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“Clem! Really?”
There’s soil spilled all over the front entry way. The flushed man fumbles with the torn bag, trying desperately to get a grip on the plastic in a way that would stop more dirt from pouring out. Unfortunately, he only manages to rip it more.
“Sorry,” Clem says.
Spike sighs. It’s fine. He can deal with this. It is just another thing to add to the growing list of things gone wrong. Spike Pratt is nothing if not good with adapting to shit situations.
“It’s fine, Clem,” he says, “Just an accident. We’ve got a broom around here somewhere…”
Sure, renting an empty space and opening up a flower shop isn’t the typical kind of post-breakup behavior, but… Well, it wasn’t the typical kind of break up either. A man has to do something new when his life falls apart, right? The move from New York to Los Angeles the moment his old buddy Clem mentioned that he was looking for a new roommate felt almost fated. Dru probably would say-
No. Don’t think about Dru today.
Spike sweeps up the spilled soil while Clem finishes organizing the other bags. The shop looks a bit of alright, Spike thinks. There’s plenty of potted plants that he can sell along with bouquets, which is good since the potted ones will last longer. Plus succulents were “in” these days, weren’t they?
The location isn’t exactly the cozy little flower shop like the one he grew up near. His shop is one of many stuffed into the city, right between a restaurant and a tattoo parlor. Hopefully the restaurant might bring in some customers on first dates and anniversaries who want flowers to add to the romance. Hopefully the tattoo place won’t mind if he plays punk music sometimes.
He wonders if they do piercings too. He used to have a lot more of those. Though, the nipple rings were more Dru’s idea than his…
Spike groans and shoves the broom down harsher.
“Not a fan of dirt, huh? Surprising for someone who works in a flower shop,” a voice says from behind him.
The owner of the voice is a gorgeous blonde woman in dark jeans and a black tank. Her arms are crossed, and he can see the inked design on her right bicep. Daffodils. Those hold a range of meanings, varying from the story of Narcissus to good news to rebirth and new beginnings. He knows that they’re also sometimes used in cancer research awareness and there’s that beautiful line by Woodsworth-
“Hello?” The blonde waves, her smile more uncomfortable now.
He’d gotten in his head again.
“Right,” he says, trying to mentally backtrack, “Oh. Fine with dirt when it’s in the pots. Less chuffed when the soil ends up places it’s not meant to. I’m sorry, we’re not technically open yet…”
“Oh, I know,” the woman says, “I just thought I’d say hi to the new guy. Buffy Summers. I own Slayer’s Tattoos.”
Her introduction is punctuated by an extended hand that Spike takes immediately. She’s warm to the touch. Her grip is also firmer than expected.
“It’s a decent neighborhood,” she goes on, “Clem says you’re new to the area? He plays some board game thing with a few of my other friends. If you want food recommendations, the place next to you is decent but stay away from Doublemeat. I worked there for a bit in college and you do not want to do that to yourself. Also don’t let the costume shop owner talk you into drinks. He likes to haze new guys.”
Buffy keeps talking while Spike finishes cleaning up. She also picks up one of the remaining bags of soil with surprising ease for someone so small. Small but strong and with hair that seemed to reflect the shop’s light like rays of golden sun…
Maybe the move really will be a good thing.