Blooms and banter
The greenhouse atop the Heavenly Embassy was glowing. Literally.
The flowers Charlie had tended weeks ago were now in full bloom, their petals shimmering in hues of gold, blush pink, and deep violet. They almost looked too perfect to touch. Almost.
Charlie stood at the entrance, hands on her hips, dressed in her usual stylish ensemble that was entirely inappropriate for gardening. Her glossy lips curled into a smirk.
“Well, well, well. Look at my babies bloom,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “They grow up so fast.”
“Try not to get too sentimental,” came Primrose’s dry voice from behind her.
Charlie turned with a grin. There he was—Primrose, as stiff as ever, sleeves perfectly rolled up, shears in hand like he was about to perform surgery rather than harvest flowers.
“Oh, Prim, don’t be jealous. You were just supervising. I made them bloom,” Charlie teased, giving him a playful wink.
Primrose sighed, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “You watered them. The plants did the rest.”
Charlie gasped, placing a hand on her chest. “Wow. I’m getting zero credit for all the emotional support I gave them? Heartless.”
“Plants don’t need emotional support,” Primrose replied flatly.
“Shows what you know.” Charlie winked before sauntering toward the nearest row of flowers. “Alright, teach. Show me how to harvest these beauties without ruining them.”
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Primrose joined her, standing just a bit too close as he demonstrated how to hold the stem with one hand and snip cleanly with the other. His movements were precise, almost elegant.
“Careful with the angle,” he instructed. “If you cut too low, you’ll damage the growth node. Too high, and you’ll lose part of the usable stem.”
Charlie leaned in, watching his hands closely. “So precise. You sure you’re not moonlighting as a surgeon?”
“No,” Primrose said curtly. “Now, you try.”
Charlie plucked a pair of golden-handled shears from the table and crouched beside a blooming violet flower. She made a show of steadying her hand.
“Okay, let’s see if I can impress you.”
“You won’t,” Primrose muttered.
Charlie shot him a look but grinned as she carefully snipped the stem. The flower fell into her other hand, perfectly intact.
“Ha! Look at that—perfection,” she said, holding it up proudly. “Admit it. You’re impressed.”
Primrose peered at the cut, inspecting it with maddening seriousness.
“…Acceptable.”
Charlie narrowed her eyes. “Acceptable? Honey, this is art. Give me some credit.”
Primrose gave the faintest hint of a smile. “One successful cut doesn’t make you an expert. We have dozens more to harvest.”
Charlie sighed dramatically, placing the flower delicately into the basket. “Ugh, so demanding. Fine. Let’s see if I can keep up with your impossibly high standards.”
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They worked side by side, Primrose offering corrections (“Less pressure on the shears, Charlotte.”), while Charlie continued to tease him mercilessly.
At one point, Charlie brushed a strand of hair from her face, leaving a smudge of soil on her cheek. Primrose hesitated, looking like he wanted to point it out but didn’t know how.
“You look ridiculous,” he finally said, glancing away.
Charlie leaned closer, fluttering her lashes. “Aw, Prim, you do care how I look. You trying to say I’m too pretty for farm work?”
Primrose stepped back immediately, cheeks dusting with pink. “I said nothing of the sort.”
“Ohhh, Prim,” Charlie laughed, “you’re too easy.”
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By midday, the baskets were full of stems, leaves, and the precious petals ready for processing.
Charlie wiped her brow with a satisfied sigh. “Whew. Not bad for a day’s work. Who knew gardening could be this much cardio?”
“You hardly did the heavy lifting,” Primrose said, though there was less bite in his tone now.
Charlie perched on the edge of the worktable, swinging her legs. “Hey, I lifted morale. That counts for something.”
Primrose gave her a look but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached for the final task: the nectar extraction.
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“Now,” he said, turning serious again, “this part is delicate. The nectar is the most valuable part of these flowers. It must be extracted without contamination.”
Charlie raised a brow. “Delicate work? Sounds like my specialty.”
Primrose ignored her. He retrieved a small, glass vial and an equally delicate pipette. “Watch carefully.”
Charlie leaned in, genuinely curious now. She watched as Primrose tilted a bloom just so, and with steady hands, drew out a shimmering drop of golden nectar.
“Whoa,” she breathed, watching the nectar glow faintly in the vial. “Fancy. And this stuff... changes cherubuns, right?”
Primrose nodded. “A small amount, properly diluted, can restore energy or even alter physical forms temporarily.”
“Wild.” Charlie shook her head, grinning. “And they trust you with this kind of power?”
Primrose shot her a dry look. “I am the most qualified.”
“Of course you are.” Charlie rested her chin in her hand. “So, do I get to try now?”
Primrose hesitated. “This requires precision.”
“Prim.” Charlie pouted. “You said the same thing about planting and watering, and I aced those. Let me try.”
After a long pause, Primrose sighed. “Fine. But carefully.”
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Charlie grinned, rolling up her sleeves. “Relax. I’ve got this.”
She mimicked Primrose’s movements—slower, but steady. Her tongue poked out in concentration as she squeezed the pipette, watching a golden drop of nectar slide into the vial.
“…Ha!” she exclaimed, stepping back with a victorious grin. “Told you I could do it!”
Primrose leaned in, inspecting the vial.
“…Adequate.”
Charlie stared at him. “Adequate?! Oh, come on! That was textbook perfect!”
Primrose looked unbothered. “Perhaps next time you’ll achieve exceptional.”
Charlie gaped, then burst out laughing. “You are unbelievable, you know that?”
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As they packed up the vials and baskets of flowers, Charlie stole one last look at the greenhouse. The once-empty beds were bare again, ready for a new cycle.
“Gotta admit,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, “kinda proud of these little guys. We did good.”
Primrose adjusted his sleeves. “Indeed.”
Charlie shot him a grin. “Bet you’ll miss me next time you do this alone.”
Primrose didn’t respond immediately. Then, after a moment, he glanced at her and said, “You were... helpful.”
Charlie blinked. Then she grinned wide. “Primrose. Did you just admit you like working with me?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
Charlie laughed, heading toward the door. “Whatever you say, Prim. Call me when you need a professional again.”
As she left, Primrose watched her go, shaking his head with the faintest smile.
She was insufferable. But... maybe the greenhouse would be a little too quiet without her.
