Band of Brothers Imagines

Chuck Grant

FLOWERS

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You huffed as you walked back into your small apartment in Los Angeles, California. You had just gotten off of your shift at the diner after running your flower shop from 8am to 4pm. It was now 10:30 at night and after working for five hours, then making the 30 minute trek home, you were exhausted. Your husky, Hase, met you at the door. "Ready for bed Hase?" You chuckled as Hase ran small little circles around you, panting and smiling.

You took him outside one more time to do his business then walked him all the way back up to the apartment and beginning to get ready for bed. Your dog sitter had already fed him dinner while you were at work and all that was left to do now was to set the alarn for tomorrow and crawl into bed with Hase at your feet.

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You woke up a little groggy the next morning at 7, moping around the house and sleepily getting ready to go into the flower shop. Luckily enough, today you didn't have a shift at the diner but the flower shop was open until seven. Seven-thirty hit and you were out the door, coffee in your hand, and locking the door behind you, making sure to leave the key under the mat for the dog sitter later.

You arrived at the flower shop with ten minutes to spare and started prepping the flowers hop for the first visitor. This is how it was everyday. Never anything new. The first customer everyday was always a man who likely forgot to get his wife or girlfriend or fiancée flowers for some event or another. The moment that the door to your small flower shop slammed open, you knew something dramatic was happening.

In walked a mysterious man. He was tan and had pale blue eyes. His hair was a fluffy light brown and atop his forehead sat a scar. And he was angry. He stormed up to the counter and leaned forward staring you right in the face. "How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?" Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Uhh okay, follow me."

You led him into the back of the shop where you assembled bouquets. "If you don't mind my asking, why do you want to say fuck you in flower?" He sighed. "I got this scar on my forehead when some dumb bastard replacement shot me. Some low life came into my tobacco shop the other day and said something completely offensive. I figured 'Hey you know what, I don't need to stress about this and the first thing I thought to get were flowers. They're beautiful and have hidden meaning."

"Alrighty sir," You looked around your stock and grabbed some fabric to wrap the flowers with. "you're gonna want insincerity maybe so foxglove. We'll add meadowsweet and geraniums which will give you uselessness and stupidity. Orange lilies or hatred and the last thing I think will really complete this are yellow carnations. They'll say you have disappointed me." You wrapped the flowers and tied a silk bow around them, leading the man back to the counter.

He grinned mischievously at you. "I will have to take you out sometime," He was very confident and very, very pretentious. You raised a singular eyebrow at him. "I m-mean if yo-you want..." He trailed off and you noticed how his left arm began twitching. He grunted, clearly unhappy with it. "Is your arm okay sir?" You were genuinely concerned for the stranger. "Uh- y-yeah I'm fi-fine." His stuttering now was clearly not due to nervousness. His voice was shaky rather than quiet and he stuttered on almost every word.

"I-It happ-ens som-sometimes. It- It- It's due to-" You cut him off gently by placing a soft, comforting hand on his arm. "Take your time. It's okay." You lightly took his large hands and wrist into your smaller ones. Chuck sucked in a large breath, exhaling through his nose, as you ran your fingers up and down his arm. He watched your nimble fingers silently, smiling to himself. "During," Your head shot up as your eyes focused on him. Chuck breathed deeply as he mentally prepared himself. "During the war, well technically after, I was leading a patrol when I was shot by someone on our side, no less. Point blank in the head. My company got me to a kraut neurosurgeon who operated and saved my life. I can't say much for the Germans, and I certainly won't probably ever admit it, but I will forever be in that man's debt. And if he showed up on my doorstep tonight, German or not, I would help him."

Your fingers were still creeping smoothly up and down his arm, but your focal point remained steady on him. The pair of you stood in silence, in a lokced eye contact. You weren't sure how long it persisted and it was broken by the ringing of the bell to your shop's door. Chuck blinked repeatedly and slapped a 5 on the counter to pay for the flowers. He didn't fail to notice that you had scribbled your phone number on the back of the receipt and he caught your wink as he exited your shop, and blushed.