Realistic or Modern ❤ bleeding ink and petals ❤

[Serein]

I C

kindaemissary ​

 

[Serein]

The store was quiet aside from the low hum of the ac unit, and the evening light casting a glow over the displayed flowers nearly created a serene moment. Samantha stood at the door and scanned the place for any eyesores, chewing the inside of her cheek nervously when she was met with perfection. Of course she was--she had put everything into this store; she moved away from her family for this, left her home for this, revolved her life around this. If she can't verbally explain her dedication, then the least she can do is show it. With a deep sigh, she straightened the flower encyclopedia on the front desk and pushed past the double glass doors, locking them on her way.

She gave one last glance behind her at the front display before reaching into her pocket and pulling out her car keys and half-torn grocery list (along with some potting soil), grumbling to herself at the reminder that she's been focusing on the shop a little too much; the small, stacked moving boxes in the back of her car did not ease her mind either, and suddenly she was dreading going home to piles of the same boxes scattered around her apartment rather than the opening of her shop. She smiled as she imagined her mother at her apartment, nagging for not unpacking, all while doing it herself. Her father in the kitchen struggling to use the recent-model stove. Her brother playing with his dog instead of helping and later getting scolded by his wife, his soulmate. The thought stung the blonde's eyes, and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she pulled into a parking space at the market.

She parked her car and quickly wiped at her eyes, cursing at the tears threatening to spill. She wasn't going to cry, not yet.

Once she calmed herself, she grabbed the crumpled piece of paper to skim over the lengthy list of groceries, but her eyes landed on the black streak across her thumb. She frowned, holding the paper with her left hand to get a better look at it, and she inhaled sharply at the sight. Her whole hand had streaks across it--no, both hands had streaks on them. Sam's frown only deepened when she pulled the visor down to look at her dirt-smeared face in the mirror. A groan escaped her lips as she leaned over to the glove compartment to fish out spare napkins, but she was only met with a notebook, registration papers, and a straw.

She sighed and reached into her shirt to pull up her sport's bra, using the (hopefully) dirt-free fabric to wipe her face off. She blew the loose hairs from her ponytail out of her eyes and opened the car door, patting the dirt off of her jeans before taking the grocery list and car keys in one hand and shutting the car door in the other. With a tilt of her head, she warily eyed the unfamiliar market, mentally debating on if she really wanted to do this--the answer being no--but with a huff she began walking towards the front doors.

Where the hell are the k-cups in this place?

 

[kindaemissary]

Richard wasn't keen on grocery shopping, or any shopping really, so walking around the store felt like a chore. He had to feed and walk the dog, clean and dry the dishes, vacuum the couch for loose pet hair, wash and dry the laundry, and, worst of all, shop for groceries.

He'd rather shop for clothes, honestly.

The store was cool, especially in the produce section, and he relished in the slight breeze from opening the clear glass doors. Cream cheese. Feta. Sliced cheddar. He crossed off items from his list as he tossed them into the cart. Stick margarine, fresh basil, onions, tomatoes.

"Did they move the orange juice again?" he asked himself under his breath, and stared randomly throughout the space until he spotted another section of glass doors. He finished his cold shopping, pork tenderloin, ground beef, chicken thigh, and started down the dry aisles.

Most of the time, Rich was a pretty energized guy. Since he owned his own business, the tattoo parlor down the street, he made his own hours and rarely woke up before 9am. Coffee, though, was still a necessity. Dark roast, light on the cream, one ice cube if he needed it instantly. He could probably open up another business and do just fine making cappuccinos on a daily basis. If they were from a Keurig. And he didn't have to do any of the work.

A girl stood near the K-cups, pondering flavor most likely, and Rich had never seen her before. She looked young, but not young enough that she'd be a child. It had been a few years since he had been in college, so he wasn't sure what 18-year-olds looked like nowadays. With her hair pulled back, Rich could see that she had dirt smeared lightly on her cheeks and a bit at the top of her ear where she had pulled her hair back. It was clear that she had tried to rid her face or the mess, with the smears just barely there, but she hadn't fully finished the job.

If it wasn't for the dirt distracting him, he probably wouldn't have looked at her. That sounded mean, but he wasn't one to stare at people so obviously in public. Or private. He wouldn't describe himself as a lurker in any capacity.

"Gardener?" he asked, and he gestured towards her dusty pants. (He wasn't about to point out the dirt on her face. He wasn't a monster.) "The crème brûlée blend is nice if you like sweet. Don't have to add creamer unless you want liquid dessert."

 

[Serein]

Sam turned her head to look at the guy next to her, and she could feel her cheeks turn pink as she smiled. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, stepping forward and taking a box of the crème brûlée blend in hand. "You know," she started as she examined the front of the box before placing it in her basket, "I'm personally a French vanilla person, but I'll take your word for this."

Sam stepped back and pulled out her list, squinting her eyes at the near illegible handwriting. She took her thumb and smudged off K-cups with an exhale, skimming over the rest of the written groceries. She's never been the one to give up, but the longer she thought about wandering the store aimlessly, the more she just wanted to buy the coffee and go home.

Her mother would never admit it, but this is something that has always bothered her about the blonde; it was confusing that common nerve-racking situations like meeting new people or talking in front of an audience didn't bother Sam, but more obscure ones, such as waiting in line for a coffee or asking for a fitting room. Maybe this is why her mother always flinched when the girl talked about owning a flower shop.

Nevertheless, Sam glanced at the man's groceries and chewed on her bottom lip, putting off the way her stomach churned at the thought of what was to come out of her mouth. "Um" - she laid her list down in her basket and smiled - "Do you know where the cake mixes are?"

 

[kindaemissary]

"French vanilla is a classic choice," Rich said, and he grabbed two boxes of the crème brûlée. 36 count. He liked coffee.

The girl had to be new. The town wasn't big enough that he wouldn't know someone close enough to his own age. Hell, he pretty much had the same class from elementary school to senior year, and only got away from the mundanity of it all when he left for college.

Yorkville wasn't a small town, though, and it had a lot of elderly people who liked to take their pontoon boats out for a swim. It mostly seemed like the real adults just weren't having enough kids to make it a growing hub. It had it's fair share of cafes for morning coffee and consignment shops for afternoon browsing, and it there was even a flower shop coming in next door to his building.

Running a tattoo parlor in a town without an abundance of teenagers and college kids wasn't easy, but his prices were hard to beat. Since it was currently just him, appointments were hard to come by, and the nearby towns had people that would rather drive a little longer for a tattoo than pay double.

So it worked out.

"Yeah, there a couple aisles over," he offered, and Rich looked down at his list. "It's by the breakfast stuff, so I can show you."

He headed down towards the end of the aisle and picked up non-dairy creamer. (He didn't give patrons the good stuff.)

"So," he started, and rubbed the back of his neck with a free hand. "Are you new to the area or just stick to the outdoors?"

 

[Serein]

Sam hummed a thanks and walked next to the guy, looking at the shelved items as they waked by. It was almost overwhelming at how many varieties this market had, whereas the old 'mom and pop' market back at her hometown had only two main brands - their own and a poor quality one that, if she didn't know any better, she'd say it was a requirement to have.

"I'm new, I moved here a week ago. I thought this would be a good place to set up my flower shop because of all the um," she paused and peeked over her shoulder before lowering her voice to a whisper, "older people."

If there was anything to learn from watching 'SpongeBob', it was that location was vital for a business, and Sam started the hunt for a place before she even established her shop. However, she didn't consider Yorkville until her grandmother mentioned it, and after that it became the definite location.

The blonde had three big reasons why she chose the area: one, it wasn't too big, yet too small; two, good business (and maybe she wouldn't come across many disheartening people); and three, there was a lake.

She's always been a water person.

She scratched at a dirt spot on her front pocket as she walked, mindlessly adding "My name's Samantha, by the way, but you can call me Sam. It rolls off the tongue easier."

 

[kindaemissary]

The store wasn't exactly buzzing with life. Aside from the newcomer, he had only seen a couple people bumbling around. It wasn't the most popping time of the day - the weird time between afternoon and evening, stuck in the wee minutes between "regular" dinner time. Richard knew it was the best time to get any actual work done outside of the house (or the parlor) because he'd rarely be bothered. There was little chance that he'd run into someone he knew during normal work hours, and since he decided to end his shift early and stop taking walk-ins, the chore of getting groceries seemed to fit right into his nonexistent schedule.

"That's exciting," Rich said, and his back turned toward her as he grabbed prepackaged containers of flavored oatmeal. He had the bags at home, but there were just some mornings that he didn't even feel like dumping the contents into the bowl. And it was less work if he wanted a minute snack that almost bared the resemblance of being healthy. "It's a pretty chill place. Not a lot going on, but it's never really boring? Unless you have a lot of free time, and then it'll get horrible really fast."

"But," he started again," if you're opening up that new flower shop, you probably won't have a lot of downtime. Which will make it seem interesting just a little bit longer."

He laughed a bit and added the oatmeal to his cart. He also grabbed a box of breakfast bars, but they were less exciting. "The old people in this town are gonna eat you up, I swear. New person and flowers? They'll have a blast."

Richard was normally more uncomfortable around new people, but there was something about this woman - Samantha, she just said - that made him feel uncannily at ease. Not uncanny. Easily? Perfectly? He was getting ahead of himself.

"Richard," he said. "Most people call me Rich, but I don't really have a preference. It's just another name to remember to answer to." He laughed. "Or, if you want, my high school friends call me Anderson. They're still obsessed with the whole last-name-as-a-first-name thing."

It had been years since high school, but there was still that uncomfortable interaction at the supermarket or gas station with someone who didn't even remember his first name. Sure, there had been people that called him Anderson back in college, too, but it wasn't as extensive. And at least they knew who he was outside of the classroom.

"So are you from far away?" he asked. "Or just a few towns over? I don't know a lot of people that would want to live in a town as calm as this one, especially if they lived somewhere with a little more life beforehand."

 

[Serein]

In all honesty, talking to him was almost relaxing. The feeling made Samantha want to spill her life story and vent to him, like in the scenes no one watches during the movies, but she bit back the odd urge. She's been around her grandmother long enough to know that life stories are frequently used conversation openers for old people, so she would have plenty of opportunities to tire herself of it. Not like anything particularly special happened, or that she had a hard life, she just enjoys that comforting openness.

Sam smirked and ghosted her fingers over the packs of birthday candles. "If that's the case then maybe I should blow out some candles for good measures."

She dropped her hand and took a few more steps to get to the brownie batter, crossing her legs while she examined the different brands. Low fat? Not interested. No sugar? That's dirt. This one will do, she decided with a light nod as she grabbed the Betty Crocker batter.

"Ah, I know what you mean. I remember my high school friends made a list to see how many nicknames they could make up from 'Samantha.' They had Sam, Sammy, Sambo, Sam-Sam, it was all really embarrassing." The memory made her laugh. The blonde's high school life was exciting for her, and she actually enjoyed it. She had multiple photo albums along with yearbooks that she occasionally looked back at when she really needed to cheer herself up.

She tilted her head at his question, trying to remember the map her mother printed out with a highlighted path to this town - which she didn't use it of course, but she took it with her to calm her mom some. "About five hours away, so not very far but not close either. My grandmother used to live here, and she actually recommended this place because it's so calm."

Sam smiled and tightened her ponytail; "My hometown might even be smaller than here, so I was a little hesitant, but my winning factor was the lake. I really love the water."

She always cherished the nights her grandmother would tell the stories of how she met and came to marry Sam's grandfather, and afterwards she would write in her journal about how she wanted to meet her soulmate at a lake. She carried around that journal until she was 18, and then she started another silly one for the nights she would trace the flower tattoo on the side of her ribs and day dream. It became an escape to vent, a way for the romantic in her to ease her frustrations.

"What about yourself? Do you live here or just visit?" she asked, adding "If it's the latter than you should really be a tour guide or something."