𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝙳 || Original Story

four | nervous

His visits were more frequent after a few days. He'd go to the shop for a fresh bottle of milk first thing every morning, walk back past my shop and admire the flowers through the window without fail.

This time, he had no milk in hand. And this time, he didn't just admire.

The bell above the door jingled as he entered, his green-grey eyes scanning the shop and taking in the abundance of colour from all the flowers on display.

"Good morning, sir," I greeted chirpily, tying the strings of my apron behind my back.

He gazed in my direction and gave a courteous nod whilst smiling politely.

I don't ever recollect having a customer come in as early as he had. People would usually start flooding in about an hour after opening time. I was unused to having someone in barely even ten minutes after the shop's door was unlocked.

A silence ensued as he strolled slowly around the shop, deciding on what flowers or plants to buy, the heels of his shoes clicking against the wooden floorboards.

Whist I had the chance, I checked over my notes on today's stocks, leaning idly against the counter as I did so. Occasionally, I tapped my pen against the wood of the surface as I thought and then I soon found myself finishing that task quicker than I had expected.

As I closed my notebook as slid it back into the drawer, I looked up at my quiet customer.

His gaze wandered and wandered, the large variety of flora seeming to be overwhelming. I had the feeling that he was struggling to decide on what he wanted. My shop was known for its wide range of choice. Perhaps it was too wide.

"Do you need any help, sir?" I asked, interrupting what appeared to be a long train of thought.

He simply shook his head in reply before turning back to the selection of flowers he was looking at. He then stood still for a moment, his eyes lingering on the beautiful bunch of bright sunflowers with a softened gaze. I could only imagine what significance they held in that enigmatic life of his.

If at all.

He eventually picked them up, studying them carefully, appreciatively, before reaching into his pocket for his wallet and then making his way over to the counter.

"I haven't seen you around before this week," I said, taking the sunflowers and pricing them up. "Are you the one that's moved into Old Farm?"

He nodded, handing over a ten pound note.

A man of little words, it seemed.

I wasn't sure whether he was being arrogant or nervous, but judging by his constant wandering eyes and twitchy fingers I guessed the latter. I wasn't surprised, though. I'd be anxious if I'd moved to somewhere completely new.

He didn't seem the type of person to be arrogant, anyway. His features were too soft, his outward demeanour being too reserved.

"Are you liking it here so far, city boy?" I asked.

Again, he nodded, but smiled at my joke. Perhaps he was out of his comfort zone. Poor soul.

"Well, it's nice to see a new face now and then," I continued politely, handing him his change and giving him my best customer-targeted grin. "Thank you, sir. Have a nice day."

He nodded his thanks, cracking a courteous smile in return, and cradled the bunch of flowers in his arms before pocketing his wallet and leaving, heading back up to Old Farm.

The man's lack of words puzzled me. I could see that he was desperate to say something, anything. It was as if he was cursed to never speak like some sort of fairytale character.

Robert said he was nervous and twitchy. But he'd spoken. He'd had to in order to ask for directions.

But why wasn't he speaking to me?

I wasn't coming across as rude or pushy or particularly strange, was I?

I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. I had to do something to make him feel more welcome and less intimidated.

I had to try.

It was the right thing to do.