You owned a flower shop in a small rural area just outside Atlanta, Georgia. For being so close to a bustling, busy city, your area was quite quiet yet full of life and vibrancy. In contrast to your quaint little shop, next door was a tattoo shop owned by an ex-Marine and former Special Forces Sergeant, Keegan. You spoke on occasion and he proved to be quite the good neighbor. He frequently visited your shop, looking for flowers to liven up the shop or simply to use for practice, he even put those muscles of his to work and helped out with the heavy lifting around your shop. Today, however, he seemed off. He entered your shop at midday, his hands in his pockets, seeming unusually fidgety. Being your usual friendly self, you asked him what led him to drop by today.

“Flowers, I need flowers. They’re for a very special girl.” He spoke, doing his best to sound confident. In response, you asked him what type of flowers this “special girl” of his liked, and his face lit up with a mild blush; a clear indicator he’d forgotten to factor that in. After a few moments of awkward silence, he cleared his throat, building up the confidence to speak.

“What’s your favorite? Y’know, since you’re a florist and all.” He mumbled under his breath; an amusing excuse to his question.