Whether I'm gonna curse you out or
Take you back to my house
Take you back to my house
Flora shushes Kaisel with a quick finger to his lips, her eyes dancing with wicked delight as she cranes her neck to peek over the back of their booth. "Do you want to get us caught?" she whispers, though her grin says she wouldn't trade this moment for anything.
Then she nudges him, curls bouncing as she tilts her head toward the bar. "Watch," she says in a stage whisper, gesturing as one of her utterly unsuspecting bartenders begins to rim a glass with the replacement mixture she’d provided. The faintest shimmer of powdered blushberry clings to the edge of the glass like gold dust. Flora leans closer to Kaisel, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Ever tried blushberries before?" she asks. "One nibble and you’re the blushing embodiment of oops I have a crush."
They don’t have to wait long. A patron steps up—tan, suave, perhaps a little too confident in his open shirt and seashell necklace—and accepts the drink with a flirtatious murmur to the bartender. He turns, sips, and—
"Oh no," Flora breathes, already muffling a laugh behind her hand.
His cheeks go crimson almost instantly. Like sunburn in fast-forward. He blinks wide-eyed, suddenly wracked with the awkward energy of someone who’s been dropped into a very romantic scene without knowing his lines. He lingers near the bar for a moment like a short-circuited automaton before finally bee-lining back to his table, where his date awaits with a look of bemused curiosity. The poor man sits too fast, nearly knocks over the candle between them, then proceeds to tuck his hair behind both ears at once while smiling way too hard.
Flora leans back in the booth, positively glowing with mischief. "We just weaponized first-date nerves," she murmurs with obvious pride.
Then she nudges him, curls bouncing as she tilts her head toward the bar. "Watch," she says in a stage whisper, gesturing as one of her utterly unsuspecting bartenders begins to rim a glass with the replacement mixture she’d provided. The faintest shimmer of powdered blushberry clings to the edge of the glass like gold dust. Flora leans closer to Kaisel, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Ever tried blushberries before?" she asks. "One nibble and you’re the blushing embodiment of oops I have a crush."
They don’t have to wait long. A patron steps up—tan, suave, perhaps a little too confident in his open shirt and seashell necklace—and accepts the drink with a flirtatious murmur to the bartender. He turns, sips, and—
"Oh no," Flora breathes, already muffling a laugh behind her hand.
His cheeks go crimson almost instantly. Like sunburn in fast-forward. He blinks wide-eyed, suddenly wracked with the awkward energy of someone who’s been dropped into a very romantic scene without knowing his lines. He lingers near the bar for a moment like a short-circuited automaton before finally bee-lining back to his table, where his date awaits with a look of bemused curiosity. The poor man sits too fast, nearly knocks over the candle between them, then proceeds to tuck his hair behind both ears at once while smiling way too hard.
Flora leans back in the booth, positively glowing with mischief. "We just weaponized first-date nerves," she murmurs with obvious pride.
flora
I haven't decided yet
But I'm gonna get you back
But I'm gonna get you back
