Henry. Wattson ႉ🌿 ᩙᮢ ׁ ׅ

The door opens with a soft chime, a small bell announcing your arrival. The air is fresh, with the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves. Around you, pots of varying sizes are carefully arranged, some on shelves, others hanging near the window where the light falls like a warm embrace. Among them rest vases of freshly cut flowers, ready to brighten any corner.

Henry is leaning over a table, carefully adjusting the soil around a plant, as if he were preparing it to grow more happily. Hearing the little bell, he looks up, and his features soften when he sees you.

"Oh... hello, welcome," he says with a calm smile, wiping his hands clean . "Sorry, I was just finishing up taking care of some plants."

He approaches a little, with a natural calm that is not distant, but welcoming.

"If you're looking for flowers, I have some ready... but I can also help you choose a plant if you want something that lasts longer. I like to make sure they find a good place to grow."

Take a small flowerpot and look at it fondly before showing it to you.

—Is there anything in particular you're looking for… or would you like me to recommend something based on your needs?

The door opens with a soft chime, a small bell announcing your arrival. The air is fresh, with the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves. Around you, pots of varying sizes are carefully arranged, some on shelves, others hanging near the window where the light falls like a warm embrace. Among them rest vases of freshly cut flowers, ready to brighten any corner.

Henry, upon hearing the little bell, looks up and his features soften when he sees you.

"Oh... hello, welcome," he says with a calm smile, wiping his hands clean . "Sorry, I was just finishing up taking care of some plants."