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Simon’s days were quiet.
He had opened a small flower shop named The Garden of Eden in a quiet shopping walkway in Caldwell, New Jersey, and quickly fell in love with both the sleepy town and his growing collection of plants. Business was often slow, but between the soft golden sunlight streaming through the front display and the subtle rustle of leaves whenever a breeze drifted past the threshold, it was all he really needed.
Simon’s days were quiet. And that was exactly how he liked them.
Gathering his hair into a messy bun, Simon crouched beside a box of bright blooms. “Hello there, chrysanthemums. You guys are looking especially lovely today,” he murmured with a soft smile, tipping his watering can over their soil. “Maybe today will be your lucky day.”
He moved down the row to bid good morning to his asters, soft purple starbursts tucked in the corner, when the wind chime above the front door rang out with a bright, metallic chime.
“I’ll be right with you!” Simon called out. He set the watering can aside, wiped a smudge of damp soil onto his apron, and stepped out from his floral nook to greet his customer.
Standing by the display was a tall, slightly disheveled man with dirty-blonde hair. His glasses sat crooked on the bridge of his nose, and a faint stubble lined his jaw. Despite the August heat, he was wearing work-casual attire topped with a knitted fox cardigan; a choice Simon couldn't fathom for late-summer, but to each their own.
“How can I help you today?” Simon asked gently. He caught the somber glint in the man’s blue eyes and knew instantly that this wasn't a cheerful purchase.
“I just need two bouquets. Carnations and chrysanthemums. Nothing too elaborate,” the man answered, letting out a soft, humorless chuckle before reaching up to rub the back of his neck.
Hardy flowers that hold up outdoors, Simon noted. “Any specific colors?” he asked softly, guiding the man toward the cut-flower display.
“White, purple... and some orange, if that’s not too much trouble.” The stranger hovered awkwardly a pace behind him, his hands fidgeting with his sleeves.
This part of the job never got easier, but Simon took a quiet pride in it. He got to work assembling the two arrangements, trimming stems to length, fluffing petals, and weaving in delicate accents of greenery until they were wrapped to perfection.
When he turned to hand them over, he caught the man staring down at him with a mix of genuine surprise and open admiration. Simon raised an eyebrow, holding the flowers in the sudden space between them.
The man blinked rapidly, snapping out of his trance. “What– how– huh?”
Simon watched his eyes dart briefly to his left side, or rather, the lack of an arm there.
Ah. Got it.
“Nothing special. Just takes practice,” Simon said with a slight shrug. “Are you going to take the flowers, or just gawk at me?” He kept his voice deadpan, though a slight twitch at the corner of his lip gave away his amusement.
Flushing a brilliant crimson, the man hurriedly took the bouquets and fumbled for his wallet; a fabric one patterned with planets and constellations. It fit him surprisingly well.
“That’ll be $45.42,” Simon said, tapping the keys of the cash register.
The man swiped his card, and the machine chimed in confirmation. For once, Simon found himself wishing the transaction hadn't gone quite so fast.
“Oh– here.” Simon ducked beneath the counter for a moment, emerging with a small printed card. “Care instructions. It’ll help them last longer, especially out in the elements.”
The stranger stood frozen, staring at the card as if trying to decipher a foreign language.
Crap. Did I offend him? Did I misread what these are for?
Just as Simon began to pull his hand back, the man lunged forward and snatched the card, startling them both.
“Ah– sorry,” the guy blurted out. “Thank you.” He looked between the card, the bouquets, and Simon’s face. “But, uh... how did you know?”
“Comes with the job,” Simon shrugged, keeping his tone light and non-chalant.
The man nodded slowly. “Right. Thank you... and have a nice day...” He squinted at Simon’s apron, his crooked glasses doing him no favors. “Simon.”
How did he–
Oh. Nametag.
Simon offered a brief nod, watching as the stranger turned and headed for the door. Before stepping out into the late-summer heat, the man flashed one final, lingering smile over his shoulder.
Oddly enough, the shop felt a little dimmer the moment the door clicked shut behind him. Simon remained standing by the register, his eyes fixed on the entrance long after the street outside had swallowed the stranger up.
Weird guy.
Shaking off the unusual distraction, Simon headed back to his workstations to finish watering. But as he resumed talking to his plants in his usual soothing cadence, he noticed every conversation somehow drifted right back to the man in the fox sweater.
“I just hope whoever is receiving those flowers appreciates them,” Simon mused aloud. He stopped himself mid-sentence, scowling down at a pot of succulents. He had never spent this much time thinking about a random customer before.
He could practically feel the plants judging him.
—
The week came and went like any other; peaceful, with only the occasional pushy customer. But Simon would be lying if he said every door chime didn’t make his heart race just a fraction, hoping for a specific mop of dirty-blonde hair.
He was working on a few custom arrangements in his favorite corner of the shop when Saturday morning rolled in. The wind chime rang out with a soft, metallic jingle.
“Welcome! I’ll be with you in just a minute,” Simon called out, the words practically automatic. He carefully set down his floral shears and stepped out from his nook, his face softening instantly. “Good morning, Ernest.”
Ernest was an older gentleman who frequented The Garden of Eden to buy what he called “the most loved flowers” for his wife, Sandra. The devoted couple never failed to brighten Simon’s day.
“Good morning, son,” Ernest smiled back, leaning heavily on his carved wooden cane.
“Back giving you trouble again?” Simon asked sympathetically, already reaching for dark pink garden roses, deep burgundy stems, and classic orchids; Ernest’s standing order.
“Nothing I haven’t survived before.” Ernest made his way to the counter, admiring the partially finished arrangements on the table. “Have I ever told you why Sandra loves roses and orchids so much?”
“I don’t believe you have,” Simon replied softly. He knew full well Ernest told him the story every single visit, but Simon loved hearing it every time. “How come?”
“Back when we were young and kicking, I took her on a picnic date,” Ernest recalled, a gentle nostalgia smoothing his features. “It was majestic. If I close my eyes, I can still feel that afternoon breeze. Though it was nothing compared to my Sandra’s beauty. We sat chatting for hours, and just as the sun began dipping into the horizon, a little girl came running up to us. She looked at Sandra and exclaimed, ‘You’re the prettiest fairy princess I’ve ever seen!’ Sandra was completely taken aback. Before the girl ran off, she handed Sandra a handmade crown woven from wild orchids and roses.”
Simon smiled, listening intently as he carefully trimmed the stems to length.
“It stuck with her,” Ernest finished softly. “All these years later, they still make her feel like that fairy princess.”
“I hope this bouquet makes her feel just as special today,” Simon said, wrapping the arrangement and handing it across the counter.
“Your flowers always do, son.” Ernest reached for his coat pocket to pull out his wallet, but Simon gently waved his hand dismissively.
“Because of that lovely story, today’s on the house,” Simon reassured him with a warm smile.
Ernest hesitated, touched, before thanking Simon warmly and heading out into the morning air.
Smiling to himself, Simon returned to his work nook, picking up his shears and humming under his breath as he focused on his project. He was so completely absorbed in weaving a spray of greenery that a sudden, sharp yelp made him jump.
Simon whipped his head toward the sound. Standing in the succulent and desert plant section was a very red, very familiar, blue-eyed face.
His heart did an immediate, erratic flip.
When did he come in?! I didn't even hear the chime!
Clearing his throat, Simon raised a skeptical eyebrow as he tried to swallow his sudden panic. “Can I help you?”
“Uh– yeah! Uh, sorry,” the man blurted out, his hands fluttering nervously. “I came in a bit ago, but you were already helping someone, so I was just looking around. And, well, I didn’t mean to, but I completely eavesdropped! It was just super sweet and I didn’t want to interrupt, but then he left and I wasn’t sure if I should make my presence known because you looked so calm and peaceful and–” He stopped abruptly, his face flushing a shade remarkably close to a scarlet cardinal flower.
Impressive, Simon thought. The man can deliver a full run-on paragraph in a single breath.
“Is everything okay over there?” Simon asked, taking a step toward the stranger, who remained rooted to the spot. “I heard a yelp.”
The man looked away, clearing his throat and staring intensely at a hanging fern above his head. “I... uh... I accidentally poked myself on a cactus.”
Simon froze. He blinked once, twice, before a quiet snicker slipped past his lips.
“Are you– are you laughing at me?!” the guy gasped, clutching at his pearls like an offended bingo-night regular.
“You managed to ‘accidentally’ impale yourself on a plant the size of a baseball,” Simon pointed out, leveling an unimpressed look at him.
“Hey! Cut me some slack! Plants have it out for me, I swear!” The man pointed a dramatic, accusatory finger at the tiny potted cactus.
“Careful there, Sleeping Beauty. Don’t prick yourself again.”
The stranger paused mid-dramatic pose, staring at Simon for a second before bursting into a loud, boisterous laugh. The sudden sound startled Simon, making him flinch back slightly.
“Oh man! You’re hilarious, you know that?” the guy grinned, coming down from his laughter.
No, Simon did not know that, considering virtually no one else appreciated his bone-dry humor. The stranger’s genuine amusement sparked an unfamiliar warmth deep in his chest.
“Did you come in for flowers, or just to duel my succulents?” Simon asked, looking down at the guy’s hands. “Do you need a bandage?”
The man followed his gaze down to his index finger, where a single tiny bead of blood sat. He squinted at it, waved his hand dismissively, tossed out a simple “Nah,” and popped his finger straight into his mouth to lick it clean.
“There! See? Good as new!”
Simon physically recoiled, an actual shudder running down his spine. “Nope. Absolutely not.” He turned on his heel and marched briskly behind the counter, pulling the first-aid kit from a shelf. “You,” he announced, pointing directly at the guy standing there like a confused golden retriever, “go to the bathroom and scrub that with soap right now.”
The guy blinked.
“Now.”
That snapped him to attention. He dashed off toward the back hallway, and Simon rummaged through the kit, pulling out a bright pink, cartoon-princess Band-Aid he kept on hand.
A moment later, the man emerged, wiping his damp hands on his jeans. “Thoroughly washed!” he announced proudly. The kid bandage would fit him perfectly.
“Here.” Simon slid the Band-Aid across the counter, retreating safely to his side of the register. “I trust a grown adult can apply a Band-Aid without adult supervision?”
“Oh, pipe down,” the guy snorted playfully. “I teach middle school, give me a break.”
A teacher? Huh. Interesting.
Simon leaned against the counter, resting his chin in his palm. “Grover Cleveland Middle?”
The man paused mid-peel on the Band-Aid wrapper, tilting his head. “How did you–?”
Simon gave him the most deadpan ‘Are you serious right now?’ look he could assemble.
“Oh! Crap. Right.” The man mentally slapped himself. “It’s literally two blocks up Bloomfield Avenue.”
Simon nodded, his fingers casually playing with the glass charm of his necklace; a tiny, preserved sapling encased in resin.
“Yup,” the teacher continued, popping the ‘p’. “I teach eighth-grade science up the street. I came by to pick up...”
“Flowers?” Simon offered dryly.
“Ding, ding, ding! Spot on.” The guy scanned the display shelves, his eyes landing on the fresh blooms. “Honestly, I think I’ll take the same as last week, just swap the white carnations for pink ones, please.”
He spoke with such quiet reverence that Simon almost asked why. But experience had taught him that flowers often carried conversations meant strictly for the heart, far beyond the business of an outsider.
Simon nodded and turned to gather the stems.
“Wait, can I watch you work again?” the man asked, perking up with sudden enthusiasm.
Simon felt a warm flush creep up his neck. “Uhh... yeah? I guess?”
He retrieved the stems and brought them to his work surface, hyper-aware of a pair of bright blue eyes tracking his every move. He picked up his cutting knife, trimming the stems at clean angles before artfully nesting them into a holder and wrapping them in crisp brown paper. He finished off the bundle with a few sprigs of filler greenery and typed the total into the register.
“$45.42,” Simon announced.
The teacher pulled out his planet-patterned wallet and swiped his card. “Thank you, Simon,” he said softly. He picked up the bundle and turned to leave, but stopped when his eyes caught the custom arrangements sitting on the side table. “Did you make those?” he asked, stepping closer to admire the layered colors.
“Custom orders,” Simon explained, watching him take in the details.
After a quiet moment, those bright blue eyes turned back to Simon. “You really love what you do, don't you?” It wasn't a question; it was a gentle observation.
Simon simply nodded.
“You know, I wasn’t sure what to think when I first walked in here,” the man chuckled softly. “No offense, but you look pretty intense. I was a little worried this place was a front for a mob or drug dealing operation or something.”
Simon blinked, caught completely off guard.
“But now?” The teacher’s eyes softened, sparkling in the warm ambient light of the shop. “I see how much genuine care you put into every single stem. And watching you with that older gentleman earlier... it means a lot to see someone care that deeply.”
Simon had to actively fight the massive blush threatening to consume his entire face. He turned toward the register, clearing his throat. “It’s nothing...”
Once his heartbeat settled into a somewhat normal rhythm, he turned back with a small smirk. “Besides, how do you know this isn't a front for my massive underground syndicate?”
The man laughed, cradling his flowers against his chest. “Touché. Well, if it is, I’m sure Ilyukhina would appreciate any contraband you slipped into her bouquet.”
A sudden, quiet shadow settled over his face as he said the name. They stood there in the quiet space between them, the air suddenly thick with unsaid things.
Simon didn’t know who Ilyukhina was, but he knew what the flowers were for. He didn’t press. The man didn’t elaborate.
Finally, the teacher cleared his throat, offering a gentle smile. “Anyway... thanks for the flowers, Simon. See you next week?”
Simon’s heart gave a distinct thud. He nodded, unsure of what else to say as the man lit up, turning for the door. The wind chime rang out as he stepped through, carrying him back out into the morning light.
See you next week.
Simon stood frozen behind the counter long after the door settled into place. Four simple words. A quiet, unwritten promise.
Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.
—
As the sun cast its inviting golden light back through the shop windows, Simon couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. It was Saturday again, and it came with the implicit promise of a certain someone.
He knew better than to get his hopes up too high, but the teacher seemed like a man of his word; it was almost impossible not to look forward to it.
The morning started like any other, quiet and calm. A few regulars popped in, along with a couple of new faces. But as the morning wore on, Simon found his eyes darting toward the wall clock every few minutes.
7:00 AM came and went. Then 8:00 AM. Then 9:00 AM.
By the time the hands swept past 10:00 AM, Simon couldn’t disguise his growing restlessness. The man usually arrived around eight on the dot, making him two full hours past his normal window.
Did he forget? Unlikely, given how much care and intention went into buying those specific flowers every week. Did he have an emergency? Did he find another florist? Did I make him uncomfortable last week?
A dozen questions swirled in his head, and Simon hated how much they bothered him. He was just a customer. Right?
“Ugh!” Simon let out an exasperated sigh, bringing a balled-up fist down on the wooden counter with a dull thud. He instantly winced, muttering a soft, quiet apology to the polished oak.
“Woah there, bro. You good?”
An unfamiliar voice piped up from near the entrance. Simon snapped his head up to find a shorter guy standing by the door. He had dark hair with a bold aquamarine streak through the front, wore cozy-looking, earth-toned overalls, and sported an amused grin across a heavily freckled face. Chain links dangled from his geometric glasses down to his neck.
Simon could have sworn the wind chime hadn't rung. Again.
“Yeah. Sorry you had to see that,” Simon said quickly, pulling his professional composure back into place. “How can I help you today?”
The guy strode over casually, eyeing the surrounding greenery before stopping right in front of the counter. He leaned in, staring intently at Simon from entirely too close for comfort.
Simon instinctively leaned back. What is this guy’s deal?
“Umm...” Simon stammered, entirely at a loss for words as the stranger continued his unblinking inspection.
Dark brown eyes flicked down to the nametag pinned to Simon’s apron, then snapped back up. “Huh. So you're the guy Grace won’t shut up about,” he mused, finally stepping back to give Simon some breathing room.
Simon blinked. “What? Who’s Grace?”
The guy burst into a sudden, boisterous laugh. “Oh man, that is rough for Grace! Fallen head over heels for the florist, and the guy doesn't even know his name!” He wheezed, shaking his head with unrestrained delight. “That is just his luck, isn't it?”
Love?! Simon’s brain momentarily short-circuited.
“If you came in here just to spout nonsense, you’re welcome to see yourself out,” Simon warned dryly, too exhausted by his own morning anxiety to entertain an eccentric stranger. “I can feel my plants wilting from your presence.”
Was that good customer service? Not even slightly. Did Simon care? Not in the least.
To his surprise, the stranger only laughed harder. “Oh, I see why he likes you now.” He extended a hand clad in a fingerless glove. “Name’s Rocky. Nice to officially meet you, Simon.”
Simon eyed the offered hand with deep suspicion before shaking it briefly.
“Anyway, I’m actually here on a mission,” Rocky announced, dropping his hands into his overall pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Grace sent me to pick up his usual order and deliver it for him. Two bouquets; pink carnations and chrysanthemums.”
Simon froze.
He knew that exact order. He’d had both bouquets carefully pre-arranged and sitting in the back cooler since seven o'clock that morning.
“You’re here for ‘the guy’?” Simon blurted out.
Rocky paused, taken aback. “‘The guy’?”
“The teacher!” Simon rushed to explain, his chest tightening. “The guy who comes in every Saturday! He’s never once told me his name, so I’ve been calling him ‘the guy’ in my head for three weeks!”
Rocky stood dead silent for two full seconds before completely exploding into laughter. His wheezing laughter rang through every corner of the shop as he doubled over, gripping his knees and clutching his stomach.
“No way!” Rocky gasped, wiping a tear from his eye. “No way! That is too good!”
Simon retreated a step behind the counter, crossing his arm awkwardly while Rocky tried, and failed, to pull himself together.
“Grace...” Simon murmured quietly under his breath, trying the name out on his tongue. It suited him.
Once Rocky’s laughter died down to an amused giggle, Simon looked up. “Is he okay? Did something happen to him?”
“Oh, yeah, he just caught a stomach bug,” Rocky explained cheerfully, propping his hands on his hips. “He was desperate to make sure his order got picked up, though. Plus, I really wanted to meet the 'super hot and ripped florist' he keeps raving about. So really, it was a win-win for me.”
A fiery flush instantly invaded Simon’s face, spreading straight to the tips of his ears. All coherent speech evaporated from his throat. He cleared his throat loudly, trying to force his racing heart back into submission.
“Well... you’ve met him,” Simon grumbled, stepping over to the side cooler and retrieving the pre-wrapped arrangements. “And here’s... Grace’s order.”
Rocky raised an eyebrow, watching Simon set the twin bouquets on the counter. “Oh?” he teased, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Had them ready already?”
Crap. Busted.
“Just take them,” Simon growled, nudging the flowers forward.
Rocky chuckled, swiping his card through the reader without dropping his smirk. “Thanks, man.” He picked up the bouquets and turned toward the door, pausing right at the threshold. “Oh, and just in case you were curious... Grace’s absolute favorite flowers are Balloon flowers.”
With a playful wink, Rocky slipped out the door before Simon could even form a response.
Grace.
Simon stood alone in the quiet shop, the name echoing softly in his head. He finally had a name.
—
The Platycodon grandiflorus, also known as the Balloon flower.
Why was Simon closing his shop early on a Saturday evening to drive clear across the county for a single bundle? Simply because he didn’t have any in stock at his own shop. That was all. It was an inventory oversight. A professional curiosity. There was certainly no other reason.
Fortunately, late summer dipping into early autumn meant they were still in their peak blooming window. Simon silently offered a word of thanks to whatever universe was listening as he walked to the front of his shop, flipping the hand-carved wooden sign from OPEN to CLOSED. He locked up early for the evening, grabbed his keys, and climbed into his trusty rusty pickup truck, setting off down the highway.
The drive was remarkably soothing. The cool evening air combed through his hair through the open windows, sweeping away the residual tension of a long workweek. As he approached his destination, Simon slowed down, pulling into a quiet parking space along the shopping strip.
He looked up at the sign above the door, painted in clean, minimalist lettering: Flowers of Erid.
It was quaint and modern, a contrast to his own rustic, earth-toned shop, yet it retained the cozy warmth that only places filled with growing things ever seemed to possess. The chime above the door rang softly as Simon stepped inside, taking in the organized rows of cold-room displays. He bypassed the roses and the lilies, searching until his eyes landed right on what he had come for: a vibrant, fresh-cut bundle of deep blue-violet Balloon flowers, their unique unopened buds puffed up like tiny lanterns beside the fully bloomed, star-shaped petals.
Perfect.
He stepped over and picked up the bundle, cradling the stems carefully in his palm. The rich, calming shade of blue-violet instantly brought a familiar face to mind. Grace. The name echoed in his chest with a soft, persistent thud.
At the register, Simon paid for the stems and asked the cashier if they had any Platycodon seed packets in stock. Luckily, they had a small display near the register. He bought a handful, tucking them into his pocket with the firm intention of cultivating his own crop in the greenhouse for the coming summer. He’d never be caught unprepared like this again.
The drive back to The Garden of Eden was filled with quiet contentment. At every red light, Simon found himself glancing over at the passenger seat to ensure his precious cargo remained completely upright, a faint, helpless smile touching his lips whenever he looked at the soft star-shaped blossoms.
When he arrived back at his shop, the sun had already slipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep purples and oranges. Simon carried the foliage inside, set the stems in a bucket of fresh water, and cleared off his main workstation.
He didn't just want to hand over a plain bunch of stems; he wanted to build something intentional. For nearly two hours, Simon worked in peaceful solitude, testing combinations and stripping foliage.
To anchor the deep blue-violet of the Balloon flowers, he chose delicate sprays of white cosmos, their soft star-like petals balancing the rich focal blooms. Next, he tucked in tiny, vibrant spheres of golden-yellow Craspedia; small pops of sunshine that mirrored the teacher's bright, chaotic energy. Finally, he framed the arrangement with silvery-green eucalyptus and slender olive branches, giving the bouquet an earthy, grounded structure.
He pruned, trimmed, and bound the stems with practiced ease, adjusting the height of each flower until the balance felt effortless. He wanted to capture the essence of Grace in a single arrangement: his warmth, his awkward charm, his quiet sincerity. And while no one could truly recreate the brightness of the sun and coolness of the stars with mere petals, Simon felt he had gotten remarkably close.
By the time he tied off the final loop of rustic twine, the moon had risen high into the night sky. Simon set the finished arrangement on his front counter, stepping back to take in the view.
In the quiet twilight of the shop, pale moonlight filtered through the front window, resting softly across the star-shaped violet petals.
—
With the morning came the sweet, rhythmic calls of mourning doves as Simon descended the wooden stairs from his second-story apartment into the shop below. Breakfast burrito held firmly in one hand, he hopped off the bottom step and rounded the corner into his sun-kissed storefront.
He could feel it in his bones: today was going to be a great day.
It was a Monday morning, typically the most despised day of the week, but Simon couldn’t bring himself to feel put down when his eyes met his handiwork from the night before. Resting on the main counter, the bright, calming blend of violet, yellow, and soft greens looked almost ethereal in the soft morning light.
He checked his watch. 6:45 AM. Perfect.
By Simon’s mental calculations, Grace would likely arrive at school between 7:30 and 8:00 AM. Most dedicated teachers preferred getting in early to prep their classrooms, and Simon put good money on Grace being the exact type to over-prepare from love of his job. With classes starting around 8:30, arriving at 7:30 meant the front office would be open, allowing Simon to drop off the arrangement unnoticed and make a clean break.
He didn’t want Grace to know who sent them. Not yet, at least.
Would receiving flowers out of the blue at work seem suspicious? Absolutely. But Simon had a strong inkling Grace wouldn't immediately suspect the florist he’d only spoken to twice.
At least... he hoped not. Rocky, on the other hand, would figure it out in half a second flat, and Simon silently prayed to whatever higher power was listening that Rocky either didn’t work closely with Grace or was firmly on his side.
Simon hastily scribbled a handsome sign, ‘Stepped out for a brief delivery. Back shortly!’, and hung it on the front door. He delicately grabbed the arrangement, locked the shop behind him, and loaded his precious cargo into the truck.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot of Grover Cleveland Middle School, his dashboard clock read 7:25 AM.
He unlatched his truck door, stepped out into the cool morning air, and retrieved the bouquet from the passenger side, gently puffing up a few stems that had slightly drooped during the ride. Holding the flowers close to his chest, he headed for the main entrance, smiling as the double glass doors glided open without resistance.
It was turning out to be a flawless Monday.
“Hi there, how can I help you today?” a sweet, brassy voice greeted him from behind the front desk.
The receptionist was a pleasant, plump woman with her graying hair gathered into a stylishly messy bun. Her reading glasses tipped dangerously off the bridge of her nose as she looked at her computer monitor through the upper rim. She chewed rhythmically on a wad of gum, a steaming mug of coffee sitting beside her keyboard.
“Hello, yes,” Simon began, balancing the arrangement in his arms. “I’d like these delivered to Mr...”
Simon froze. Crap.
He should have looked up the school faculty directory online beforehand. Was "Grace" his first name or his last name? Rocky had called him Grace, but Rocky was clearly close with him. Was it a surname used as a nickname, or just his first name?
The receptionist’s gum-chewing slowed to a halt. She raised her eyes, staring at Simon through her tilted glasses as the silence stretched a second too long.
Welp, Simon thought, his chest tightening. Surely they’ll figure it out.
“Mr. Grace?” Simon offered weakly, bracing himself for an awkward interrogation.
To his immense relief, the woman simply nodded and began tapping away at her keyboard. “Alrighty. And who should I say they're from?”
Shiiiiit.
“Ah, it’s supposed to be an anonymous surprise, actually,” Simon trailed off, trying to sound nonchalant and failing completely.
A slow, knowing smirk spread across her face, as if she had just decoded a hidden secret code that Simon himself wasn't even privy to. She nodded knowingly and reached across the counter to take the flowers.
Simon physically winced as she handled his two hours of meticulous artistry with casual disregard. She promptly handed the bouquet over to another teacher passing through the office, whispering something in her ear. Both women slowly turned back, looking at Simon before exchanging a synchronized wink and a silent thumbs-up, as though admitting him into some elite secret society.
Front office staff were an absolute enigma.
With the flowers officially out of his hands, Simon turned and made a bee-line for the exit, his nerves making his heart race. He wished he could see Grace’s reaction when he received them, but even the thought of being caught in the act made him nauseous.
What am I, a middle schooler with a crush? He berated himself mentally. (No offense to the actual kids attending Grover Cleveland).
Simon practically jogged back to his truck. The moment he shut the door, he let out a heavy, rattling sigh into his hands before unceremoniously dropping his forehead straight onto the steering wheel with a thud.
Fuuuuuuuck. What was I thinking?!
It was far too late to march back inside and demand the arrangement back without creating a massive scene. At least he had successfully avoided running into Grace face-to-face. That would have been utterly–
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A sharp, violent knock on his driver's side window startled him so badly his entire body jerked upright, an ungodly, undignified squeak escaping his throat.
He whipped his head around. Standing right outside his door was a man beaming at him through the glass, wearing a gray bicycle helmet, wire-rimmed glasses crooked on his nose, and a pair of brilliant blue eyes shining with unadulterated delight.
Oh my god. It’s Grace.
FUCK YOU, MONDAY LUCK!
“Simon!” Grace’s muffled voice called out through the closed glass.
Maybe if I close my eyes and freeze, he won't see me, Simon panicked.
“What are you doing here?” Grace continued cheerfully, making a dramatic circular motion with his hand to mimic rolling down a manual car window.
Rolling his eyes with fond exasperation, Simon manually cranked his window down an inch and leaned back. “Hey, Grace. Just scouting out the prime spot to sell my illegal flower inventory to the local youth.”
Grace snorted, a light dusting of pink blooming across his cheeks at the unexpected joke. “Hey now, don’t go corrupting my students,” he teased gently, adjusting his helmet strap before glancing down at his watch. “But seriously, what brings you to Grover Cleveland at 7:40 in the morning?”
Okay, Simon. Think fast. Make up something logical.
“I had a delivery order for the main office,” Simon offered, his tone surprisingly level despite the thunderous beating of his heart. “Just doing my job.”
Not bad. He mentally patted himself on the back.
Grace looked contemplative for a second before nodding in complete understanding, accepting the half-truth without a shred of suspicion.
“Ah, that makes total sense!” Grace beamed. “It’s Teacher Appreciation Week, so the office gets bombarded with deliveries all morning. Probably some thoughtful parent who didn't have time to drop them off personally.”
...
...
Of course. Simon had managed to pick the one week of the semester where receiving flowers at school was a completely routine, non-romantic occurrence. What did I ever do to offend the cosmos?
Grace smiled warmly, checking his watch again before his eyes went wide. “Oh, Frizzle-nackers! I’m going to be late for homeroom!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands in mild panic. “It was so great seeing you, Simon! Thanks for stopping by!”
He turned on his heel and took off jogging toward the side doors, waving wildly over his shoulder as he ran. “See you so–oof!”
Grace caught his toe on the edge of the concrete curb, stumbling wildly for three hilarious steps before recovering his balance and trying to play it off with a casual strut into the building.
Simon covered his mouth, stifling a laugh as he watched the teacher disappear through the double doors.
“See you soon...” Simon repeated softly to the empty truck cab.
He was really starting to like the sound of those words.
—
Simon had been a nervous wreck all day.
How would Grace respond to the flowers? Would he even realize who sent them? Simon hoped so, though he cursed his own timing for delivering them during Teacher Appreciation Week.
His leg bounced restlessly under the wooden counter as he waited between customers. It was a notoriously quiet Monday afternoon, but a few local shoppers drifted in and out. As the clock ticked closer to the end of the school day, Simon found himself trapped in a vicious loop: half-hoping Grace wouldn't show up out of sheer embarrassment, and half-desperate to know if he liked the arrangement.
He was meticulously watering his cacti display when the chime above the entrance chimed softly.
His heart gave an involuntary leap before he turned, only to find a customer with long hair featuring soft purple highlights, wearing a vibrant button-down coverup printed with a retro arcade carpet pattern.
Not Grace.
“Hello, welcome to The Garden of Eden,” Simon defaulted smoothly to his customer service voice. “How can I help you today?”
The shopper browsed the floor for a few moments before settling on a pre-made arrangement from Simon’s Pride collection, a vibrant bundle of seven rainbow-hued blooms. They brought it to the register, handed over their payment, and accepted the wrapped stems.
“Thank you! Have a great–”
“Jarona!” the customer announced abruptly, turning on their heel and exiting into the sunshine.
Simon blinked. What the fu–
The chime rang a second time before the door could even settle. Simon looked up, meeting a pair of brilliant blue eyes set in an increasingly flustered, crimson face.
His heart dropped into his stomach.
“Good afternoon,” Simon managed, swallowing thickly against the sudden lump in his throat. His heart was hammering like a trapped bird. “Fancy seeing you here on a Monday.”
That’s it, Simon. Play it cool.
“Heyyyyy...” Grace dragged out, staring fixatedly at a potted fern near the door, both hands tucked tightly behind his back.
Shit. He hates it.
Simon lacked the courage to say anything more, and Grace seemed equally paralyzed. They stood suspended in a heavy, viscous silence, neither daring to break the spell.
Grace shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearing his throat awkwardly before finally speaking. “Sooo...” he began, adjusting his glasses with one hand while keeping the other hidden behind his spine. “The flowers...”
“It was stupid. I’m sorry,” Simon blurted out, unable to take the suspense a second longer. He looked down, nervously clutching the cool stone pendant hanging against his chest. The familiar weight helped ground him.
“No, no, no!” Grace burst out, taking two frantic steps forward. “It wasn't stupid at all! It was– it was super sweet!”
And just like that, the dam broke.
“I mean, when I first saw them sitting on my desk, I was completely baffled! It was easily the most breathtaking arrangement I’ve ever seen in my life, and it had my absolute favorite flowers right in the center! I was so confused, but then I remembered what you said in the parking lot about making deliveries, and I realized only a master florist like you could pull off something like that!”
Grace paused to draw a rapid breath, his cheeks flushed bright pink, while Simon stood frozen with wide eyes.
“At first, I thought maybe a group of my students chipped in for Teacher Appreciation Week,” Grace continued, gesturing wildly with one arm while keeping his other hand behind his back, “but there was no way twelve-year-olds knew I loved Balloon flowers! Then I thought maybe Rocky and Adrian put you up to it as a prank, so I called Rocky to ask. But Rocky just wheezed into the receiver for ten solid minutes, called me an absolute idiot, and hung up on me!”
Simon choked back a cough. Classic Rocky.
“So then I inspected the wrapping again,” Grace whispered, stepping closer to the counter, “and tucked inside the ribbon, I found a tiny card that said: ‘To Sleeping Beauty.’ And that’s when it finally clicked.”
Grace lifted his head, his deep blue eyes meeting Simon’s.
Simon was certain Grace could hear his heartbeat slamming frantically against his ribs.
“...And?” Simon prompted softly, his voice barely a breath.
Grace slowly drew his hidden hand out from behind his back, revealing a single, perfect stem: a rich, velvety Red Chrysanthemum.
I love you. The flower's silent language echoed clearly between them.
“...And I wanted to ask if you’d humor this dorky teacher and go on a date with me?” Grace asked, his voice trembling slightly with quiet vulnerability.
Simon’s breath hitched in his throat. Both of their faces were burning bright red.
When Simon stayed silent a second too long, paralyzed by utter disbelief, Grace’s smile faltered. He began to slowly retract the flower, his expression twisting into one of quiet, heartbroken rejection.
Simon wanted nothing more than to erase that look with a kiss.
“This fool of a florist would like nothing more,” Simon declared softly.
He reached across the wooden counter, wrapping his large, calloused, scarred hand gently over Grace’s smaller ones, holding the chrysanthemum together between their palms. Grace let out a soft, surprised squeak at the touch, his entire face brightening like the sun.
“What did you have in mind?” Simon added, unable to keep a helpless, dopey grin from spreading across his face.
“I... I honestly didn’t think I’d get this far,” Grace admitted sheepishly, ducking his head.
Simon let out a low, warm laugh, his expression softening as he looked at the man before him. “Well... I’d love to meet the two I’ve been making bouquets for every single week.”
Grace’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, that’s... that’s probably not the best first date idea,” he stammered gently. “They aren’t...”
Grace trailed off, catching the knowing, gentle warmth in Simon’s eyes. He realized Simon already understood.
“I’d like to thank them for being the absolute best wingpeople,” Simon said quietly, his thumb rubbing comforting circles over Grace’s knuckles. “Only if you’re comfortable, of course.”
A soft, tearful chuckle escaped Grace’s lips. “I think they’d really appreciate that,” he whispered, leaning into the touch. “They would have loved you, Simon.”
Golden afternoon sunlight streamed through the front display windows, dusting their cheeks in warmth as the flowers around them bloomed quietly in the late summer light.