Chapter Text
The holiday rush for retail shops is both a blessing and a curse; on one hand, it’s a great time to make a fortune over a short period of time, but on the other hand, the amount of work that needs to be done takes on a whole new level of pain-in-the ass.
There was simply no rest around the holidays, which meant waking up at ungodly hours to meet the delivery man at the shop and unload the bulk delivery of fresh roses and lilies. Then, of course, those flowers have to be counted, sorted and wrapped up in cellophane and pretty bows for the flower arrangements ordered by the customers.
And all that work was fueled by nothing but perseverance and a Debussy inspired playlist. (Read: three cups of coffee and a whole lot of spiteful rage).
Bella stands among the carnage of pink and white petals, stretching her arms up until her back cracks so loudly she swears her spine just snapped in half.
“Holy shit–” She cringes when Alice whirls around and pins her with stern eyes. “-take. Shitake!”
“That’s a dollar for the swear jar, Bella.”
“I said shitake!”
“Swear jar!”
Bella groans. She digs through her overall’s pockets for some loose change as she trudges toward the front desk where the infamous swear jar sits.
The swear jar got started to help Bella with her New Year’s resolution: to stop cursing, or at least curse a little less. Alice, feeling super hopeful about it, even bedazzled the stupid thing and wrapped it with a pink bow. It clearly wasn’t really doing the job.
And, like clockwork, Bella trips over her own shoelaces.
Alice manages to catch Bella before she can crack her head against the counter, which, honestly, wouldn’t be the first time that happened.
“We don’t have time for a concussion today, Bella!” Alice straightens Bella with an exasperated look. “It’s peak season, and Mother’s Day weekend is coming up. I need you in the shop with your brain intact.”
“That was one time, Alice! One. Time!”
Alice rolls her eyes. “That’s already too many times!”
Bella grumbles under her breath but drops four quarters into the jar. It was way too early for this shit. She needed another cup of coffee.
They sweep up the shop as best as they can before the morning rush begins, but as soon as the clock signals it’s 8am, the phone starts ringing off the hook. It makes Bella wonder if customers wait by their phones, literally counting down the seconds to opening time. Some people act like ordering flowers is a life or death situation.
That was the one of the many downsides to peak season– customer behavior suddenly shifts from somewhat tolerable, maybe even polite at times, to downright irrational and rude. When it comes to the rude ones, Bella has no problem simply hanging up on them. She’ll even slam the phone on the receiver for good measure.
Customer service is the best.
Not.
They’re quickly bogged down by last minute flower arrangements and delivery requests, and then they meet with a wedding planner (who has an astronomical budget and an even larger ego) to discuss floral designs and plant rentals for the event.
Fuck the coffee. She needs sedation at this point.
Bella only manages to nick herself a few times with the roses this morning, of which only two cuts are serious enough to actually require a bandaid; a morning win, in her opinion. But she also loses $7 to the swear jar, so maybe not a morning win.
They finally get a breather around mid-morning– the next rush won’t be until around noon, when the nine-to-fivers go on lunch break and have more free time to make orders.
That’s when Alice notices the activity across the street.
“Looks like the new neighbors are finally moving in,” she muses.
Bella stands up from her crouch behind the counter and follows Alice’s gaze. There are movers hauling furniture into the once empty studio across the street.
She’s never seen the owners. All she knows is that one day the “retail space for lease” sign was suddenly replaced with a “sold” sticker, and then after some renovations, a decal of a gray wolf was plastered onto the storefront’s window along with a neon sign that said “Wolf’s Den.” Bella asked around the local shops, asking if anyone knew who owned the new shop or what it was, but no one had any clue.
Bella notes the fancy leather seats wrapped in plastic. “Do you think it’s a salon?”
Alice claps her hands. “Oh, I hope so! I’m so sick of going across town to-”
She stops when the roar of several engines cuts her off.
Four motorcycles rumble to a stop in front of the store. They look badass and beautiful, all decked out with long hair and covered in tattoos and dark clothing. They look like something out of a grunge-y 80s biker movie. Or the Matrix?
They remove their helmets and dap each other up in front of the store. The tallest one of the group gestures proudly at the sign.
“I don’t think… it’s a salon,” Alice says slowly.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Bella mumbles.
Alice silently slides the swear jar toward her.
The tallest one turns around, surveying the block. He notices Alice and Bella through the window and raises his hand in greeting without a flicker to his expression.
“He’s like, the Terminator or something,” Bella says.
Alice enthusiastically waves back. “A cute one,” she adds slyly, elbowing Bella to prompt her to wave back too.
By the time Bella cooperates, the tall stranger has already turned back around.
“He’s alright,” Bella dismisses. She drops her hand.
But she finds her eyes wandering to the front window throughout the rest of the afternoon so she can watch the tall stranger milling about with his biker friends, toting an unexpectedly charming smile on his face that makes her breath catch.