Chapter Text
The week before Valentine’s Day meant an influx of orders for Katara. Large bouquets of roses, pinks and reds strewn across the shop, leaves on every surface and random wet spots as bouquets leaked and vases broke. This was, objectively, both her favorite and least favorite week of the year. She loved the rush of fulfilling orders, the organization, the thrill of fighting with vendors and finally releasing all her pent-up tension over the phone. She loved the smiles on people’s faces as they rubbed a petal between their fingers. She loved giving recommendations, crafting bouquets, referencing old books regarding the language of flowers in order to communicate the extents of people's affections. She hated the stress of it, the men that came in ordering two (or three or four; once five) bouquets at a time, all for different women. She hated that people kept asking if she had “anything else,” like this was a gift store and not a flower shop, where every surface was covered in flowers and literally nothing else. She hated the random wet spots. Those were a nightmare to clean.
The flowershop—Morning Blooms, which was a terrible name, but Katara didn’t have the heart to change it—was a gift from Toph. A loan, really, something for Katara to work on while she figured out what she wanted in life. The two of them had met in Toph’s first year of college, while Katara was a disillusioned junior with no clue where she was going once she finished her degree. She was a biology major, and she was good at it, of course she was, but… she wasn’t sure where it was taking her. Med school, maybe. An office job, a laboratory, a hospital.
At no point did she think it would turn her into a florist. But Toph’s family had a whole host of businesses, and she miraculously hadn’t been disowned—yet—and after a senior-year Katara broke down in front of new-dropout Toph about how she had no clue where she was going in life, Toph offered her the lease to the shop. It was a co-sign, and a small loan that Katara could pay back slowly and without any interest. It was a miracle, a blessing, a boon. Toph enjoyed bestowing those. Claimed that it was reparations, or something. Katara thanked her near-constantly.
So now Katara had a shop that she sometimes-loved, a job that she sometimes-hated, and a constant stream of orders to fulfill. Recently, she did her first wedding bouquet, which felt… incredible, really. Every day, the shop felt more and more real to her. Thoughts of the biology major that she was probably wasting began to slowly dissipate.
She did not have anything else in her life figured out. Thankfully, Valentine’s Day was a chance to distract herself from that. As she finished arranging some baby’s breath in a vase, the bell on the shop door rang. Katara was the only person working right now, the rest of her small staff off on their late lunch break. She was grateful for the quiet after the initial lunchtime rush, but she enjoyed talking to customers. She turned towards the door and stopped in her tracks.
Katara did not believe in love at first sight. She was not a hopeless romantic. Or an idiot.
But she did believe in lust. She believed in K-Drama slow-motion cameras and she believed in random romantic music playing at inopportune times. She believed, with all her heart, that she wanted to climb the man walking into her shop right now like he was a tree.
She cleared her throat. The angels stopped singing.
“Hi,” she said, willing herself not to blush as she took in his tall, lean figure and the biceps that his loose sweater was doing a horrific job of hiding. Honestly, the quality of clothes these days. “How can I help you?”
The man smiled and Katara considered running out the front door screaming. Instead, she plastered a smile onto her own face and prayed that he was not blessed with clairvoyance or mind-reading or something. Unless the future involved his clothes on her bedroom floor, in which case… maybe clairvoyance would be fine.
“Hi,” he replied, voice bright and easy. “I wanted to order a bouquet? For pick-up on Friday.”
Friday. Valentine’s day. Katara felt her heart plummet to the floor. Whatever inner turmoil was happening ceased immediately. Of course someone that looked like that with arms like those and a smile wider than the ocean would already be with someone else. Of course. She shook her head slightly and pulled herself together.
“Yes, of course,” she replied, echoing her thoughts out loud. “What are you looking for?”
He shrugged, looking around the shop. His gaze lingered on some dwarf-sunflowers. Adoration, thought Katara.
“Something simple,” he answered, finally looking back at Katara. By now he had stepped up to the counter she was standing behind. She tried very, very hard not to jump over it. “Nothing too extravagant. Some deeper colors, but… something unique.” There was adoration in his voice as he spoke about what he was looking for. He evidently cared for this person very much. Katara tried not to let it get to her.
“I can do some… lilacs? Forget-me-nots…” She began, glancing around as she tried to think of some things that would go with these flowers. Her instincts began to kick in, falling back into the pattern of putting together bouquets and playing with colors. “We could do a full bouquet of blues and purples, if that works? Keep some irises at the center?” First love, love in absence. My compliments.
The man shook his head. “I was thinking more… yellow? She likes yellow.” He looked back at the sunflowers. “Maybe those?”
Katara nodded, brow furrowed. She moved around the counter and towards the sunflowers, picking out a few nice ones.
“Dwarf sunflowers, for admiration. The issue is, these can sometimes dominate a bouquet. We’ll have to pick something that can hold up to these.” She held them up against the light streaming in through the shop windows, trying to evaluate what would look best. She looked back towards the man, who was gazing at her quietly.
No, no. He was probably just looking at the sunflowers.
“Could we… maybe pick out some green? Allow the sunflowers to… dominate, like you said?” Katara very deliberately did not think about the way his mouth curled around that word. Instead, she thought about how much she loved this part of the process, involving the customer in putting together their own bouquet.
“Yes, sure, of course. Leaves and stuff, right?” He nodded, and Katara grinned, finally back to her usual rhythm. She crossed the room a few more times, picking out some myrtle, oak leaves, some branches… this would certainly be unique.
“Could we add some moss?” the man asked, watching as Katara flitted about, muttering to herself. She paused and looked over at him. “Sorry, I– I know it’s a little odd, but I think it might work out really well? With the branches and stuff,” he explained.
Katara furrowed her brow. “No, I agree, it would look good, but… moss stands for maternal love.” She thought for a second, tilting her head. “Or charity, I guess. I mean, I can add it if you’d like. It’s in the back room.” She placed the items in her hand onto the counter and went into the back, found the moss and brought it out front.
The man—generous term, because he looked to be around the same age as Katara, who still very distinctly did not feel like a grown-up woman—was back against the counter and tracing a leaf with his fingers. She glanced at his hand and noticed a bright-blue tattoo in an arrow’s shape on the back of it. The outline of it was stark, the line of the arrow disappearing under his sweater sleeve. She wanted very badly to see where it led.
“I have the moss,” she started, shifting her thoughts away from his tattoo—was there a matching one on the other hand? Oh, there was!—and pulling the man out of the quiet reverie that he seemed to be in. “Are you sure you’d like to use it?”
He nodded. “You said it’s maternal love, right?”
“Or charity.”
“Maternal love works,” he shrugged, “it’s for someone that helped raise me. I wouldn’t want to send the wrong message. I mean, I didn’t realize I was sending a message at all.”
Something clicked in Katara’s brain. Angels started singing again.
“Oh! Sorry, I have a bad habit of… you see, it’s the language of flowers. A full bouquet can send a message. The one we’re crafting is one of love and affection, but in a neutral manner. Adding the moss extends the message to one of maternal fondness.” She huffed out a breath. “I didn’t realize this was for a mother figure,” she continued. “But now it makes more sense.”
“The language of flowers,” the man repeated. “That sounds cool. I’d love to learn more about it, but… I have to go back to work.” He looked up at Katara. His eyes were grey, and Katara wondered what would go well with them. “You could tell me more about it when I come back to pick up the bouquet this Friday?”
“I… yes, of course,” Katara said, slightly taken aback. “I definitely can.” She started putting together a bouquet with the plants that she had picked out already. She could put it out as a display piece or something to sell tomorrow. She said the same when the man questioned why she was arranging the flowers already. “By putting together the bouquet now, I can get an idea for how it’ll look when I do it later. That way I won’t run into issues with it being too sparse or looking weird when the time comes for you to pick up the bouquet.”
He nodded in understanding. “Sounds good. Should I pay now, or…”
“Later,” Katara said, “at pick-up.” Normally, customers paid upon ordering, a guarantee that she wouldn’t be wasting materials on something no one was going to get or pay for.
“How do you know I’ll return?” the man asked, leaning on the counter. The action did something very delicious to his biceps, and the flower in Katara’s hand slipped a little before she caught it again. She placed it down and turned towards him. Just because he wasn’t getting a bouquet for a romantic partner didn’t mean he was single, but… was there any harm in flirting?
“You’ll have to leave some collateral,” she answered, leaning over the counter as well. She watched his eyes flicker down towards her cleavage and back up again, and grinned.
“My name and number?”
“Well I needed that anyways, for the order.” She pulled away from the counter and reached towards the notepad of orders that was kept on the side. Flipping to a blank page, she pushed the paper and a pen towards the man and gestured for him to write his information down.
“Then,” he said, beginning to scribble some numbers without tearing his eyes away from Katara, “what would satisfy you?” His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up again. He pushed the notepad back towards her.
Katara knew many, many things that he could do to satisfy her. None of them were polite. She glanced at the paper and his name hastily scrawled onto it.
Aang. It sounded familiar.
“Well, Aang,” she said, testing his name in her mouth. “What are you willing to give me?”
“Anything you want, Miss…” he trailed off, waiting for her to answer.
“Katara.”
“Miss Katara. That’s a lovely name.” He grinned and she tried not to blush. He checked his watch and looked up at her, slightly panicked. “Okay, I have actually got to get back to work,” he began, “but maybe you could text me? About the collateral. And the flowers. And whatever else you want.” Katara nodded. “It was nice meeting you, Miss Katara,” he finished, beginning to move away from the counter.
“It was nice meeting you too, Aang,” she called after him, and he smiled brilliantly and waved as he exited from the store, bell chiming in his wake. She watched as he turned right and began walking, disappearing past her shop. Katara put her head in her hands and screamed.
She stopped when the bell rang, looking up to see who had just walked in—her employees, back from lunch break. The two of them looked at her strangely—they definitely heard her screaming—and walked into the back room to gather their aprons. Katara nodded at them as they passed. They stared back.
Turning back towards the bouquet that she was working on, she thought back on the conversation she had just had, the tattoos on his hands—ones that she’d be thinking about long after today—and the haste with which he left. Using her finger, she traced his name on the notepad and smiled softly to herself. Aang.
This could be fun.