Paris In The Rain [h.s]

4

The keys in my hand are cold as I grab them from my purse, sending a wave of goosebumps from the tip of my fingers up to my shoulder. The door slightly creaks as I open it, disrupting the silence in the room. The strong aroma of flowers washes over me as I step inside of the open area, flicking on the lights.

"Welcome to my favorite place in Rome."

Harry's eyes travel around the room filled with wonder, the multiple colors reflecting in his green irises. His ring covered hands softly touch the delicate petals of the flowers, bringing his head down to smell them, "Your flower shop is your favorite place?" He asks me with a warm look hidden behind his green irises.

I nod my head and place my purse down on the counter, "It's the one place that makes me feel like I'm back home," his eyes are on me as I walk around the room, letting my fingers lightly travel over the soft petals, "My grandmother is the one who started my love of flowers. She's the one who inspired me to start my own business. It feels as if I'm closer to her when I'm around flowers in some way."

"Why didn't you stay with her and open a flower shop at home then?"

"She passed away when I was sixteen, " I say sadly, my eyes starting to tear up, "She's the one who told me to follow my dreams and live in Italy."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry says softly.

"It's okay now," I smile while forcing myself to not let the tears fall, "If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be here, living my dream."

Harry nods his head, picking up a sweet pea and bringing it up to his nose, "I've always loved the way these smell."

I smile at him, admiring how beautiful he looked surrounded by all of the flowers, his soft features mixing with the softness of the flowers, "Do you ever paint flowers?" I ask him.

"Sometimes," he smiles at me, putting the sweet pea back down. This time he picks up a white camellia, twirling it around in his fingers, "I like painting them with models," he says as he places the camellia behind my ear, the feeling of his fingertips touching my skin sending a chill down my spine.

My heart races as I think about what the camellia flower stands for, especially the white ones. I doubt he knows what the meaning of the flower is though. How could he? He's not an expert in flowers. "That's nice," I say, my voice cracking slightly. I clear my throat, feeling my cheeks flush red with embarrassment, "Maybe you could bring one of your models here one day and paint them. If you want to that is."

"Maybe I will," he says before walking past me. I close my eyes as his shoulder brushes mine, the smell of him overwhelming me, "This is a lovely shop by the way. I can see how it's your favorite place."

I hum softly, watching him as he observes the variety of flowers, "Your turn."

"My turn for what?" He asks, turning to look at me with a slightly confused look flashing through his eyes.

"It's your turn to show me your favorite place in Rome."

"Ah," he smiles, "Let's go then. I think you'll like it."

Apparently where we were going was only four blocks away, so the walk there was rather short. The sun was starting to sink lower in the sky, only a third still visible while people were starting to leave their houses to join their friends for a fun night out.