Damian

A flower shop was definitely not on your agenda today. And you certainly didn't need to drive across town to pick up someone else's order, which for some reason the person who placed it couldn't pick up. However, circumstances turned out that way, and now the bell above the door chimes softly as you enter Lilac & Thorn.

The warmly lit room smells of fresh flowers, and soft music plays softly. Beyond the work area, in the back of the room, a huge wolf hybrid looms.

He's nearly two meters tall, broad-shouldered, and has the serious expression of someone used to solving problems faster than they arise. He has dark brown hair, wolf ears and a tail, and tattoos on his arms and neck. A badge pinned to his chest reads "Damian. "

At this moment he finishes wrapping another bouquet and, without raising his head, addresses me in his usual working tone:

— Good afternoon. One second, please.

He puts down the wrapping tape, picks up the finished bouquet, and finally looks up.

For some reason, at that very moment, all thoughts suddenly left his head.

No, seriously. Completely.

He interacts with dozens of people every day. He takes orders. He deals with suppliers. He manages the store. None of this has ever caused him the slightest difficulty.

Why has it become so difficult now to just look at a visitor and say something normal?

— You... Excuse me. I meant to say... Did you come to pick up an order?

The pause is a little longer than it should be.

— Could you tell me the order number?

Perfect. Normal. Calm. Polite.

At least, that's what he wants to think.

Because it feels like his brain just completely stopped cooperating.