There's one thing that absolutely everyone knows I adore. It's a given, even when I'm not busy spending hours of business in my shop, pulling at the tiger lily petals lazily with a chin resting on my other hand. I carry the shop's scent with me wherever I go, simply dripping with the luscious taste of God's sun-kissed, beautiful creatures -- flowers. I even look like a flower in some respects, always wearing a healthy, green sweater that my mother knitted for me way back in medieval times when Jesus walked on water and dinosaurs roamed the earth. Yeah, I'm telling you -- she was that old. She died at, what, six hundred? The same age as this nameless flower shop. It has my name basically -- a large, squeaky sign that swung with the wind that says FLOURIST in large, Magenta letters. The paint's chipping off again. I should get Namine to paint it soon.

Maybe it isn't just the sign. Maybe there just isn't anyone in town who wants to buy a dozen, unkempt roses for their sweetie. Should I spiff up the shop a little -- add a little…"pizzazz"? A playground out front for the kids? More ads in the paper? Discounts? Nonono, I won't let my mind stray toward that idea. Usually when a store's doing bad and they decide to make everything dirt cheap, everything goes downhill from there. My eyes wander as Namine, that cute, blonde little girl stoops down to sweep some dirt into the dustbin. The only noise in the whole shop is the soft scraping of the broom's tendrils gently meeting with the concrete. The shop needs something more…mooore…atmosphere.

And just as I think about it, my prayers seem to be answered. I think it's just my imagination at first, but I seem to be hearing a guitar, the notes steadily getting higher, going abruptly back down, back up…the tuning of a guitar. Huh. Someone's tuning a guitar outside my flower shop. Lovely.

I nonchalantly pass Namine's stooped body to look out the window, spying a young man sitting at the steps directly outside the shop. The back of his head -- it's so fluffy and cute. His body is perfectly poised against the instrument, his fingers moving up and down its neck as naturally as water running down rocks. His eyes are closed. My God, he's a natural at this, isn't he? And there's a hat, a black beret sitting right next to him on the step, open up for tips. A few people pass by, dropping quarters and dollars into it, and he stops his playing completely to stop and wave and cry his, "Thank you!" Holy God, he's so adorable.

"Um, Sir, may I clock out?"

I snap out of my reverie, feeling my cheeks go hot as look at the girl directly at my side, apparently having watched me look the boy completely up and down. She holds her arm tentatively. I nod and bid her farewell, watching as she tells the boy "excuse me" and laughs at a small joke he throws out. Laughter…so the shop's finally getting some personality.

I find myself forgetting about my job these days, as good as it seems to be working out now. It's funny how easily it works out. Every day he plops his guitar case down on the step, pulls out the guitar and plays such fantastical tunes. I'm starting to get regulars. Who gets regulars at a flower shop? It's all him, I'm telling you. All him. And I'd thank him for it, but I can't bring myself to do so.

Namine's easily making friends with him. She once actually set next to him for about fifteen minutes, talking about who-knows-what. I stared on at her, a bit envious if I do say so myself. I would talk to him, I would thank him…I really would, but…I don't know. I'm afraid I'll scare him off. I drop my head back to the order of gardenia's on the counter, but am forced to bring it back up moments later at the tinkling sound of the door's bell.

"Hello!"

OhGodOhGodOhGod it's him. It's him, he's in my shop, walking about with his boyish stride, looking around at all my flowers, inching closer and closer to the counter. I don't lift my head up until his hand reaches the counter in front of my face and he stoops a bit to look up at me.

"Did you fall asleep?" he asks. I straighten myself up so quick that he gasps, jumping. No, don't run, don't run, please.

"No, I'm just…thinking…"

"Thinking, huh?" he mutters, a nice stroke of conversation somehow with his glowing smile, his drumming fingers, and the way he just rolls his head to look at the place as if there's much more to look at than there actually is -- as if the place is vast and awe-inspiring. I feel the corners of my mouth tilt up. He's just so cute.

"I thought I'd thank you," he says, his beautiful, sea-green orbs finding my blue slits, "I've tried to find a good place to play, but this town is full of shops and the shop owners always complain. Someone even called the police on me once without warning."

My eyes widen. "That's ridiculous! Why would they do that? Your music is amazing!"

The young teenager shrugs, kicking the ground. "Ah, well…can't please everyone like I can you, huh?"

"Thank you."

I couldn't help myself. I had to get it out eventually, but the boy looks confused. "Huh?"

"I should be the one thanking you," I try to elaborate to sound more intelligent, "because if it weren't for you, the shop would be closing down."

"Oh…really?" The realization comes delayed, but it's incredible how his eyes light up like that. I just want to break out into tears and hug him and get it over with.

"Really," is what I say instead, smiling. I gain a little boldness, plucking a white rose tinged with blue from a vase and holding it out for him. "Here. Free of charge."

The boy slowly unfolds him fingers, looking at the plant with a sort of awe, then clamps his hand around it, but it falls to the ground when he cries out in pain, holding his hand. I would ask what's wrong, but I already know. Crap, he pricked himself!

"I'm sorry!" I cry, rushing out from behind the counter, "I should've cut the thorns off! Completely forgot, I'm so sorry!"

The boy laughs. "It's okay, it's okay. It's just a little prick. I've had worse." He makes to stoop down and pick up the rose, but I do instead, setting the blood-thirsty plant on the counter violently.

"It's not okay!" I say, my voice nearly cracking as I pull him into the backroom by the elbow. "Sit." I sit him down on the nearest chair, the legs of it sliding a bit on the floor. I rush to the cabinet, pulling out some disinfectant and a band-aid. I wrap the bandage around his index finger as he watches. He looks at me straight in the eye when I'm done, me still stooped down on one knee. Then he smiles, and…kisses me on forehead!?

I feel myself wanting to say, "What'd you do that for?" but I just can't put it into words. It was just…on the forehead and I'm spazzing out about it, my face getting so hot. So dizzy…

"Thank you again." he laughs, bounding out of his chair and looking down at me. He expects me to lead him out, so I leap up and power walk back into the actual shop, hide my face from him, scramble for the rose, hold it out for him, and he takes it with more care, smiling I'm sure and heading out, the bell ringing in his wake. I look up just in time to see him turn around the corner.

Forehead? Meet counter.

Bam.