A little later than planned! Three chapters, one a week.

Thanks to Karen EC for being generally kickass, making a delicious banner (on my profile), and pre-reading for me.

Any mistakes are mine - they are the only thing I own.

For a lot of people, flowers are an afterthought – an easy way to apologise, a pretty way to declare your feelings, a gift that requires little consideration.

Not for me. Flowers are my life.

Floristry wasn't the obvious choice of career for someone of my gender but, ever since I was a kid, there was something about these tiny explosions of colour that fascinated me. I vividly remember my aunt preparing for her wedding when I was about seven. She would have these sprawling conversations with my mum about what flowers she wanted for her bouquet, and why. I would ask endless questions, and eventually – probably just to shut me up – my mum bought me a book about flowers and their meanings.

From that moment on, it was my only goal in life to be a florist, and have my own shop.

As soon as I turned sixteen, I started to work at Fanciful Flowers – earning minimum wage – for a sweet lady called Sue. I learnt a lot while I was there, even though it didn't do great things for my bank balance. My interest in flowers, and what they mean to people was unrivalled, but my general flower arranging was terrible. I'm not the most artistic of people. I got better as time went on, working there part-time throughout university, where I gained a degree in Economics and Management.

I bought this place seven years ago, when Sue was ready to retire. It took a fuckload of savings and a huge loan from the bank, but it was worth every penny. I pride myself on stocking flowers from all around the world, making Fanciful Flowers a cut above the rest.

A bell rings, signalling the main door being opened, and I look up from the counter to see a blond man striding in. A blast of cold air follows him, and I'm glad that he thinks to shut the door behind him – you'd be surprised how many people don't. He's wearing a charcoal-grey suit, the tie loosened slightly around his neck, and the top button of his shirt undone. It's early afternoon, but this guy looks like he's been awake for hours; a five o'clock shadow colouring his cheeks is in contrast to his business-wear. In all honesty, the suit is the only thing that makes him look clean cut. He seems to be completely frazzled, his hair sticking all over the place, and I can see that his eyes are darting all around my store.

As the customer reaches the counter, he glances towards the ceiling. I don't know what he's looking for, but I'm more than used to dealing with people in strange moods – usually guys who have no idea how to apologise to their wives, or relatives on their way to a hospital visit. Even in his dishevelment, though, this man is remarkably attractive. I find myself glad that his focus isn't on me; it means I get a proper chance to ogle him. I let him get on with his surveillance, and continue to pretend to figure out the ordering for tomorrow, until he finally speaks.

"I don't suppose this guy came in here today, did he?" I look up, and see him holding up his phone towards me. He is showing me a picture of him and another guy, clearly one of the arms-length shots that couples are so fond of. Objectively, it's a nice photo, but I can't help the slight rush of jealousy that flows through me. I need to get myself a boyfriend, and soon.

"Yeah, he did," I confirm. He was with a guy who looked a whole lot younger than him – early twenties at the most – and they looked like they were pretty close. I'm not about to offer that information to this guy, though. He looks distraught enough as it is.

"You remember him?" He seems surprised, and I bristle slightly.

"It was only a few hours ago, and I pay attention to my customers." I really do. I'm always fascinated at what they buy, and why. I can probably come across as quite nosey sometimes, but I love helping people find the arrangement which says exactly what they want it to.

"I thought you might have to look at CCTV or something," he mumbles. That explains why he was looking at the ceiling, then. He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, before asking, "Was he, uh...? Was he with someone?"

"Yeah, yeah he was."

He flips through some pictures on his phone again, before showing me a picture of the younger man. "Was it this guy?"

I nod, and he starts to tug at his shirt collar, as if he can't breathe.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just... I hoped it wasn't true. Fucking hell."

"Do you want a drink or something?" I offer. I feel bad for the guy; he's clearly quite shaken up by the news.

"I don't want to keep you from whatever you're doing." He pockets his phone, and starts fidgeting with his name badge, which is on a lanyard around his neck.

"Well, I'm obviously snowed under," I gesture to the empty store around us. "I think I can spare you five minutes or so, though."

He smiles and nods as I stand up. I keep a kettle in the back office, and flick it on before getting his drink preference. I'm not entirely sure why I'm going to all this effort. There's something about him though; maybe it's because I've been in a similar situation myself. Sometimes you just need someone to talk to, and it doesn't matter who they are.

I re-emerge with two steaming cups of coffee, and slide his over the counter to him. "There you go... uh - -" I trail off, realising I don't even know his name.

"Carlisle."

"Carlisle. Hi, I'm Edward."

"I saw your name badge."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that." I always get confused when customers know my name, as if I haven't worn a name badge every day I've worked here. One day I'll get used to it; probably just before I retire.

He tugs at the lanyard around his neck, eventually pulling it over his head and putting it in his pocket. "I'm surprised you didn't read mine."

"It was a bit close to... uh... yeah. I didn't want you to think I was a weirdo, staring at your junk."

I turn round to grab a chair out of the office before he can respond, wheeling it around to the other side of the counter for him. He'll have to shove over a bit if I actually get a customer, but I'm sure he won't mind.

He takes a sip of his drink, and sighs, closing his eyes.

"Have you guys been together long?" I'm not sure he'll want to talk about it, but I can't sit here in silence with a guy I don't even know – that's just weird.

"About eighteen months or so. I had a feeling something was going on, though; James isn't really one to be tied down. I thought I might have managed to persuade him otherwise, but clearly not." He glances up at me, and I'm struck by how blue his eyes are. They remind me of a holiday I once went on to The Canary Islands; I spent so much time in the sea, feeling completely weightless and free. His eyes are the exact same colour as the water there was, and I find them incredibly calming. The blue contrasts amazingly with his white-blond hair. Blue and white flowers represent peace and innocence. I can't say that my thoughts about him are innocent – nor do they contain us being overly peaceful, but it's a lovely mix.

I shake my head, trying to bring myself back into the store. Carlisle's going to think I'm a moron.

"This James guy sounds like a real charmer." I can't quite help myself, even though it's not really my place to say anything; I hate cheaters.

Carlisle laughs. "He had his moments. We had fun together, though, and I really thought we were getting somewhere. Then one of the nurses came on shift a couple of hours ago, and mentioned that they'd seen him leaving here with a guy, and they were looking cosy."

"They were pretty cosy. Sorry if that rubs it in." I feel terrible for adding to his misery, but he knows the worst now, and he deserves all the facts.

He drums his fingers on the counter. "No, it's fine. I just need to figure out what to do."

"You need to get rid of him, he sounds like a dick," I shrug. I probably shouldn't be so blunt, but that's how it is. This guy clearly deserves better.

"Well, yes. I don't know whether to make a big fuss, or just end it quietly. I just want it over with now, to be honest."

"I can't help you with that, I'm afraid. There are no flowers that you send to people when you want rid of them, and that's pretty much my only field of expertise." I sip my drink, enjoying the warmth making its way around my body.

"I'm a doctor; maybe I could send him a severed head."

Coffee shoots up my nose at his words; that was definitely bad timing on my part.

He grins at me, and holds out a box of tissues to me. We keep one on the counter, because so many people react to the amount of pollen in the store. I should buy shares in hay fever medication and tissue manufacturing companies.

"Sorry. I should have waited until you had swallowed."

I raise my eyebrows at him, but say nothing else. Now that I know he will be single soon, I'm appraising him as a potential partner, and any mention of swallowing is not helping me be polite and neutral.

Carlisle tells me a little about his job while we finish our drinks. He's a senior surgical registrar at the local hospital, and is completely crazy about his job. I can think of nothing worse than being around sick people all day, but Carlisle has such an enthusiasm for treating disease that he almost makes me wish I did it, too. He's keen to go and work abroad, too – something he's done before – and eager to help out in countries where they don't have the same level of healthcare as we do. I love meeting people who are passionate about their jobs. I adore mine, even though some days it is tedious, or frustrating. Being a florist has been a dream of mine for so long, and I simply can't imagine being able to do a job that I hated.

Eventually, Carlisle checks his watch, and decides that he needs to get going. I clear our mugs up while he sorts himself out to leave, and an idea hits me.

"Hey, Carlisle. When's your birthday?"

"November."

"November. Chrysanthemums." I duck out into the store and grab him a blue chrysanthemum. "Here, have this."

He takes it from me, confusion written all over his face.

"Every month has a birth flower," I explain. "Yours is chrysanthemum. The colours all mean something too, sometimes different depending on the flower. In this case, though, the blue means peace. Not like world peace... I mean, uh, serenity or calmness. I figured you could do with some."

"Oh, wow, thanks. Does the flower mean anything? Apart from it being my birth flower?"

"Yeah, it means friendship." I neglect to mention that it also represents secret love. That might freak him out, and it's not really what I'm going for. I mean, I like the guy, but I'm not in love with him. Unless it's so secret that even I don't know it yet.

"Thanks, Edward – for the flower, and for the chat. I appreciate it."

"No worries. I hope everything works out for you."

He smiles sadly, and ducks out of the door.

I wheel the chair he used back into the office, and try to go back to the ordering. I can't concentrate, though, and find myself gazing around the store, aimlessly. None of the flowers draw me in, and I sigh; it's not like me to feel uninspired.

Maybe I should create a flower that indicates someone should fuck off. I bet I'd make a fortune.

~-ABR-~

I try not to let my exasperation show on my face; I know it's the most important day in a girl's life, but seriously. These people aren't even talking about flowers; choosing my store to be the place where they want to argue about the colour of the bridesmaid's dresses, instead.

The store is a welcoming place – I made sure of that when I took it over – but I'm increasingly ready to tell these women where to shove their flowers. I don't need the custom that badly.

I let them know that I'll be in the office if they need me, and slink off. I can't listen to them ramble on any more without going mad. It was my turn to go to the wholesalers this morning, and four o'clock starts do nothing for my mood.

I flick the kettle on, hoping that a drink will give me the opportunity to relax a little. The minute I do, of course, the door jangles open. I stay still, hoping that somehow if I don't move, the person will either look around on their own, or leave again.

No such luck.

The bell on the desk dings, and I sigh, turning the kettle back off before heading out to the counter. My frustration doesn't last long though, as I see exactly who it is waiting for my help.

It's Carlisle. He's wearing a black fitted sweater and jeans, and I'm fairly sure I'm drooling.

I grin, happy to see him back again.

"Hey, Edward. I was wondering if you had any flowers that mean 'Sorry that I missed the meal that you cooked especially for me'?'"

I allow myself to be nosey, convincing myself that it's purely for the sake of choosing the right flowers for him. "For your new boyfriend?"

His brows furrow slightly. "There's no new boyfriend."

Oh, Jesus. I hope he had the sense to get rid of the dickhead who cheated on him. "You're not still with that tool, are you?"

Carlisle frowns at me. "James? No, I kicked him to the kerb that night. I was well rid of him; his cheating was probably the best thing that could have happened."

"Oh, okay. So who are you apologising to?"

"My mum."

I think people apologising to their mums are my main source of income. "Ah, you're in the bad books?"

"Yeah. She's threatening never to cook for me again, which would be an absolute travesty. I'm not sure I would still be alive if she didn't demand I visit for dinner every week," he laughs.

"Well, purple hyacinths are used for apologies; pink carnations are used for mums. I could do you a mix of both?"

A smile graces his face, and it's reflected in his eyes. "That'd be brilliant, thank you. Do you want me to come back later?"

"No. Keep me company and stop me going mad while people discuss bridesmaids' dresses," I whisper, as I walk around the counter. "It won't take long."

I edge past the group of women, suddenly grateful that they are so involved in their debate, and grab the flowers I need, and some ruscus for greenery.

"Does six of each work for you?"

"Yeah, that's brilliant, thank you."

Before I can start, I am interrupted by Riley. He has been working on our online orders upstairs and is heading out to deliver the local ones, and dropping the national ones off for transport.

"Hey Ed, there's an order just come in, but I've let them know they've missed the cut off for today's delivery. Is that okay?"

Riley is fresh out of college, and still fairly unsure about what he's doing. He got a great eye though, and what he lacks in business knowledge, he makes up for in arrangements. He's also the only other male who works at the store and, as such, we've become good friends.

"Yeah man, if they're late there's nothing we can do. It's clearly stated. I'll check the emails before I leave tonight if you don't get back in time."

"Okay. See you later."

He flies out of the door, completely missing the look of admiration on one of the women's faces. Clearly some things are more important than the colour of dresses.

I start to make up Carlisle's bouquet, and he chats to me about why he needs them.

"I just fell asleep! I'd been working all weekend and stopped at home before visiting my mum's place. Next thing I know, it was the following morning. So now she's annoyed and my explanation didn't make it any better. I'm hoping flowers work."

The bouquet is starting to come together, and I chuckle at Carlisle's words. "I'm sure it'd be a good start. I'd recommend chocolates, too."

"Do you sell them?"

"No, but maybe we should. The amount of apologies and presents for girlfriends that we get coming through here, it could be quite lucrative." It's actually not a bad idea. I don't know huge amounts about the world of chocolate, but I'm betting people would go for convenience over quality.

I tie off the flowers with some ribbon, and grab some deep purple paper to wrap them in.

"Chocolates are a good idea, actually. Thanks, Edward."

"No worries. I get quite a few grovellers in here, so I've learnt a few of the tricks. Not to mention having to do it more than a few times myself. Working long hours doesn't lend itself to being sociable."

"Exactly," he exclaims, clearly glad to have found someone who understands his work-life balance issues.

I finish off his mother's flowers and hand them over. He pays, thanking me, and turns to leave the store.

I'm hit with a flash of inspiration.

"Carlisle, wait."

I walk over to the carnations and pick out a green one, handing it to him.

He frowns at me. "A green carnation? Does this mean 'I love your cooking' or something?"

"Not exactly," I grin. "It's not for your mother, either. It's for you."

"Oh." He looks adorably confused. "So what does it mean?"

"Google it." Unlike many other flowers, I'm fairly sure the green carnation only has one meaning.

The confusion doesn't leave his face, but I just grin back at him, unwilling to let him in on the secret.

"Uh, okay," he shrugs, obviously giving up on worrying about it. "Bye, Edward. No doubt I'll be seeing you soon." He walks out of the store with a shy wave in my direction.

I turn back to the group of women, who are still arguing about bridesmaids dresses. Despite Carlisle's visit lightening my mood, I can't be bothered to deal with this. I call Jessica out from the back room, where she is making up some arrangements for a funeral.

"Can you man the store for a bit? You're a woman, maybe you can communicate with these people more effectively than I can."

She grins at me, knowing my distaste for people who loiter in the store; although apparently Carlisle's visits are an exception. "Yes, boss. I know women scare you," she teases.

I roll my eyes but let her get away with her comment – she's probably right. Jessica's never been afraid to tell it like it is, even when she started working here. She's only in her early twenties, but has a confidence which belies her age. She has a real way with customers, sliding into an easy rapport with them. It drives me a little mad, because people linger in the store, but she manages to talk people into buying flowers they never knew they needed, so I can't complain too much.

Once I escape into the back room, I busy myself with the arrangements, enjoying the easy rhythm I fall into, despite the sad nature of what I'm doing. I allow my mind to wander to Carlisle, wondering what he's made of the flower I gave him.

I pull my phone from my pocket, Googling green carnations myself, just to double check the meaning hasn't suddenly changed. When I'm convinced that nothing drastic has happened in the world of flower meanings in the last few months, I put my phone away again, shaking my head at myself. These arrangements won't deliver themselves, and I'm glad to sneak out the back way to drive to the funeral home.

I've got a job to do, and I need to get Carlisle out of my head.

Until next time.

~-ABR-~

"It's a secret sign!" Carlisle bursts through my door the next day, still holding the flower. I hope he's put it down at some point. His clothes have been changed, so I'm fairly confident that he has. He looks frazzled though, and I'm starting to wonder if giving him that damn flower was a good idea.

It's the end of my day, the store is closing in a few minutes, and I'm making note of what Riley will need to pick up from the wholesalers tomorrow. We've had quite a rush today, and the list is longer than normal; I hope he's up to the task.

Angela steps out from the office with her coat on, ready to leave. She stops short when she sees Carlisle here, but I shake my head at her.

"It's fine Ang, you get going. I'll see you in a couple of days. Have a good night tonight." I know she's got a meal booked with her boyfriend tonight. I also know that her boyfriend is planning to propose. I'm not about to keep her here longer than she needs to be, especially as I'm fairly sure that Carlisle isn't here to buy anything.

She walks past Carlisle, noticing the flower in his hand, and shoots me a grin.

Carlisle is biting his lip, clearly slightly embarrassed that there is someone else here. The action makes me want to kiss him, but I manage to hold back, wanting to hear his reaction to the flower.

The door shuts, and Carlisle turns back to me. "It was a sign of homosexuality. Oscar Wilde used to wear one. Does this mean that you're gay?"

"Did you think I'd give you one just because you were gay?" I pause for a second, hearing Riley's teasing voice in my head, and I have to say something. "I mean, uh, no pun intended."

He grins, and shrugs. "I didn't think so, but conversations through flowers are difficult to interpret. I don't know how you do this for a living. I had to check about twenty websites before I was completely convinced that was what the flower meant."

"It's probably one of the few flowers that there is a consensus on. It turns out Oscar Wilde wasn't only handy for some good quotes."

Carlisle nods, gently turning the flower in his hands. "So, what does this mean?"

"It means I'm interested," I tell him.

I turn round, scanning the shop for what I need, and hoping we haven't sold out. Usually, I know exactly where everything is in this place, but Carlisle's presence is scrambling my brain.

Finally, I spot the flowers I'm after, and I grab one, handing it to him. The yellow clashes horribly with the green carnation, but I suppress the urge to snatch it back from him.

"Is this a daffodil? Do I have to Google this one, too?"

I laugh. "Not exactly, although it's the same species. It's a jonquil. It means, uh, return my feelings."

Carlisle nods slowly. I turn away to give him a bit of a chance to digest everything, and flick the sign on the main door over to 'closed.' My hand goes to the bolt before I pause and turn back to Carlisle. "Do you mind if I lock the door?" I ask. "I won't if it'll make you feel uncomfortable, but the sign isn't always enough to deter people from coming in."

"You can lock it. I need to be at work in an hour or so, though, so if you murder me, people will be hunting for me quite fast," he warns me with a chuckle.

I grin back at him. "I'll bear that in mind, just a bit of light maiming for today, then. I'll murder you when I know you have a few days off."

I lock the door and usher him into the office. I need a drink, and to sit down for five damn minutes. It's been a long day.

"Oh, did your mum accept your apology?" I ask.

"Oh yeah, she did, thank you. She absolutely loved the flowers. I explained to her what they all meant, and she was so impressed that I'd put that much thought into them. I didn't tell her it was all you, sorry."

"That's fine, you knew what you wanted them to mean, I just helped."

He grins, and looks down at the flowers in his hand. "So, speaking of meanings, what feelings am I meant to be returning?"

"That you're interested?" It comes out as a question, even though I am completely sure of how I feel.

Carlisle is quiet for a minute, and I'm not quite sure what to make of it. Suddenly he asks if he can use my computer.

I agree, not really knowing why, but I'm sure he has his reasons. He's a doctor, so I'm fairly confident he won't be doing anything nefarious. While he is doing whatever he's doing, I make myself a coffee.

When he's done whatever he was doing, Carlisle slips out into the store, promising to be back momentarily.

I sit back at the computer, fighting the urge to check the internet history. I'm sure I will find out in time what he's up to. Instead, I sip my drink and start to type up the stock list to email Riley. There's a lot to get, and he hasn't done many wholesale runs. I might have to go with him. Four o'clock in the morning isn't an attractive prospect for me, but it's not really fair to make him go alone.

Carlisle sticks his head back around the door, and I grin. "Come in."

He shuffles in, his hand behind his back, and I wonder what he's up to.

"The internet might be wrong, so I hope I haven't completely messed this up," he says. "This is my flower to you, to answer your question." He hands me a pink rose, and I grin.

"Friendship?"

His face drops, and he looks away from me, a slight blush – not an altogether dissimilar colour than that of the flower I'm holding – appearing on his pale face.

"Oh, not exactly," he sighs. "I was going for not-love-but-not-nothing-either. The internet said 'admiration' and that was as close as I could get." He shakes his head and shrugs slightly, clearly frustrated that his attempts to return my gesture haven't quite worked out. "I want to date you, basically. See where this could go."

I smile gently at him, wanting to reassure him on both his choice of flower, and his decision. "Pink works for that, definitely. Good sleuthing."

He grins back at me before pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. He groans when he sees how late it's getting. "I need to go to work, but I can give you my number, and we can figure something out?"

I smile back at him, grabbing my phone from the desk and handing it to him. "That works for me. Feel free to pop in anytime, too. I can educate you further on the meanings of flowers. You don't need Google when you have me."

He types his number in, and calls himself so he has my number, too.

"Thanks, Edward." He turns to leave but, once again, I stop him before he can. I press him up against the door, and press my lips to his. There's no way I can wait until the next time I see him to do that.

He groans, wriggling against me a little, making my cock wake up.

"Sorry," I tell him when I pull back. "I couldn't resist."

"Don't apologise. Never apologise for that. That'll get me through the long night."

We walk out through the store, and I gently kiss him again before he leaves. "Bye, Edward."

He practically bounces out of the store, clutching his mis-matched flowers, and I can't stop the smile that spreads over my face.