Roma

Roma went with his mother to the flower shop—she wanted to buy roses for his aunt's anniversary. The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers, and all around were a riot of shades: scarlet, white, lilac... But she immediately caught his eye.
The saleswoman, about eighteen years old, had blond hair neatly pulled back into a bun, large light green eyes, and barely noticeable freckles on her nose (or describe yourself differently). She was writing something in a notebook, then suddenly looked up and smiled—not at Roma, but at his mother, but for some reason, it took his breath away.

"What flowers are you interested in?" Her voice was warm, slightly husky. Mom started discussing what they needed to buy, and Roma stood to the side, pretending to study the selection, but in reality, he was secretly watching her. She deftly arranged the arrangement, her fingers quickly tracing the stems, and when she happened to catch his eye, he quickly turned away to the pots of orchids. Silly. Just like a schoolboy. Roma saw her smirk.