anyone outside of my mom's family with it."
"This might not be possible," Clarke admits. "Etymology?"
"Uh, French. I think." He gives her a rueful smile. "Honestly, I'm learning way more about my name than I knew before with this."
She has to grin. "You're feeling guilty, aren't you. You're realizing there is no way for me to ever guess your name."
"I didn't think you'd really try," he admits.
"If I ever get overcome with curiosity, I'll just ask," she says. "But it's fun, right?"
His mouth tugs up in a smile. "Yeah," he agrees. "Fun."
*
Her first break isn't until March She's at the park, sketching and enjoying the warming spring weather, when someone calls, "You're a fucking asshole, Blake!"
As sentiments go, it's fairly common, and she doesn't look up, not until she hears, "Takes one to know one, Miller!" and it's--The Guy. The sign guy. He's wearing a soft-looking green hoodie and jeans, laughing with a guy in a beanie as they look out over the lake. There's a frisbee in there.
"Dude," says the beanie guy. Miller, she guesses. "What the fuck."
"It was an accident."
His name can't be Blake. Not unless he was lying to her. But it's--something. Maybe his name is really hard to pronounce, and it's a nickname. Maybe he goes by his middle name.
Blake, she thinks. It doesn't exactly suit him, but it's not bad.
"I'm not getting it," says Miller.
"You want me to get it? I'd rather just give it up for dead. Buried at sea. Viking-style."
"It's my frisbee."
"I'll buy you a new one. It's fucking fifty degrees. That water would give my hypothermia. You'd miss my junk if it froze off."
It's been long enough that Clarke thinks she can interject without Blake realizing she heard his name--or part of it--and he is loudly talking about his junk in a public park. So she says, "You'd have to stay in pretty long to get hypothermia."
He actually jumps, whirls around to look at her with open disbelief and horror. His friend is laughing.
"Thanks for the medical advice, bench girl," he says. "See? It's fine."
"That's Clarke," Blake corrects. "She doesn't know my name."
She's grinning too, almost as much as Miller is. "Wow. I always wondered how you'd introduce me. That was even more awkward than I thought it would be."
"Hi," he says. "Sorry about--everything about this."
Miller is looking more and more pleased. "Dude."
"Shut up," says Blake. "She runs that flower shop by the train station."
"Oh," says Miller. "You know he's obsessed with your signs, right?"
"Yeah, I was getting that impression."
"So, uh, what are you doing here?" Blake asks.
"The correct line is Do you come here often?" Miller supplies, and Blake elbows him.
"Go jump in the lake for your frisbee and leave us alone." He gives Clarke a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I guess I just--I didn't think you lived around here."
"Why would I ever live close to my work?" she teases. "Makes no sense."
"Assume I'm really bad at thinking through basically every interaction I've ever had with you," he says.
"I got that impression too," she says, and she can't stop smiling. It's weird to be flirting with a guy whose name she doesn't know, right? But he's a cute guy whose name she doesn't know. "I'm drawing and pretending it's warmer than it is." She moves over a little, even though there's already plenty of room on her bench, and he takes the invitation to sit next to her.
"Yeah, we were playing frisbee and pretending it's warmer than it is."
"Until you threw the frisbee in the lake."
"By accident. Miller's the one who didn't catch it."
She grins. "Clearly entirely his fault. I don't think your junk would actually freeze off, by the way. You'd come out relatively unharmed, with all your, uh. Vital organs."
He goes red again. "I'm still sorry, by the way."
"I'm not. It was funny."
"I guess that's about the best I could hope for." He shifts a little closer. "What are you drawing?"
They stay in the park until Clarke realizes she's getting cold, and she almost kisses him goodbye when they part ways. She wonders if maybe she should have. It's just--it's nice. He's good company.
"See you soon?" she offers, and he smiles. Looks like he might want to kiss her too, for a second.
"Yeah. See you."
*
On Monday, her free flowers are for anyone named BLAKE OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT, which gets her eight Blakes, seventeen curious people, and then, finally, Blake himself, five minutes before closing.
"I should have said, the play is kicking into high gear, so I'm going to be scarce this week." He makes a face. "Probably the whole month. Play then spring break. I'm going to be a mess until April."
"So you're not just running away because I finally figured out your name."
He looks mildly embarrassed. "Yeah, uh--that's my last name. Sorry."
"So, your first name is some obscure French last name, and your last name is--Blake."
"Yup."
"Wow. You ever consider switching them?"
"I like my name." He wets his lips. "You know, last name is really pretty good. That basically counts as--"
"Nope," says Clarke. "I got a taste of power. I'm going to figure out the first name."
He laughs, ducking his head. "You know, I honestly believe you. Even if I'm not sure Miller calling me Blake counts as figuring it out."
"You didn't tell me," she says. "So it counts. Blake," she says. "Something Blake."
"Something Blake," he agrees. "Getting closer and closer."
*
He's chaperoning a field trip over spring break, which means he won't be around at all, and Clarke makes it two days before her sign kind of loses its shine. Not that--she doesn't think she was anywhere close to figuring out his name. But she knows he saw every one, and she liked that. Without him paying attention, it just doesn't feel as exciting to change the sign, honestly. People notice it, but no one appreciates it like he does.
So Wednesday, she changes the name to Octavia and just figures she'll leave it until it works.
On Friday, a girl comes in and says, "My boyfriend said you were giving away free flowers to anyone named Octavia. For two days."
"Three days." She regards the girl, curious. She's about the right age to be his sister, and she does look a little like him, Clarke supposes. She's much whiter than he is, but she's seven years younger and his dad died when he was four, so there's no way they have the same dad. Hers could be white. It seems entirely possible. "Is your name Octavia?"
"Yup. I've never actually seen a sign with my name on it before." She leans on the counter. "Let me guess. You're Bell's flower shop girl, and this is somehow his fault."
"Bell," she repeats.
"Oh, was I not supposed to tell you? That's not actually his name, so I'm not technically giving it away."
"Yeah, I was gonna say. I didn't think Bell was a French last name."
She rolls her eyes. "That's what he told you? God, he's such a fucking dork. You better like him."
"I do, yeah. He's still on vacation, right?"
"Not really. He's sending me non-stop texts about how much he hates chaperoning, so it's not like he's actually relaxing. He sucks at relaxing." She cocks her head at Clarke. "So, you really were looking for me? Do I get a free flower?"
"If you tell me your brother's name and when he's getting back, yeah."
"That doesn't sound free," says Octavia, but she's smiling. "That doesn't count as cheating?"
"I know your last name is Blake because of your brother's friend Miller. So, no. I feel okay about this. I'm using resources at my disposal."
She taps her jaw, like she's thinking it over, but Clarke isn't worried. Octavia clearly knows how to have fun. "Can I have any flower?"
"Any one you want, yeah."
"Bellamy comes back Sunday night," says Octavia. "I want a cactus."
*
On Monday, Clarke's sign says, If your name is BELLAMY BRADBURY BLAKE, come inside for a free flower! and he shows up right after school.
"Were you stalking me while I was gone?" he asks. Bellamy. It suits him. He looks like a Bellamy. Of course, she's never met another Bellamy, so he's the actual definition of a Bellamy. Which is cool too. He gets to be the only one.
"Yup. Did you know Bellamy doesn't make the top one thousand last names in France? I was never going to figure it out."
"Nope. I did try to warn you. How did you?"
"Found your sister."
"So, actual stalking. Nice. I guess did give you her name."
"I just put it on the sign," she says. And then she can't help adding, "For three days."
His grin is huge, white and perfect and they are totally going to make out. "I think it would have been easier to just ask me."
"Don't tell me you weren't really excited to see your name on that board."
"Yeah, okay, I was." He wets his lips, steps a little closer. "Is it weird if I say I missed you? When I was gone."
"I put out a beacon for your sister," she says. "I think it's pretty safe to say I missed you too."
"Awesome. Can I get a free flower, or do you need to see my ID first?"
"ID, definitely."
He pulls his wallet out, finds his license and gives it to her. "So, yeah. I'm Bellamy. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, Bellamy," she says, smiling. His picture is cute, and it's nice, seeing his name right there. Bellamy Blake. Just as uncommon as he promised it would be.
"So, this might be too soon, since we just introduced ourselves, but I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner with me sometime."
Her grin feels almost painful. "Yeah?"
"Maybe Friday. If you're free."
"I'm free, yeah. Dinner would be great."
He shows up five minutes before closing for the date too, wearing his usual school clothes and looking kind of frazzled.
"Sorry, I was going to be here earlier, but I had some students stay late, so--hi."
"You know you're an hour early, right?"
"Yeah. But I wanted to get some flowers before you closed. I've got a date, I wanted to make a good impression."
"I think your impression is pretty set at this point. Flowers aren't going to make a difference."
"Yeah?"
She tugs him down for a kiss, melting into it as his arms slide around her. It feels like she's been waiting forever. But it was worth it.
"Okay, you're right. That seems like a pretty good impression," he agrees, warm against her lips.
"Worth a date, for sure. And a free flower, if you play your cards right."
He laughs. "You have nice flowers. I better play my cards right."