Chapter Text
As Poppy leaned against the worn countertop, the rich tapestry of sounds, sights, and scents enveloped her in a cocoon of creative energy.
The pink walls, softened by years of shared stories and artistic expression, radiated a gentle warmth that contrasted with the vibrant hues of ink displayed on the walls. The ambient lighting cast a soft glow, accentuating the details of every tattoo machine, each one a testament to countless hours of craftsmanship and personal narratives. The eclectic collection of body jewelry, gleaming under the display lights, whispered stories of individuality and self-expression.
In the background, a catchy pop song served as a melodic backdrop to the symphony of the tattoo needle's rhythmic buzzing. The sound, both comforting and familiar, resonated with Poppy's heartbeat, synchronizing with the pulse of creativity that flowed through the shop. The muffled hum of conversations between artists and clients, punctuated by laughter and occasional exclamations, contributed to the vibrant ambiance, creating a lively mosaic of shared experiences.
Poppy's gaze, momentarily diverted from the bustling main street, wandered over the intricate designs adorning the walls. Each piece of artwork told a unique tale, from the delicate lines of a small butterfly to the bold strokes of a full-sleeve masterpiece. The shop, like a living gallery, embraced the diverse stories of its clients, becoming a sanctuary for the celebration of individuality.
As she continued to hum along with the song, Poppy's fingers tapped rhythmically against the glass countertop, becoming a silent percussion in the orchestra of creativity. The air within the shop carried a distinct scent—a blend of antiseptic, ink, and the faint aroma of scented candles—a sensory cocktail that fueled Poppy's artistic spirit.
Immersed in this creative haven, Poppy felt a sense of detachment from the external world. The occasional pedestrian passing by the window and the distant traffic noises merged seamlessly with the shop's ambiance, creating a harmonious coexistence of the two realms. In this corner of the world, Poppy was not just a tattoo artist; she was the curator of stories, the guardian of memories, and the weaver of ink and emotions.
As life flowed by outside her window like a river, Think P'ink stood as a timeless sanctuary, a place where the tangible and intangible elements converged to form a haven for those seeking to etch their stories onto the canvas of their skin.
Cooper, Poppy's closest friend, was in the midst of setting up his workstation, his tall and lanky frame moving with a certain awkward grace. Standing at six feet tall, his dark complexion and warm, dark eyes contrasted with the slightly disheveled blue locs that framed his face. A goofy smile seemed to be a permanent fixture, revealing his laid-back and friendly demeanor. A tattoo adorned his neck, a trait that differentiated him from his twin brother.
Poppy had specifically chosen Cooper to handle this particular client because the man had shown signs of nervousness about getting his very first tattoo. She knew that Cooper's easygoing and slightly clumsy charm would be the perfect antidote to the client's jitters.
As he set up his equipment, Cooper glanced over at Poppy, a mischievous grin on his face. His workstation, a riot of colors with an assortment of vibrant ink bottles and doodles on the table, reflected his eclectic personality. A quirky bobblehead nodded in agreement as he arranged his tools with a touch of clumsy charm. "You really know how to keep things interesting, don't you? This guy's first tattoo, and you're sending him my way. Hope he's ready for a dose of Cooper charm!"
Poppy chuckled and playfully rolled her eyes. "Well, I figured your style was the best match for what he wants. Plus, you're the master of putting people at ease, so it's a win-win. Just, you know, try not to scare him away with your bad jokes."
Cooper laughed heartily, the warmth of his laughter filling the room. "Don't worry, Pop. I've got this. I'll be the epitome of professionalism… with a dash of charm, of course."
As Cooper meticulously arranged his tools and prepared for his appointment, he couldn't help but share another joke. "You think he'd appreciate a good knock-knock joke while I work my magic?"
Poppy smirked, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "I think we'll save the jokes for after the ink, Cooper. Let's make sure he leaves with an amazing tattoo and a smile on his face."
In stark contrast to the colorful and lively atmosphere at Poppy's station, Barb held court in her dedicated corner. The subdued lighting highlighted the intricate details of her black and gray tattoos, while the steady buzz of her tattoo machine created an almost meditative ambiance. The walls, adorned with framed sketches and awards, testified to the artistry that unfolded in this corner of the studio.
At 5' 9" Barb was only an inch taller than Poppy and used it constantly to tease her. Barb's lighter skin provided a striking contrast to the bold, rocker aesthetic she sported. Her red mohawk, with dark roots peeking through, added an edgy flair, complemented by heavy eyeliner and mascara that highlighted her piercing gaze. Tattoos adorned her from her shoulders down, a testament to her commitment to the art she created.
The enormity of the design demanded every ounce of her attention and expertise, and Barb was known for her meticulous approach to her work. Her dedication to her craft was evident in every stroke of her tattoo machine. That said, the sounds of Pop music continued to infiltrate her space, and her expression grew increasingly annoyed. After a while, she couldn't hold back her frustration any longer and called out to Poppy, her voice sharp and curt, "Poppy, could you switch to something else? This pop shit is seriously getting on my nerves."
Poppy, unfazed by Barb's brusque tone, offered an understanding smile. "Sure thing, Barb. Let's change it up."
With a few taps on her phone, Poppy switched to a playlist of rock classics. The pop melodies gave way to the raw guitar riffs and powerful vocals of rock legends. Barb, though not one to easily show appreciation, seemed marginally more content with the change, and she resumed her work with a grunt of acknowledgment.
As Poppy's client had wrapped up their half-day leg piece almost 45 minutes ago, she could feel restlessness creeping in. With no more appointments scheduled for the day, she frowned thoughtfully, her fingers tapping lightly on the counter. The lull in activity was starting to get to her. Determined to make the most of her time, she decided to head to the back of the shop and grab some trash bags to clean up and stay productive.
In a burst of efficient energy, Poppy tackled the first task, swiftly emptying the trash cans. The crinkle of plastic bags and the distant hum of tattoo machines formed a rhythmic background to her movements. As she moved on to the employee fridge, a gust of cool air greeted her, carrying a faint scent of disinfectant. She meticulously rearranged the items, checking expiration dates with a sense of responsibility. The soft beep of the fridge closing echoed through the quiet shop.
Upon closer inspection, she noticed that the vibrant flowers she had purchased a few days ago were beginning to wilt. Realizing that they needed replacement, she contemplated making a quick run to the store to buy fresh blooms. And, since she would be out anyway, she decided it made sense to pick up additional supplies for the shop.
With an upbeat demeanor, Poppy addressed her coworkers, seeking their input. "Hey guys, do we need anything for the shop? I'm making a quick trip to grab some fresh flowers, and I can pick up other supplies while I'm out." Poppy's intent was to maintain a welcoming and appealing atmosphere in the tattoo shop since she considered it her second home.
However, Barb's response was far from enthusiastic. She let out an audible groan and retorted, "We don’t need flowers!”
As Poppy playfully stuck out her tongue in response to Barb's comment, Barb leaned back in her chair, her tattoo machine momentarily silenced. Her eyes, adorned with a no-nonsense gaze, met Poppy's, and a terse sigh escaped her lips.
"Poppy, we're a tattoo shop, not a damn cafe," Barb grumbled, her fingers deftly navigating the intricate details of the black and gray masterpiece she was crafting. The buzz of her tattoo machine resumed, punctuating her statement with the rhythmic sound that echoed through her corner of the shop.
She spared a glance at the formerly vibrant flowers on the counter, her expression revealing a hint of annoyance. "Clients come here for ink, not for a garden experience. I've got a reputation to uphold, and it's not built on floral arrangements. Keep it simple, clean, and focused on the art—that's what matters."
Cooper, undeterred by Barb's gruff response, flashed a wide grin and called after Poppy, "Don't forget the good stuff, Pop! The fate of our snack cravings rests on your shoulders!"
Poppy turned with a playful smirk, her eyes meeting Cooper's. "Fear not, snack knight. I shall return with treasures beyond your wildest dreams." She theatrically saluted before pushing open the door to the bustling world outside.
Barb, though seemingly uninterested, couldn't resist a subtle eye-roll at the exchange, though her stern expression did soften. Without looking up from her meticulous tattoo work, she mumbled, "Make it quick, Popsqueak. Someone’s gotta run this place."
Cooper, taking the opportunity to add a touch of humor, chimed in, "Yeah, who will keep Barb's rock music rebellion in check if you're not around?"
Barb shot him a mock glare, but a hint of a smile played on her lips. The trio's banter, a daily ritual, had become an unspoken part of the shop's identity. Despite their diverse personalities, they had found a rhythm that made the tattoo parlor more than just a workplace.
As Poppy stepped out onto the sunlit street, the door chimed softly behind her, signaling the temporary departure of the shop's curator. She began her walk up the street, a sense of purpose guiding her steps.
Blooming Gale's, the small flower shop she was visiting first, was a quaint establishment just a short distance away. It was a family-owned business, run by an older woman named Margie and her daughter Lana. The pair were known for their warm and friendly nature, making every visit to the shop a delightful experience. Poppy had a strong preference for patronizing locally owned businesses over faceless corporations, especially when it came to buying flowers. The personal touch and the sense of supporting her neighbors were values close to her heart.
The shop, while simple in its setup, exuded a unique charm that made it special. Their flower arrangements, though not necessarily groundbreaking, always had a timeless and appealing quality. Poppy appreciated the connection she shared with Margie and Lana, who embodied the community spirit that her father had championed for years.
Her father had long been a community leader, dedicated to making the neighborhood a place he was proud to raise his daughter. Over time, the encroachment of large-scale companies had created competition for local businesses, but her childhood had been nearly perfect. Her father's financial stability had ensured she never lacked anything. Furthermore, he had generously supported her dream of opening the tattoo shop, even though he might not fully grasp her deep passion for the art of tattooing.
Poppy's brisk walk toward Blooming Gale's was a comforting ritual, a well-practiced journey that held the promise of familiar warmth. The anticipation of the welcoming atmosphere of the small flower shop infused each step with a sense of ease. As she approached, the quaint exterior of the shop greeted her like an old friend, its charm and colorful displays a beacon of comfort in the bustling neighborhood.
However, as she reached her destination, the scene that unfolded shattered the familiarity that had accompanied her. A cold shiver ran down her spine as her eyes fixated on the "out-of-business" sign hanging in the window. The once-inviting aura of Blooming Gale's now stood in stark contrast to the emptiness that loomed within. Her steps, once confident and purposeful, faltered, and she found herself frozen in front of the door, a sudden and unexpected hurdle in her well-trodden path.
Margie, the matriarch of the flower shop, had never hinted at the possibility of closure or financial struggles during Poppy's previous visits. Concern gripped her as she peered through the glass, desperately seeking answers. The lights inside were off, and the space that had been an effusion of colors and life now echoed with an eerie silence. The counters and refrigerators, once adorned with vibrant blooms, now stood as silent witnesses to a story Poppy hadn't anticipated.
Without a second thought, Poppy's instinctive response was to knock rapidly on the door. The sound, a desperate plea for understanding, reverberated through the stillness of the shop. Lana, the familiar face behind the counter, emerged from the depths of the space, unlocking the door with a look of surprise that mirrored Poppy's own shock.
"Poppy, hi," Lana greeted, her voice carrying a note of sadness that added an unexpected layer to the usual warmth of her welcome. "Sorry, you caught us at a bad time. We're just locking up."
The shift in Lana's tone was palpable, and Poppy, unable to contain her concern, blurted out, "Oh my gosh, Lana, what happened? I had no idea."
Lana sighed, her expression a mix of resignation and melancholy, as she stepped out onto the street, closing the door behind her. "Well," she began, "it's been coming for a while. The new landlord decided to increase the rent again, and we honestly just weren't making enough to cover the bills. Mom's getting older, and we thought it would be a good time for us to make a change."
The words hung in the air, each sentence a heavy weight on Poppy's heart. The news felt like a betrayal of the familiar, a disruption to the rhythm of the neighborhood she called home. She couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow for Lana and her mother, knowing that their decision to close Blooming Gale's was born out of financial strain and the inevitable passage of time.
The weight of the closure settled on Poppy's shoulders, and she instinctively reached out, offering Lana a comforting hug. In that shared embrace, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of the loss that echoed through the neighborhood. The closure of Blooming Gale's wasn't just the shuttering of a shop; it was the end of a chapter, a change that reverberated through the community they had all built together.
"I'm so sorry to hear that," Poppy murmured, her voice a soft echo of empathy. "I'm going to miss you both so much." Her genuine sympathy sought to bridge the gap of the impending absence, but she couldn't shake the sense that something precious had been lost, leaving a void that no amount of comforting words could entirely fill.
Lana returned the hug tightly, her appreciation evident as she responded, "We'll miss you too. Honestly, you were our best customer, and we loved having you in the shop. I know Mom's going to miss you more than anything."
As Lana's words resonated, Poppy couldn't help but feel a bittersweet acknowledgment of the connection they had forged over the years. The shop had been more than a place to buy flowers; it had been a haven, a shared space where stories were exchanged, and friendships blossomed.
After a moment, they slowly pulled back from the hug, their expressions reflecting the somber reality of the situation. The weight of the news lingered in the air, and Poppy couldn't shake the heaviness that settled in her chest. The impending absence of Blooming Gale's left a void. It was the absence of familiar faces, the laughter that echoed through the air, and the shared moments of joy and sorrow that had woven a tapestry of memories.
Poppy, feeling at a loss for where to turn for flowers now, expressed her concern, "What am I going to do for flowers now? This was the best place." The uncertainty of the future, both for herself and the neighborhood, hung in the air. The question wasn't just about flowers; it was about navigating a changing landscape and finding a new source of comfort in a world that seemed to be evolving without warning.
Lana contemplated the question and then offered a glimmer of hope, "About that… have you ever been to Rosie's?"
Poppy looked at her with curiosity, her interest piqued. "No?"
As Lana described Rosie's, Poppy's mind painted a mental map of the neighborhood, pinpointing the location she was being directed to. The mention of the owner being a "prick" brought a wry smile to her face, a shared understanding of the quirks that sometimes came with neighborhood establishments. But the promise of incredible flowers and a friendly cashier sparked a sense of anticipation in Poppy. Rosie's, she thought, might just become a new haven for her, a place to create fresh memories and continue the tradition of bringing home vibrant blooms.
Recognition flickered across Poppy's face the more Lana described it. Her friend Biggie had mentioned it, as his best friend worked there as the cashier. "Oh yeah! I'll have to check it out. Good luck with the move. Seriously, everyone's going to miss you both so much."
After bidding Lana farewell with a final, heartfelt hug, Poppy felt a tinge of sadness at the unexpected closure of Blooming Gale's. With a sense of curiosity and a hint of determination, she set her sights on Rosie's. The walk up the road took on a different significance, as she pondered the stories and recommendations she had received about this mysterious establishment.
As she stepped back onto the sunlit street, the familiar path she had walked countless times felt different, tinged with a sense of loss.
The rhythmic tap of her shoes on the pavement mirrored the beat of her contemplative thoughts. Poppy's usual route, once a source of comfort, now seemed like uncharted territory. As she continued down the street, her mind buzzed with questions and uncertainties. The flower shop had not just been a place to buy blossoms; it had been a hub of connection and shared moments. The absence of that space created a vacuum that Poppy hadn't anticipated, prompting her to consider where she would now find solace and inspiration.
Amid the swirl of her thoughts, a new destination emerged—Rosie's, the flower shop Lana had recommended.
The shop emerged as a living testament to the neighborhood's history. The weathered brick, adorned with the patina of time, whispered untold stories. Expansive windows hinted at the presence of a second story, inviting curiosity about the shop's hidden depths. Aged wooden panels, painted in a rich blue-green hue, stood as silent witnesses to the passage of time, their surfaces bearing the marks of countless seasons. Potted plants, strategically placed, formed a fragrant walkway leading to the entrance. Their leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, creating a symphony of nature's whispers. Small awnings, casting dappled shadows, offered a refuge to the plants from the sun's rays, and the careful arrangement reflected a labor of love.
Above the door, the vintage sign declared 'Rosie's' in elegant script, a timeless emblem of the shop's enduring charm. The combination of classic architecture and the inviting arrangement of potted greenery created an atmosphere that beckoned passersby as if the shop itself were extending a warm embrace.
Approaching the propped-open door, a delicate breeze carried the unmistakable scent of flowers, enveloping Poppy in a fragrant symphony. The air itself seemed to hum with the essence of blooms, stirring a sense of wonder and anticipation. As she crossed the threshold, the shop's interior unfolded before her like a story waiting to be read. The crisp ring of a bell above the door echoed through the space, signaling her entry into a world of hidden wonders.
At that moment, Poppy's thoughts turned inward, reflecting on the beauty of this unexpected discovery. How had Rosie's eluded her for so long? Her usual walks, confined to the familiar, had rarely ventured this far. The encroachment of faceless corporations and relentless developers seemed to have claimed the nearby shops, leaving her yearning for authenticity. Rosie's, standing defiant against the tide of change, evoked a profound connection with her neighborhood's past. With each step inside, Poppy anticipated the treasures awaiting her, eager to immerse herself in the timeless beauty that Rosie's promised to unveil.
Entering the shop, Poppy found herself further stunned by the sheer beauty of the space. The soft chime of the bell above the door faded into the hushed ambiance that enveloped Rosie's. The sunlight, filtering through the large glass windows, cast a warm glow on the vintage brick floor beneath her feet. Each step she took revealed the intricate and elegant pattern of the bricks, creating a tactile journey as her fingers grazed over their cool surface.
As she descended a few steps into the shop, its elongated layout became apparent, stretching gracefully in front of her. The rhythmic hum of admittedly old refrigerators lined along the wooden wall to her right accompanied her every move. Their gentle melody, like a subdued symphony, harmonized with the ambient sounds of nature that seemed to emanate from the garlands and hanging plants adorning every available space.
On the opposite side, the brick wall with the windows was transformed into a botanical gallery. Small tables and counters, each carefully arranged, showcased bouquets and flower arrangements that mesmerized with their delicacy and refinement. Vivid colors danced in the sunlight, turning each floral creation into a living masterpiece. Poppy couldn't resist reaching out to touch the smooth petals, her fingertips absorbing the textures of nature's artistry.
In the back corner, a cabinet displayed artisanal candles, arranged meticulously on every shelf. The fragrant blend of lavender and vanilla emanated from this corner, intertwining with the natural perfume of the flowers. The air itself became a sensory canvas, carrying the scents of both wax and bloom.
Vintage advertisements for the shop adorned the wall between the windows, their faded colors telling tales of a bygone era. The echoes of a deep-rooted heritage resonated through these aged visuals, serving as silent witnesses to the shop's enduring presence in the neighborhood.
Despite the enchanting display, Poppy noticed an unusual quietness within Rosie's, devoid of the usual melodies. Dinkles, who as best she knew was usually working cashier, was conspicuously absent. As she approached the counter, her gaze was drawn to a small sign leaned against a tiny bell, its message elegantly inscribed: "In Back, Ring Once for Service." The absence of music, coupled with the silent summons, created a sense of anticipation in the air, leaving Poppy to wonder about the mysteries that awaited in the depths of the flower-filled haven.
The sign's specificity intrigued her, and playfully disregarding it, she rang the bell multiple times for humor's sake. Little did she expect that her actions would result in a startling sound from the back of the shop, followed by a resounding bang. Her eyes darted toward the doorway, which, according to the sign, led to the "back." She couldn't help but wonder what her ringing had unleashed.
A distinctly male voice, colored with annoyance, muttered from the depths of the shop. It was clear that she had stirred something, and Poppy couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt clawing at her conscience for the disruption she had caused. The irritable edge in the man's voice seemed to echo in her mind, and she couldn't shake the sense that she had unintentionally trespassed into a realm guarded by an elusive gatekeeper. A nervous flutter danced in the pit of her stomach. Soon, a young man, not much older than herself, came storming to the front desk. His black hair, tousled and rebellious, framed a face that exuded an air of frustration. Unruly strands fell across his forehead.
His piercing, light blue-gray gaze fixed a stern glare on her, the intensity of which hinted at an internal conflict. The eyes, a striking contrast to the disarray of his hair, held a depth that suggested more than the initial impression of annoyance.
His features, chiseled and defined, spoke of a rugged handsomeness that seemed at odds with the irritable facade he wore. His toned physique was emphasized by the forest green shirt that clung to his frame, subtly revealing the contours of his muscles. Well-fitted blue jeans accentuated the confident stride with which he approached the front desk.
A black apron, neatly tied around his waist, hinted at a meticulous side beneath the disheveled exterior. The choice of attire seemed intentional, a blend of practicality and style. As he reached the counter, his movements were deliberate, each step a testament to a certain level of confidence despite the evident annoyance. The way he carried himself spoke of a silent command over his surroundings as if the flower-filled haven were an extension of his domain. Poppy observed the subtle flex of muscles beneath the fabric of his forest green shirt, an unconscious display of strength that added an intriguing layer to the encounter.
Poppy couldn't help but feel a mixture of fascination and curiosity. This man, with his tousled hair and piercing gaze, seemed like a contradiction—frustrated yet undeniably alluring.
The annoyance in his voice was evident as he questioned, "What?" It wasn't a growl, but it was clear that Poppy's ringing of the bell had disrupted his day and caught him off guard. His posture and demeanor suggested that he wasn't in the mood for any nonsense. Poppy realized that her attempt at humor had landed her in an awkward situation and quickly decided to explain herself.
“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I just was trying to be funny," Poppy apologized swiftly, her words filled with sincerity as she sought to make amends for her impulsivity. "My name's Poppy, I'm a tattoo artist down the road, Think P'ink? Anyway, I like keeping flowers in the shop to make it more comfortable, and I used to get them from Blooming Gale's, but they just went out of business, and Lana told me I should start coming here, and here I am!"
However, the man's reaction was far from what Poppy had anticipated. He simply stared at her, his expression clearly unimpressed. It was a little unnerving for Poppy, who was accustomed to engaging with people who generally tended to match her enthusiasm and energy. She cleared her throat, trying to break through the wall of indifference, The air grew heavy with silence as Poppy shifted nervously, awaiting his response. 'Can I get some bouquets?' she questioned, the weight of his stern gaze making the simple request feel like an intrusion, “The shop is pink so…anything that goes with that?”
He continued to stare for a moment his gaze seeming almost curious rather than annoyed though his aloofness remaining intact. Then, with a roll of his eyes, he moved around the counter and ventured into the main shop. Poppy watched in a mix of confusion and anxiety as he approached the refrigerators, pulling out various flowers.
Amidst the pristine white shelves, he delicately retrieved bundles that were a kaleidoscope of fragrance and color. Lavender, hydrangea, candy tuft, and yellow carnations all mingled together, creating a stunning symphony of nature's beauty. The soothing aroma of lavender filled the air, momentarily easing Poppy's unease. The large, billowy blooms of hydrangea added a sense of lush abundance, their subtle variations in color—from pale blues to deep purples—speaking of careful curation and an artist's eye.
Clusters of candy tuft, resembling delicate tufts of cotton candy, and bright yellow carnations, with their sunny disposition, added whimsy and warmth to the mix. Each stem was a cascade of tiny purple blossoms, creating an ethereal atmosphere. Yet, he did it all in silence, leaving her uncertain if he was fulfilling her request or deliberately ignoring it. His standoffish demeanor left her perplexed, as it didn't seem to align with the apparent success of his business.
She shifted nervously from foot to foot, the silence elongating into an awkward void. Her internal thoughts whirred with curiosity and a hint of frustration. Why the silence? Was he deliberately maintaining distance or simply lost in his work?
After a considerable lapse of time, he emerged from the back, carrying three beautifully arranged bouquets, a floral masterpiece that captured the essence of Rosie's expertise. With a curt and businesslike tone, he stated, "That's 75." The price was delivered matter-of-factly, adding to the peculiar atmosphere of the interaction. Poppy, despite the strange encounter, was eager to complete her purchase and bring this unique blend of nature's beauty back to Think P'ink.
The crisp bills exchanged hands in a motion that held a peculiar grace. Poppy felt a subtle shift in the air as the transaction concluded. She couldn't help but be captivated by the final bouquet, a harmonious mix of blooms. Each flower seemed to tell a story, and together, they created a visual symphony that intrigued her.
She quickly retrieved the money and handed it over, observing the florist with a newfound curiosity. He was a strange man, his demeanor serious and focused. It was as if the language he spoke was the silent poetry of flowers, and the shop, his canvas. Poppy couldn't quite decipher him, but there was an undeniable sense of purpose in his actions.
Poppy offered a bright smile as she expressed her gratitude, “Thank you so much, I really appreciate it…” Her words trailed off, a subtle hint in her tone that she hoped to learn his name. However, he appeared completely apathetic in offering any further information. In a swift motion, he turned away, making his way toward the rear of the shop as if eager to escape the encounter.
Poppy couldn’t help but feel increasingly perplexed and somewhat disheartened. The florist, it seemed, was determined to avoid any interaction. His retreating figure signaled a clear desire for solitude. It was abundantly clear that he did not want to engage with her in any way. She was left standing at the counter, curiosity unanswered.
In all her 24 years, Poppy had never encountered someone who treated her in such a dismissive and inhospitable manner. The unexpected coldness left her momentarily stunned, questioning if there was something she had done, aside from the bell, to warrant such a response. As she stood there, the echo of silence lingering in the air, a myriad of thoughts raced through her mind.
What bewildered her the most was that, despite his real grouchy behavior, the man didn’t seem inherently mean. Avoidant, yes. Blunt, perhaps. Easily irritated and even rude – those descriptors seemed to fit him to a T. But Poppy couldn’t seem to agree with the assessment that he was a “prick” as Lana had described. There was a complexity to him that defied any clear categorization in her mind, leaving her feeling puzzled and intrigued.
Before disappearing into the back room, the dark-haired florist paused. His shoulders were tense as he reluctantly glanced back at her. Meeting her gaze only once, he quickly looked away. A heavy sigh escaped him, conveying exhaustion with the conversation. His uneasy shifting on his feet suggested an impending escape to the door. Before she could speak, he reluctantly uttered, “Branch.” Then, as swiftly as he had appeared, he retreated into the back room, leaving an air of tension in his wake.
"Branch" seemed like an apt name for him, carrying the sense of something sturdy and necessary. While he clearly struggled with people, he appeared to be the backbone of the shop. Maybe he was aware of his social shortcomings. That would explain why he’d have hired someone to handle the interactions with customers. He simply preferred to avoid it.
As Poppy made her way out of the store and back towards Think P’ink, she couldn't help but dwell on, well, Branch. His eyes, in particular, had left an indelible impression on her. The way they held a contradiction—guarded yet revealing—made her curious. Poppy found herself blushing at the lingering warmth of his gaze, even though his words had carried a hint of irritation. Amused by her reaction, she couldn't resist a soft laugh, using her free hand to gently facepalm in embarrassment. It felt cliché, she thought, to be affected by someone's eyes. Yet, the truth was undeniable; there was more to Branch than his brusque demeanor suggested.
The irritation and annoyance that had permeated his words hadn't reached his eyes. It was a subtle detail that lingered in her mind. There had been a contradiction in the way he carried himself, like someone faking a smile. You could tell. As she continued her walk, she pondered his demeanor. She wasn't entirely sure if she was reading him right, but the intrigue had planted a seed of interest in her mind. What she did know was that she wanted to find out more about the man behind the flower shop counter. Besides, she’d needed a new flower shop anyway, and the prospect of discovering the enigma that was Branch added an unexpected twist to her day.