The Right Flower
Flash Fiction | 3 Minute Read
As part of my Spring cleaning this week, I was going through my hard drive getting rid of unneeded files. I stumbled upon a bunch of little stories I wrote, this is one. I have no idea if this was written in response to a prompt, or just a little thing I put together on my own. Either way, I hope you enjoy it!
This is a 3 minute read.
THE RIGHT FLOWER
“It’s just a flower,” he said. “Pick one already.”
And he had been doing so well...
It was the first time a guy ever took me to get a flower on a first date. It was a quick add-on to a pretty generic dinner and a movie. The film was a rom-com about a guy and a girl meeting in the flower shop the girl’s grandmother owned. Their “meet cute” was locking eyes through the florist fridge while he picked out a corsage for his grandmother before a Sunday trip to visit her. It was something he did every Sunday, but she had just started working there to help her grandma out. It was some weird grandma-appreciation film.
After our dinner and shared laughs over the film’s premise at Shay’s, a quasi-fancy Mexican place, he said, “I feel like it is only right that I get you a flower to remember this by.” We were walking past a corner store with large green bins of all types of flowers. I didn’t tell him this, but I walk ten blocks out of my way every pay day to a place just like this one to buy myself flowers. The beauty of his gesture was not that he was offering to buy me a flower that I could — and would — buy myself, it was in the offer of spending some time picking one out.
And then, just as I had reached the daisies, petting them gingerly with my fingertips before leaning over to breathe in their joy, he tried to rush the experience.
He had missed the point.
I turned away from him, closed my eyes, breathed deeply and slowly opened my eyes again seeing another man’s face before me. “I have more on an end cap inside the store, if you are looking for something special.” He held shears in his bare, ringless, well-worn hands that were covered in damp flower clippings. He flashed a glowing and understanding smile, “I know how hard it can be to find a mister perfect."
I blushed when I thought that maybe I had just found mine.
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That was a tiny story. The question ofr you is this: WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? Are you rooting for the protagonist, her date, or the shop owner? Should we assume this is yet another meet-cute story, or is a twist coming up? What kind of story are you imagining this is? Let us know in the comments!
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The strong romantic me loved this story!