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Their kind-of-sort-of-secret-one-time-thing-working-relationship started in about four words.
"So—you're a spy."
Theo had stopped in his tracks, the bouquet of pink ranunculuses stationed in his hands nearly slipping out from shock. He turned, met her silver eyes, and blinked. Thrice. Just to make sure she was really talking to him; by the look on her face, she was. So, he improvised—
"Not really, no."
Yes, he had really assured his boss in this pseudo job as a florist in some glorified shack with 'not really, no.' It wasn't really his finest moment. Or a moment worth remembering right as the woman who accosted him about twenty minutes ago about being a spy was about to poke a very, very dangerous guy's eye out with the stem of a white hydrangea.
Let's just say that while she attempted to persuade him to have her help him out with the internal planning of his 'spy plot' because apparently she was very good at flow charts, Theo had gotten momentarily distracted by the way she didn't even have to wear perfume because she always always smelled like those sweet pea flowers she keeps in the pocket of her cardigans. And because of his schoolboy crush on the lady who sells flowers like she was sent down from the Heavens to do so, they're in a bit of a rut. A small one; but, a rut, nonetheless.
In theory, Theodore hadn't really planned for his mission to take out a bootlegger—a guy by the name of 'Mole Rat,' who might've literally resembled a scrunched-up naked rat with pink eyes and actually created his lair out of the sewer system—to have its culmination in a floral shop. Notice, once again—he hadn't really planned for any of this to occur.
And now, as he was watched Luna Lovegood about to tear apart a man, who was nearly convicted for murder of witnesses before his lengthy walk-free trial, for destroying her orange—sorry, coral—roses, Theo still remained quite possibly stumped for a game plan. All he knew was that he needed one. Fast. Before he had to write up a lot of paperwork about the Mole Rat lost an eye—and how it wasn't even Theo's doing.
He had never even experienced this side of her—as in the violent, feral, ferocious, soon-to-be hydrangea-stabbing side—after working underneath her for about two months while undercover. Truth be told, the only reason Theo had worked at this glorified flower shack was because of its proximity, you see, to the biggest sewer entrance known to date.
"Lovegood. . . why don't we just put the hydrangeas down." Theo raises his hand in a surrender-type fashion and gulps, hard. There is a muffled shout from behind the evergreen gardening tape on the Mole Rat's mouth as he struggles to move his limbs away from the Rosedale cedar arbor that Luna tied him to with a garland nearly two minutes ago. "You know Frank always buys those for his wife on Thursday evenings, and we wouldn't want to disappoint a customer."
She turns her head to look at him with her doe eyed-look—and hell, she nearly stabbed someone and she looks totally and completely innocent—and reluctantly, the bouquet of hydrangeas drops down beside her thighs. Theo nearly sighs in relief.
Luna blinks at him, and her eyes glaze over. Her rigid spine relaxes. And in an instant, she morphs back into her dreamy self. "I don't think Frank deserves that."
"I know." Theo nods sagely and extends his arm toward her, beckoning Luna to come to him so he can just wrap her in his arms and just—just never. Let. Go. She glides toward him in her floral lavender frock and tucks her head underneath his chin—and still, hell, he almost put her in harm because of his piss-poor reaction time. He wraps his arms around her tightly. Because he could've lost this. Her. Them.
"Sorry," Luna mumbles into his navy jumper before lifting her head and staring him straight in the eyes, "but he had you in a headlock. I needed to do something."
Theo nearly harrumphs. "I could've handled the situation myself if you gave me a bit more time."
"He almost choked you with a bunch of coral roses."
"Diversion tactic." Theo pauses and licks his lips. "Make him think that he's winning before you turn the tables."
"Your face was blue."
"You forget that I have cyan undertones. Compliments my eyes."
"Theodore."
He sighs in acceptance and brushes his nose against the side of her head. "Okay. Thank you. For saving me."
"Damsel in distress."
His face etches into a smirk. "Does that make you my knight in shining armour?"
"Of course," she says, dipping her eyebrows together. Another muffle from the arbor breaks through, and Theo momentarily lifts his eyes from her face to give a haughty glare. "How am I supposed to reach the top shelf for those painted chartreuse pots if you died? You know how hard it's been ever since you broke the stool last month."
"Now that was a mistake."
"For someone who proclaims them self to be naturally agile, I never expected you to trip and fall onto a stool."
He flushes brightly. "I was distracted."
"By?"
"The way you smiled at that customer."
Her fingertips on his spine press down harder in response. Luna doesn't even have to say anything to that because when she beams at him, he just knows. He can barely attempt another one of his rubbish plots, that included his lips on hers this time, before she twirls the bottom of his jumper in between her fingers and says—
"So—you're still a spy."
"A little bit, yes."