It had been a rather trying morning, and Steve found himself rushing to meet Marie at her apartment. He'd decided, at the last minute, to make one final stop, so he was running slightly behind. Clutching his purchase in one hand, he squinted into the glass of a nearby window and tried combing his hair down with the other. It was a lost cause, of course, after having to wear his motorcycle helmet, but he felt like he had to try.
This was a date. A real, official date, the first he'd ever had (that hadn't involved the words "She's got a friend" beforehand), and while Steve knew that his concepts of dating were laughably out of fashion... He knew Rogue wouldn't mind. She seemed to find it charming, and so long as she enjoyed it, he wasn't going to worry or try to change.
Steve located the address pretty easily, using the side door beside the little first floor tea shop's entrance, and quickly climbed the stairs. Checking his watch, he winced as he knocked; 10 minutes late. Not the best start, but he hoped she'd forgive him.
He glanced down at the bouquet in his hand. The florist had given him a prolonged questioning look when he'd requested it, but Steve was sure about what he wanted. Bird of Paradise, white 'mum, several daffodils, gladiolus, hydrangea, orchid, and Queen Anne's lace. It did look a bit haphazard, compared to the very professional bouquets they'd had on display, but these symbolized exactly how he felt and thought about Rogue. Even if no one else seemed to know the meanings of flowers anymore, he would know. And if she asked, he would tell Rogue. Hopefully she didn't start crying; he knew why she cried at these kinds of things, but it still broke his heart. She needed, and deserved, to hear it every day, though.
Fourth of July Date (8. Flowers)
This was a date. A real, official date, the first he'd ever had (that hadn't involved the words "She's got a friend" beforehand), and while Steve knew that his concepts of dating were laughably out of fashion... He knew Rogue wouldn't mind. She seemed to find it charming, and so long as she enjoyed it, he wasn't going to worry or try to change.
Steve located the address pretty easily, using the side door beside the little first floor tea shop's entrance, and quickly climbed the stairs. Checking his watch, he winced as he knocked; 10 minutes late. Not the best start, but he hoped she'd forgive him.
He glanced down at the bouquet in his hand. The florist had given him a prolonged questioning look when he'd requested it, but Steve was sure about what he wanted. Bird of Paradise, white 'mum, several daffodils, gladiolus, hydrangea, orchid, and Queen Anne's lace. It did look a bit haphazard, compared to the very professional bouquets they'd had on display, but these symbolized exactly how he felt and thought about Rogue. Even if no one else seemed to know the meanings of flowers anymore, he would know. And if she asked, he would tell Rogue. Hopefully she didn't start crying; he knew why she cried at these kinds of things, but it still broke his heart. She needed, and deserved, to hear it every day, though.