lovely florist ; noki x reader

The Inventor and a Frenchman

CHAPTER I

The Inventor and a Frenchman

The sun hasn't risen and the streets of Golden Goose Avenue that is commonly bustling with townsfolk is deserted, giving a forlorn, eerie feeling. You like it. It's your favorite part of the day. You always made an effort to go to work early in the morning when it's still dark. Plus, it's easier to read a book at that time without the turbulence of the lively crowd outside. What you didn't expect is to see a figure sitting alone on the pavement in front of the flower shop, long legs stretched on the wet road. They didn't seem to be bothered getting their pants wet in the puddle.

You halt on your step. There was a part of you that wanted to go up to them, but you weren't highly confident in your social skills to initiate a conversation. They could be having an alone time and don't need some random stranger going up to talk to them, so you moved along. Though, before you could walk again, the figure lifts his head and looks up at you through his brunette fringe, green irises catching the lamp's light above him. You froze.

You can't seem to look away. He was a handsome fellow, that's apparent. Can't be any older than you are. Round nose, thin lips, deep-set of attractive turquoise eyes. There was something familiar about his face that you can't quite put your finger on. The tension in your eye contact was beginning to feel uncomfortable, so you look away, proceeding towards the flower shop's entrance.

You felt his eyes boring on the back of your head, sending chills down your spine, but you ignore it and busy your attention with unlocking the door.

The door clicks open, but you didn't want to leave the boy yet. You could ask him if he was waiting for anything. That shouldn't be too hard, right? But when you turned around, the stranger is gone. A mix of disappointment and relief goes through you, but you brush it off. You've got a shop to open.

Your day was the same. You opened up the shop, fed your grandma's ginger cat, rearranged the shelves and brought out the displays by the window, and read Marie De France as you wait for customers. There wasn't a lot. Most were simply there to watch and smell the flowers, and solely one customer bought so and it was an old sweet man, buying a post bouquet for his wife. On the last page of the book, the door opens, and you hadn't expected the member of the Fearless Seven to walk in. The blonde French aristocrat, the one that yields an invisible cloak.

"Good evening, oh, sweet florist." He leans his elbow on the counter with a charming smirk. "Lovely flower shop you've got here."

You set your book down and send him a welcoming smile, trying not to stare at the cloak hanging over his shoulder. "Thank you. This is my granny's shop. I'm just the keeper."

"Well, you are sure good at keeping these flowers lively, ma chéri." He says with a wink and you can't help but flush. He's a handsome man. It was hard not to be flustered under his attention, though you aren't exactly enamored by his charm. Also, you know he's famous and everything, but you don't remember his name. You never thought you'd meet them, so you never bothered naming their faces. Still, you kept a sweet smile. "T-Thank you. Are you looking for anything?"

"It's Princess Snow White's birthday next week and I'm thinking of sending an early present," He brushes the invisible cloak from his arm and grabs the pot of orchid from the counter, and scrutinized it. "Bouquets are perfect. Seven pink rose bouquets! Such a humble local business deserves profit, don't you think?"

"Uh, yes? I-I mean, thank you, er... "Oh no, his name. What's his name? If he knows you don't know his name, he's going to take back the offer! He's suspecting you until the door slams open once again.

"Jack, there you are!"

You look over the blonde, er, Jack's shoulder to see another member of the F7. The genius triplets with leather hats concealing their eyes. They're inventors and... Italian? Though the other two were absent. It was only the brother with two stripes on the hat. It's a wonder how they can see through them. "Hans needs you for something, says it's urgent."

The male's head turns towards you and-- much to your confusion-- you notice his shoulder stiffen before looking away almost too forcibly towards the aristocratic Frenchman.

"What are you doing here?"

"Buying bouquet from this jolie fille for Princess Snow's birthday." Jack turns to you once again. "Have it delivered by Wednesday? Should that give you enough time?"

"Y-Yes, sir."

"Please, no need for formalities." He sends a beguiling smile towards you. Politely, you downcast your eyes. "Thank you, J-Jack. Do you want to write a postcard?" You slide him a postcard and a quill, dipping it in ink beforehand. "Ah, Bien sûr." The blonde takes it and scribbles down on the postcard in cursives with practiced eased while the Italian inventor behind him tugs on his sleeve, reminding you of a child, but you can't help but take heed he seemed keen on avoiding your eyes and keeping a good distance. Was he intimidated by you? That's... peculiar. He's the one holding a crossbow, so if anything, he should intimidate you!

"Oh, I left my pouch at home. Let me fetch it-- "

The inventor groans. "Jack!"

"Right." Jack snaps his finger. "You fetch my pouch and pay the nice florist, il faut que j'y aille!"

The blonde jogs out the door, cloak leaving the two of you in stunned silence. The mysterious male darts his head to you, then away, then back to you, then to the ground. You distract yourself from the awkwardness by arranging the orchid back in place.

"Uhm, I'll just..." He beckons to the door as he side-steps towards it. As soon as his hand touched the knob, he yanks it open and scurried out, leaving you dumbfounded. Something soft brushes your leg and you glance down to see your grandma's cat leaning up against your leg.

"Hello, Breone." You cooed as you lean down to take the cat into your arms, stroking her ginger fur. "Handsome men, they were, weren't they?"

The cat meowed.

"Narcissist?" You gasp. "Breone! That's not very nice!"

The cat purrs.

"You know, for a feline, you're very opinionated."

The cat licks her paw.

"Yeah, I should probably stop talking to you before someone sees me and calls me a crazy cat lady." You let her down from your arms. "That we can agree on."

Once you finished closing up, it was already dark without only the street lamps to illuminate the night with only a few people out. Breone had scurried ahead to the woods to your grandma's house, and you were ready to catch up until you see a tall, lean figure in a hat running in your direction, waving something in his hand. You look over your own shoulder to check if there is someone else, but you see no one.

"Hey, are you the florist lady?" You look back to see the man visible under the street lamp. It was the genius inventor! But you can see it was a different triplet from before. There's only one stripe on his hat. "Uh, yes?"

"Jack ordered seven bouquets, yes?" He extends out a pouch to you that's almost the size of his head. Your jaw slacks. "Here."

"T-This is too much."

"Don't worry, it barely leaves a hole in Jack's money." Chuckled the male, his gloved hand taking yours and sets the pouch on it. It was heavier than you expected, so used your other hand to support its weight. "He'll just buy over-priced hair products or red velvet upholstered sofas with it. You'll need it more than he does."

"Wow, t-thank you. I can buy every flower on the farm with this." You giggle, cradling the sack in your arms. You notice his head leaning in at you with a subtle frown. Was he inspecting you? It was hard to tell. Seriously, how do they see through that hat?

"Uh, yes?"

"Do you know Noki? Like, personally?"

You retreat your head back with narrow eyes. "Uh, who?"

The man dismissed his question with a subtle shake of his head, but before you could ask, he was already bidding his farewell and jogging out of view, leaving you once again, dumbfounded. Albeit living in Fairy Tale island, that was the weirdest thing that's happened to you. Mishaps rarely happen in your life, except maybe, like, overcooking your pie or getting your laundry swept by a powerful storm. So, after all that weirdness, you were ready to call it a day