Chapter Text
She comes into the shop in a rush, a flurry of dark skirts and pale skin breeze in through the doorway. You find yourself staring for a little bit too long, captivated by how she seems to be all made up of long elegant lines and curves. As you watch her, your fingertips drum quietly against the countertop; she has yet to fully notice you and is making her way around the crowded store floor, overflowing with life and rich colours. This woman moves with a reverence towards the flowers, a grace and delight that you’ve never seen in a person before... well, in nobody else except for the rare moments you caught a glimpse of your own joy in the mirror whilst you worked. The pads of her fingers graze over a magenta-hued petal and for some reason your breath stops short in your throat. The nearly inaudible sound resonates physically in your chest, like a baseball slamming into a fielder's glove. She looks up, somehow, at the impossibly quiet noise. Finally, she notices you, and you think, 'I know your type'. She is so tastefully put together, but she looks so sad. Yes, you know the type. Married, miserable. You can tell. It’s in her eyes, they dip low at the corners with an un-ending exhaustion, and you want to wrap her up in one of your shawls, sit her down to tea, and tell her the meanings of all the flowers in your shop. Even if that’d take hours. Or, especially so.
”Hello.” she offers a small smile, and your lips quirk up in response. You swallow down the silence tightening your throat.
"Hey there; is there anything I can help you with?" your voice slips out warmer than expected, and the woman’s dark eyes brighten at the sound of your accent, and your smile widens a little bit further.
"I wanted to get, uh, apology flowers? My… husband and I, got in a fight yesterday, and I may have thrown a vase at him." She laughs, but the sound is little more than brittle wind. It’s then that you see the bruise concealed almost flawlessly on the top of her highly rounded cheekbone; a quiet fury begins to simmer in your chest as it tightens. Your smile is tight now, but you try and relax the set of your jaw when her look turns curious upon you.
"Sure thing." you respond quietly now, reserved and business-like. Slipping from behind the counter, you seek out a few bunches of deep purple flowers and mix them with a batch of white star-shaped beauties. "How’re these?"
She reaches out, brushing her fingers over the flowers, that same reverent gesture that makes your heart beat a little faster. You want to know if electricity sings at her fingertips. Her movements continue, tracing over individual petals, and she does not move away from you. Neither of your breathe, for just a second, when her eyes glance up to meet yours -- she quickly looks away, back to your flowers.
"They’re amazing… I-I, honestly don’t know if he deserv —" she stops short, flushing, embarrassed the words are coming out of her mouth in front of you. "What kind of flowers are they?"
"These little purple ones are purple hyacinths, they say, ‘I’m sorry, please forgive me’." you try to catch her eyes, hoping that she recognizes she has nothing to be sorry for; the blush remains in her cheeks. "And the white ones are asphodel flowers, they mean ‘my regrets’… they kinda have a connotation with death, but we can ignore that cause they look pretty together, don’t they?" you crack a smile, hoping for a response (which you absolutely get). The blonde woman giggles, the most endearing sound you’ve ever heard, and in those three seconds, she’s radiant.
"Honestly, I don’t think Hank will care one way or another, I just thought it might be, I don’t know, a nice gesture? Or something?"
"I think you’re lovely for even thinkin’ ‘bout it." you offer softly, before taking her hand and wrapping it around the bouquet. Leading her to the register, you ring her up and she takes her incredibly fancy wallet out of her incredibly fancy pocketbook, and it should bother you, but it really doesn’t.
"I… thank you. The flowers are gorgeous. I didn’t get your name?"
"My name’s Misty. Misty Day."
"Misty Day… that’s a beautiful name." she almost turns to go before you stop her.
"Wait!" when she turns, her sunglasses are halfway to her face, like she’s ready to put her barrier back between her and the world. "Don’t I get your name, too? It’s only fair."
Her lips curve up slightly, surprised you even care. How could you not?
"Cordelia. Cordelia Foxx."