Tales from Hoccosin

flowery love

    "Violet," her father smiled. "You're going to do amazing things with this little shop–for this, I pray."

    "Thank you, father, I couldn't have gotten here without you" the young woman beamed, grabbing her father, and bringing him into a hug. "I just hope that the locals will accept me despite who I am."

    "This town is lucky to have you," he said into her shoulder. "Never forget that."

~ ✿ ✿ ✿ ~

    Violet's Violets opened its doors well over fifty years ago and in that time, it had cemented itself as one of the societal foundations of Hoccosin, the small town that was fortunate enough to be the home of such a cozy little flower shop. Over the years, as new people moved to town and became acquainted with all the intricacies of the small town that seemed like it was in a world separate unto its own, it became a commonplace rite of passage that in order to become a true Hoccosin citizen–native or not, one must purchase a bouquet of flowers from the double-V and gift it to another resident. Then, the gifter would be quietly welcomed as a genuine Hoccosinian, and they would be permitted to call this quaint, little town their true home.

The humble shop was practically smack dab in the center of Verona Avenue, the town's main street, and was known to be welcoming and homey beyond what words could describe. All sorts of hydrangeas, orchids, roses, daffodils, daisies, and a dozen other types of flowers spilled out the door and lined the shopfront, all in pristine shape and in the most admirable sorts of pots. Anytime an unsuspecting pedestrian would pass by, they would feel themself beckoned inside by the sweet aromas and beautiful blossoms, unable to resist the temptation to enter the cozy shop. Some might joke that it was witchcraft or sorcery, but any long-time resident could tell you that it was all-natural and that Violet really was just that good at tending to her flowers. She cared for them as if they were her children–which she had none of her own unless you counted the fluffy white cat that lazed around her shop or the local teens from the nearby boarding school who took such a liking to her quiet and kind demeanor, that they effectively made the double-V their after-school hangout spot.

There was a large, square wooden table in front of the front windows, which she used as a workbench to pot and re-pot flowers, but when it wasn't coated in soil and plant trimmings, those teens could sit around it and do homework, or just chat–which happened to be what they ended up doing most of the time. Ivy, sword ferns, and other vined plants resided in hanging pots that lined the sides of the shop, while the walls were fitted with wooden shelves that proudly displayed plants for sale. Violet's register was in the back of the shop, from there she could overlook her works of art, customers coming in to browse or find a quiet spot to relax, and she relished in all of it–for this, owning a successful business, had been her childhood dream, and she was pulling it off–extremely well, in fact.

"Hello?" an older woman feigned, peeking her head through the glass front door. "Could I ask for some help if it wouldn't be too much of a bother?"

The woman had a curly grey bob haircut and wore browline oval-shaped glasses. Her face was covered in wrinkles, especially around the corners of her mouth and eyes–smile lines. Her eyes were a soft shade of green and her nose was as small as a button. She wore a cream blouse beneath a sage green trenchcoat and a long, pastel pink skirt that cut off just before her black loafers.

Violet jumped at the sound of the bell ringing and made her way to meet the woman who looked to be somewhat near her in age. "'Course!" she declared with a smile, meeting her by the doorway. "And what would be the occasion?"

"For a loss..."

"Oh," Violet's smile dropped. "I'm terribly sorry that this has become of you, may I offer you a hug?"