a/n: florist/tattoo artist AU. title taken from harold t wilkins, or how to wait for a very long time by fanfarlo. happy holidays to you all :*
—
By now, she knows the artists by their music selections, the loud, thumping bass that floats through her into her small shop.
She knows that Joe is partial to Lynyrd Skynryd, and that Gareth listens to too much Blink-182. She knows that Tara has Kanye on rotation, and Axel is a Johnny Cash man.
And there's Daryl, who likes the silence.
She thinks she might like him the most.
—
Shawn doesn't know the first thing about flowers, so it's funny watching him stumble his way through conversations with old ladies about the locality of their chrysanthemums. He's the business savvy one, the one with the degree hanging on their small office wall.
She has a few courses under her belt and an eye for arrangements. So naturally, it was a perfect partnership
Business was blooming, despite the name of the shop, Heavy Petal, which Shawn thought was the most hilarious thing in the world, even if the majority of their clientele might not understand it. Still, she embraced the name at the time – it was his grandfather's inheritance that was the catalyst for their small shop - and it fit, in an odd way, with the wrought iron fittings and concrete walls and colour, colour everywhere.
It's an urban wasteland, bursting with life.
—
"I'm in love!"
Shawn lives his life like it's a sitcom – always has always will. His voice is loud and booming, he looks like a quarterback frat guy, but he's a giant teddy bear. Everyone that meets him loves him, and maybe that's part of his success.
(The girls with the cardigans and the librarian dresses, well, they love him more than others. A number of poems have been written and performed at local open mic nights around town in his honour.)
Lori, the Sheriff's wife, laughs, rolling her eyes. She started a couple of months ago, working for a few hours a day, while her son is at school and daughter is at day care. Sometimes she brings her daughter, Judith, and Beth is never productive on those days, preferring to adorn the small girl in daisy chains than do any real work.
"Sweetie, when are you not?"
Shawn chuckles, nodding in agreement. Beth hums, tying off a small corsage – it's homecoming Friday and their orders have skyrocketed – waiting for her brother to spill his feelings.
"She's not like the others," Shawn sighs, clutching his heart, "she's edgy and cool and calls me 'dude'. I mean, she fist-bumped me and-"
"Tara?" Beth asks, incredulously, "your current 'love of your life' is Tara the tattoo girl?"
Glenn, their delivery guy, starts laughing hysterically.
"Oh, Shawn. Let me tell you a little bit about Tara..."
—
When they moved in, the first people to walk through their door were their neighbours, Terminus Tattoo Emporium. They were an odd bunch, intimidating, but friendly, and it was the first time, in meeting owners of the surrounding businesses, that they bothered to address her as well.
Something about a girl with braids and cowboy boots that screams shop girl instead of co-owner. Go figure.
But Joe welcomed them with a gift basket that was really more of a wine box filled with alcohol. A bottle of sambuca, Jack Daniels, dry gin, and gold flakes vodka. And a jar of moonshine.
