Ch-2: The flower seller

Sitting in his shop, the flower seller was quite in a conundrum.

How long had he been sitting like this?

He didn't know.

All he cared for, was the bouquet he was making for the big man.

His biggest masterpiece yet. A bouquet made with 36 million roses.

Spending the last 8 hours to prepare every rose, trimming the stem carefully, removing all the thorns with a small blade, he was completely in the zone.

Suddenly the bell of his shop's door rang, did a customer come inside?

But he didn't make bouquets for others, he only made them for the big man. He had no time to attend to other customers.

Or perhaps, it was the big man himself? It would be quite the rare sight since he never ever came in his shop.

To his surprise, the one who walked upto his work table was the gardener herself.

"Ah! What a pleasure to have you!" he exclaimed.

He had never expected her to ever come to his shop, but she did and he wasn't complaining.

He liked having her around.

He liked his visits to her garden.

"Where is my cart?" she asked ignoring his excitement.

"The cart? Oh! The cart. Yes, it's right behind the counter. I would have dropped it in your garden myself after I was done with this. Why did you take the trouble?" he asked kindly.

"Don't bother. I can see you are already very busy with your bouquets." she said eyeing her roses on his table all meticulously prepared to be included in the bouquet.

Her eyes then fell on his hands.

She had never seen them before for he always covered them with black leather gloves.

But now she could see the pale white hands, covered with cuts and band-aids. Probably due to the flower seller cutting the thorns apart from the roses all day.

"Do you need a band-aid?" she asked noticing a fresh cut on his thumb which was dripping blood.

"Oh, yes please. Thank you very much." he said immediately taking on her help.

She went to the counter and opened a drawer to which he had pointed, finding some antiseptic and band-aids, she returned.

He paused his work and turned around to face her placing his hand in front of her.

Wait, did he expect her to tend to him?

After all this time when he would take away her roses?

The nerve of him!

But as soon as she was about to place the things on the table and leave, planning to leave him hanging, she noticed his eyes.

His black, sharp hunter eyes never showed any anger. Especially not to her.

She could sense his soft gaze whenever he looked at her.

And it had a charm.

He was annoyingly charming.

It truly angered her for she just could not choose to ignore them.

Giving an inaudible sigh she gently took his hand and dipped the cotton in the antiseptic, before cleaning the cut.

'His hands should have been soft' she thought.

But they were rugged with multiple old, half healed cuts all covered with scabs.

His nails were surprisingly well maintained, given the fact that he always covered his hands with gloves whenever he appeared out of his shop.

After cleaning, she gently blew on it, drying the antiseptic before taking out a band-aid and applying it.

He didn't pull his hand away.

She didn't let his hand go.

The two stared at each other.

Though he was sitting on a high stool, she was almost face to face with him while standing.

The staring continued, the silence stayed.

It felt just right.

She suddenly felt that quite a few seconds had passed like this and quickly let go of his hand.

'It's definitely because of his charm. Why the hell is he so handsome?" she thought to herself.

It wasn't her intention to hold onto like that, but she couldn't help it.

There was a pull inside of him.

For now it was weak, but it was warm and cozy.

'I should stay away from him' she thought.

"Goodbye" she said as she took her cart and left the shop abruptly.

Not letting him say a word.

Words.

They are quite frustrating.

If said, they can cause frustration.

If not, they will cause frustration.

The garden seller definitely wanted to say something.

An apology?

For his staring, which according to him, might have made her uncomfortable.

A thank you.

For expressing his immense gratitude towards her.

But he wasn't given the chance.

He stayed there, sitting, on the stool. Contemplating for a moment before sighing and turning to continue his work on the bouquet.

He was the best in making bouquets, the workers around the manor all admired his work. The big man did too, but his admiration remained for a short while before he would demand for something even better.

He had long given up the hope to satisfy the big man.

He just did his job now.

Not because of the very hearty pay he received, but due to the fact that the gardener stayed here.

It was all worth it for him, for he just wanted glimpses of her in the garden.

The occasional conversations they shared would make his day even more worthwhile.

But today was definitely different.

He felt it.

But he was unsure.

He didn't want to assume.

He had made peace with the fact that assumptions kill.

'I will talk to her later' he promised himself, before completely indulging in his work once again to complete the bouquet of the 36 million roses.