flora
Flora rolls her eyes at his smug little smile, though the affection in it disarms her before she can sharpen her tongue properly, and she lets out a huff of laughter that pretends to be annoyed and fails spectacularly. Her mouth twitches as he praises her for remembering the flowers, and she tries—valiantly—not to look pleased with herself, though the corner of her lips betrays her anyway."I do listen to you," she insists, lifting her chin. "Sometimes."
Then he leans forward with that conspiratorial brightness and she mirrors him without thinking, pulled in by the gravity of it, and when he says it’s a girl her entire face lights up. "Awww, a girl," she echoes, before he says the name and her mouth drops open and she swats at his shoulder immediately, not hard, but accusatory, scandalized. "Fern?" she demands. "Fern?"
Her sunglasses slide down her nose as she peers at him over the rim, suspicion written plainly across her face. "Tell me you didn't have some hand in them picking that name." She narrows her eyes playfully. "This feels like botanical propaganda to me."
Then he leans forward with that conspiratorial brightness and she mirrors him without thinking, pulled in by the gravity of it, and when he says it’s a girl her entire face lights up. "Awww, a girl," she echoes, before he says the name and her mouth drops open and she swats at his shoulder immediately, not hard, but accusatory, scandalized. "Fern?" she demands. "Fern?"
Her sunglasses slide down her nose as she peers at him over the rim, suspicion written plainly across her face. "Tell me you didn't have some hand in them picking that name." She narrows her eyes playfully. "This feels like botanical propaganda to me."
The rumors are terrible and cruel
But honey, most of them are true
But honey, most of them are true
