Chapter Text
There's an annoyed meow by your ear as you try to ignore the alarm going off on your nightstand.
For a minute it's easy. The bundles of heat surrounding you almost have you slipping back to sleep. One cat is cuddled into your neck while the other is curled up by your hip. Distantly, rain pitter-pattering against the windows can be heard. Another minute passes and the radar ringtone blares louder. Along with it comes the feeling of both felines lifting their heads in irritation at being disturbed, making little noises of discontent. With a groan of your own, you reach over and lift your phone to turn the alarm off.
Today would have been the perfect day to cuddle with the furry lazy babies, maybe even have a movie marathon and make some soup. Alas, it's your labor that keeps them well fed and happy with new toys. You watch your step on your way to the bathroom when they hop off the bed to follow. It's hard not to crack and let them in with you when you hear their cries and scratching at the door. It becomes a little easier when you remember they'd just start to eat at the tissues in the trash can if you do.
You don’t take too long, quickly taking care of the basics and making sure your face and hair are presentable. Just so you can have some space for a minute, you head straight to feed the menaces as soon as you exit the bathroom. You also have to pack an additional bag on top of your sad sack lunch because after your shift ends at Geraldine's, you have the dinner shift at Haute Moreau.
Geraldine's isn't so bad. Most of the customers there at least have most of their manners intact and they're usually a part of an already established customer base. Which means they don't raise hell when you don't know the meanings behind bouquets, they're just satisfied you can make pretty arrangements. You're not too relatively knowledgeable on flowers yet, but Geraldine is a gracious boss. When you have your shifts, she gives you little quizzes on flowers she talked about last. You get a little better each time.
Haute Moreau, however, is on the complete other side of the coin. Instead of the calm flower shop you tend to most mornings, it's a higher end restaurant full of snobby patrons. It's a job that you only snagged because you offhandedly mentioned your three years of French classes in high school during the interview. You'd really rather not work there at all, the only thing keeping you from quitting is the slightly above minimum wage pay. Sometimes the tips make up for the terrible treatment, usually even then it's not typically enough to keep you from dragging your feet in exhaustion on your way out from each shift.
Keeping the rain outside in mind, you collect your umbrella from the hallway closet over your arm and head out.
Heathen one and two try to make their escape when you open the door to leave, with use of a gentle foot you push them back inside and close the door quickly to prevent them from making it out of the apartment.
Geraldine's is only a few blocks away from your place so you don't have to venture in the opposite direction to the bus stop when you make it to the lobby of your building. Another advantage to your morning job. Haute Moreau is on the nicer side of town and requires a bus ride to ensure you don't have to traverse across the whole city by foot.
When you make it to the small shop, you pull out your key to unlock the door and sneak in to lock the door behind you. The lights are already on so you know your boss must be somewhere in the back. As you head to her office to store your things, you take a deep breath to get a good whiff of all the fresh flowers.
“Good morning!” You call out so she doesn’t get a fright when you suddenly pop around the corner.
“Good morning to you too, dear!”
You see from the clipboard on her desk she’s already halfway through her opening checklist. You set off to quickly clock in and zip through your own tasks so she’s not left to do it all herself.
"How are the children?" Geraldine asks while you sweep up at the front.
“Children?” You stop the motion to give her an incredulous stare. One she ignores as she hauls a hefty watering can to set next to the display of the day.
“Oh, you know. The kids! The sweeties I bought presents for last year.”
"Ah. Snowball and Bear? Good. I think I need to switch to feeding them only once a day though, their bellies are-"
"Oh, stop that. They're growing boys, let them eat," the older woman playfully swats at your arm and you snort at her softness.
Geraldine feels much like a sweet mother or grandmother that you never had. Not to say you don’t have a mother or grandmother, they just weren’t sweet. Something about you being a devil child and never being good enough or some other bs reason.
Once the store is prepped and ready for the day, you flip the sign and after unlocking the door you help with the online orders that had been placed overnight. As you cut stems and she makes the arrangements, she tests you on the flowers again. This particular order was for an anniversary. You think.
“Do you remember what this one is?”
She angles the fat sprouting bud towards you. Luckily, it’s one she’d taught to you recently.
“It’s a dahlia, right?” You hold one in your own hand, measuring and snipping the healthy stalk.
“Mhm, good job. What does it mean?”
“Something lasting, I think,” you frown as you try to remember the words she used. ‘Something lasting’ isn’t quite right, but you know you’re somewhat close.
“Almost,” she hums. “They’re a sign of commitment. What about these?”
She picks up another flower you’d already trimmed and this one has another wide set of petals. They look a bit more papery and delicate than the dahlia, but the name escapes you.
“Something with an h?”
“Not quite. These are peonies. They have quite a few meanings but the most popular are happiness and romance,” she lifts the one she’s holding up to her nose, taking a small sniff before setting it down with the others.
“So this is for a younger couple, then?” You guess. It’s a decently sized bouquet with various shades of pink between the dahlias and peonies, a couple of baby’s breaths as filler.
“I suspect whoever bought it wants to take the next step but doesn’t know how to ask,” Geraldine smiles as she begins to rearrange the flowers in the way that speaks to her.
“And being cryptic is the only way to do that?” You ask sincerely.
You’ve not had much experience or luck in the relationship department so there’s nuances to the notion that escape you. You went straight from highschool to college, too busy to do much else than hookups. It only got worse when you had to drop your classes so you could pay for that shoebox you call an apartment and your fur babes.
It’s not for a lack of trying, though. You wish you had someone who would buy you flowers that you would have to look up the meanings for. Every time you’ve tried though, you’ve had to resort to dating apps because you’d really rather not date people from where you work. And usually the women you’d meet from apps were way too clingy way too fast or didn’t really appreciate that you didn’t have more time to hang out with them. Unfortunately, working two jobs will do that to a person’s schedule.
“Sometimes that’s the step that helps, dear. Better flowers than a text, no?” Your boss nudges you again and you only hum. Again, what do you know?
A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you complete that order and start on the next until the first customer of the day walks in. Geraldine beats you to the greeting but you’re the one who steps up to the front counter to assist.
It’s a woman with fiery red hair and stiff expression. As she steps closer to where you stand, she slides her sunglasses up to rest atop her head and reveals her eyes. Red hair and green eyes? Your mind stupidly compares her to a stunning thorny rose-beautiful but with something dangerous lingering under the surface. How corny of you.
“Do you already have something in mind or can we help you pick something out?” You smile at her and it’s unlikely that she even notices it, eyes darting around the store as she regards the hundreds of different options.
“Do you do housewarming bouquets?” She asks and if you weren’t maintaining your professional stance, you’d swoon at her low voice.
“Sure do! There are a couple of different options to choose from. How about I show you a few and we can pick what you think they’d like best?” You offer and she nods in agreement. You internally sigh in relief, glad you got practice the other day with a similar order. And the options are easily memorable- mostly different colored roses and sunflowers, lilies, and a few others with very distinctive looks.
The mostly quiet customer follows you around as you bounce between the varieties, trying not to spew too much information at her at once so as to not overwhelm her. It’s something you’ve had to work on since starting here, you find you begin to babble on when you learn something new-eager to share your new knowledge in hopes that it’ll impress. Geraldine enjoys it plenty, happy to see you happy and enjoying her teachings. Customers though- you find they’d much rather get to the point and get what they’ve come for.
She ends up picking white and yellow roses, a couple of different shades of lilies, and after almost passing on the sunflowers decides to add two to the arrangement.
“What made you change your mind?” Geraldine speaks up as you select the best of the best.
“Sunflowers are a bit too much for me, but it’s for a friend. And she’s loud, kind of obnoxious, and these are just up her alley,” the customer huffs, watching as you bring the bundle over to your boss to be cleaned up.
You’re unable to help the amused snort that escapes you at her choice of words. Geraldine gives a soft chide, though there’s no real bite behind it.
“Do you agree?” The blunt woman asks.
You lift your gaze from the flowers to check over her expression, to make sure she isn’t upset with you. When you find a humored look on her face, you see you’re in the clear to answer freely.
“While I don’t know your friend, I do agree sunflowers are loud. Certainly suited for a specific type of person’s… taste, I guess,” you have something of a playful grin on your face but you slip away to the back to collect some flower paper as Geraldine makes the arrangement.
“Oh, you two. Sunflowers are lovely. These will light up a room,” the older woman shakes her head at you and the customer but smiles down at the buds.
You shrug and the redheaded guest simply hmphs.
After a few short minutes, Geraldine has the arrangement done up and you’ve pulled up the amount on the till. Without so much as looking at the price, the redhead swipes the plastic of her card and shakes her head when you offer the receipt.
“Thank you for stopping by, please come again!” Your boss waves as you step ahead to open the door.
The woman nods her head in acknowledgement and continues on. You sigh wistfully as you watch her walk away, only allowing the noise to escape once the door closes back behind you.
“She was interesting,” Geraldine pokes when you move back to her side, pulling the next order up on the tablet.
“Oh yeah? Should I go run and get her number for you?” You jest and laugh a little when she rolls her eyes.
“She’s more your type, honey.”
Hm. You sigh again and try not to be too violent when you cut the next stem.
First of all, you have more guts to get numbers of those for friends or coworkers. When it comes to asking for one for you, it’s a little harder. Secondly, there’s hardly enough time in your week for yourself, much less anyone else. Unfortunately.
“Maybe some other time,” your voice comes out soft.
“Why?” Her wrinkled hand comes to rest on top of yours, stopping you from taking it out on the innocent flowers.
“I don’t really think dating is in the cards right now, is all.” You offer her a smile and lift a peculiar growth, the flowers are in something of an elongated chunk. The purple petals are deep and you think maybe your boss is having a bit too much influence on you because you connect the color to woefulness.
Before she can say what she always says along the lines of ‘happiness should never be pushed aside’ or some other wise line you set the flower down to hold her hand between yours.
“But oh-miss-sweet-Geraldine!! If I ever find the time to get married, I’ll come to you for the arrangements!” You kiss her knuckles and pull away, walking to the roses to pick out the one that reminds you most of the funny customer.
She laughs from behind the counter as you pick out the reddest one with the greenest stem, holding it up to your nose to take a deep whiff of its freshness.
“You better be coming to me long before that, missy. Who else is going to make you the prettiest bunches for when you start going on dates?”
You glance at her over her shoulder and feel your grin turn a little wicked.
“Well, I was thinking of just picking some dandelions off the sidewalk.”
Your smile only grows when she gasps perturbedly at your comment.
After your shift, you try not to dread your upcoming one too much. Who knows? There’s a chance it could be an easy night.
Wrong.
As soon as you step off the bus, you know tonight is going to be a shit show. The valet desk is full and cars are still pulling up as the workers scatter like bees to park the cars and check reservations. When you make it back to the lockers, you can already hear the chefs yelling amongst each other. Another not so great sign. It’s not even ten minutes into your shift that the first incident happens.
Before you even set the dish down, you can tell by the way the prude looks you up and down that she's going to say something. And right you are, as you carefully set the hot plate in front of her and mention the warning, she sets off.
"Do you know how to listen? I ordered the bouillabaisse, not whatever this is!"
"Miss, that is the bouilla-"
"I've ordered it so many times before and it has never looked this dreadful! I demand it be remade!"
"Right away, ma'am. Let me take that back for you-"
"No! We will keep this mess up and have another brought out," she pushes your hand away when you reach for the under plate.
It would hardly be a dent in the restaurant’s finances to leave the extra plate out here, since you’re very aware they’re just trying to finesse a free extra plate. Unfortunately, the snobbish owners have procedures in place to prevent such things from happening. You’re about to use your go-to line that sucks up to customers like this-one that usually doesn’t work anyways-but you’re lucky enough that one of the managers on the floor tonight was watching from nearby. He’s one of the nicer ones. Marcus.
"I'll take care of it. Go take care of the other table in Tessa's section, she's smoking out back again," he whispers into your ear before stepping in front of you to over-politely address the haught complaining about the very thing she ordered. Honestly, maybe you should pick up smoking. Apparently it means you'd be getting a lot more breaks.
As you make your way over to Tessa's section, you take note of the tables that seemingly have mostly full drinks and plates in front of them. There's only one that has no glasses yet so you head straight to it. There are two women sitting there in casual conversation and you almost sigh in relief when you don’t catch any anger across their faces.
You introduce yourself, apologizing for their wait before delivering your spiel of welcoming them to the restaurant while sliding in the mention of specials at the end. Pulling out your small pad, you ask if they’d like any complimentary wine as compensation or if they’d like to order.
“You needn’t apologize. But since you’re offering- if you have any Gamay, I’d like a glass of that please,” the taller of the two women answers.
“Of course! It pairs beautifully with brie if you’d like me to bring some of that out as well?” You smile sweetly at her. It's an expression that comes much more naturally when the guests are nice themselves.
“Thank you for the offer dragă, but I will have to decline. We ate earlier, so we’re simply here for a nightcap.”
“You came to the right place then, we have the best imported wines for miles. And what would you like for the evening, miss?”
You look over to the other woman at the table who hadn’t spoken yet. She squints at you, unanswering. It drags on for a moment and you wonder if perhaps she definitely minded having been forced to wait to be served. Or sometimes customers simply don’t like you, you hope this isn’t one of those times. Although, you almost feel like you should recognize her from somewhere. But your mind is too scrambled to place her face.
“Is there anything I could get for you, ma’am?” You try again.
Her partner clears her throat from across the table and it seems to be enough to snap her out of whatever trance she was in. Though she gives you one last look over before moving her attention elsewhere.
“I’ll just have the same.”
With a quick nod, you let them know you’ll collect their drinks and be right back. As you pass through the section and note Tessa still hasn’t returned, you check over the tables and make sure everyone is still doing okay, doing the same with your section as you pass it to reach the wine cooler.
Marcus meets you on your walk back and breaks less than savory news.
“So…”
“Please don’t say it,” you beg tiredly as you push your little notebook into the pocket of your waist apron.
“Tessa clocked out after her break, something about feeling sick.”
“Why hasn’t she been fired yet?” You complain once the two of you are out of sight of the customers.
“It may or may not have something to do with her occasional very long office visits with you know who when he’s in,” Marcus shrugs and your shoulders tighten up as you recoil in disgust at the mention.
Alphonse-one of the owners- is usually out of the country traveling the world with his wife, enjoying the spoils of their multiple businesses. You’re pretty sure it isn’t an open marriage, but in their older age you think Camille must just be ignoring it. He very openly flirts with the waitresses whenever they have time to make it in and it just so happens that whenever he comes alone, Tessa and him spend a suspiciously long time in the back office. She usually comes out stinking of musky salt and fish, wiping her mouth with a grin like a cat that got the cream.
Yuck.
He still makes passes at you every now and again, but thankfully he notices you tend to favor female patrons a little more than the male ones. As disgusting as he is, he doesn’t comment on it or hold your job over your head for it.
“And I hate to ask this, I know you have that other job earlier on-”
“Then don’t. Please don’t. Unless I get to pocket more of my tips tonight instead of splitting it in the pool then I really don’t want to work a double. Wasn’t she one of the closers tonight?” You rub at your eyes as you step into the chilled room to grab the Gamay.
His silence is enough of an answer.
“Marcus, please. I have another shift early tomorrow at my other job and I’ll be right back here as soon as I’m done there.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but if I can’t get anyone else to come in in the next hour then my hands are tied,” he collects the wine glasses, handing them to you as a shitty peace offering.
What a shoddy way of saying ‘you’re stuck here and I’m trying not to get cussed out for it’.
This time you keep your lips zipped. You pour the dark liquid and purse your lips as you hold back. He may be one of the nicer managers, but he was still your supervisor. Cursing him out wouldn’t be a wise financial decision. He regards you quietly for a moment, studying the pinched expression across your face that you fail to keep hidden.
“I’ll keep your name out of the pool tonight, okay? Keep your tips.”
Your shoulders slightly loosened at the words. So long as you didn’t run into too many more trouble customers for the rest of your extended shift, you could probably get away with well over $150 in tips. Especially if you’re going to be covering two sections.
Still. It means you’ll be walking home. The last bus for the night makes its last rotation at the end of your usual shift. It’ll be well past that when it’s closing time. Your boys aren’t going to be happy with you either.
You head back out to where the two women await their wine, setting their glasses down gently in front of them.
“I’m going to be running this section as well now so if you need anything other than a nightcap don’t hesitate to let me know,” you offer another smile and the more talkative of the two raises her brow.
“Not that I’m complaining, but isn’t that a lot for one person? I believe you have quite a few tables of your own,” she hums while wrapping her fingers around the dainty stem of her glass. You think of using your limited french to say something dumb like ‘c’est la vie’ but decide against it.
“There have been worse nights,” you manage to say not too spitefully.