Work Text:
Clint glanced up from the arrangement he was finishing as the bell over the shop door rang. Blinking, he paused to take a longer look at the man who stopped just inside the door to tuck a pair of aviator sunglasses into the coat of his very nice suit.
"Welcome to Sherwood Florist," Clint called, and the man looked over at him, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a smirk that had Clint's mouth suddenly going dry.
"Interesting theme," he replied mildly, and Clint grinned unapologetically at him.
"Florist by day, archer by night. And sometimes weekends, if I can manage it.."
Phil's expression changed in a way that was clearly a smile, without actually being a smile. It was kind of impressive, actually.
"Definitely unique."
Clint laughed. "You'd think that, but It's not, actually. I googled it when I bought the place. But I like to think my Sherwood Florist is the best."
Tasha and Katie had reined Clint in, making sure the theme came through in muted tasteful touches, like the forest green of Clint's uniform shirt, and the wooden longbow mounted over the counter -- Clint's own, of course. He had to admit that if he'd been in charge of decorations, the shop might've looked like it belonged in the local Ren Faire. He was pretty proud of the logo he'd designed, though: six long stemmed roses in a quiver.
(His purple work apron probably clashed with the tasteful green polo shirt, but it was favorite, and non-negotiable.)
"Can I help you find something?" Clint asked, wiping his hands on a rag under the work counter.
The man hummed noncommittally. "I think I'll look around a little, thank you."
"Help yourself," Clint replied, gesturing toward the displays and the cases. "Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."
It came out a little flirtier than he intended, and maybe his smile was just a bit friendlier than necessary, but there was no harm in smiling at a good looking man, especially one who wasn't wearing a ring.
The smile he got in return brought crinkles to the corners of the man's eyes in a way that made Clint long to press his lips against them.
"I certainly will," the man replied.
Clint busied himself with finishing the Get Well Soon arrangement he was working on, sneaking glances as the man wandered the shop, looking over the live plants and peering into the refrigerated cases.
He sure knows how to choose a suit, Clint thought in admiration. The expertly tailored suit broadened the man's shoulders and emphasized his trim waist. And the slight flare of the coat hinted at an ass that Clint practically itched to get his hands on.
Clint pricked his thumb on a thorn, stifling a curse. That's what you get for creepy staring, Barton, Clint thought as he sucked on the thumb, imagining Natasha laughing at him.
The strains of the theme song to Dog Cops, of all things, filled the air, and Clint hid a smirk. The lighthearted tune was unexpected, at odds with the perfectly-put-together look of tailored suit and designer shades and highly-polished dress shoes. The picture was further muddled when the ringing phone was revealed to reside in a case with Captain America's unmistakeable and brightly colored shield on the back.
"This is Phil," the man said as he held the phone to his ear, his back to Clint. "Oh, hello, Pepper."
Phil, Clint thought. Good to know. And what the hell kind of a name is Pepper?
He promptly tuned out the rest of Phil's conversation. None of his business, no matter how interesting this Phil guy was. He just hoped Phil would finish his call before he came to the counter, if he decided to buy anything. Clint hated serving people on their cell phones.
Finishing the arrangement he'd been working on when Phil came in, Clint tucked it in the case in the back reserved for custom orders. Either he or Natasha would deliver it when she got back from her dinner break. He decided to check the stock levels in the computer to see what orders needed to be placed, rather than start working on another order, in case Phil needed anything.
Phil's phone call eventually ended, and he tucked the brightly colored phone back in a pocket as he peered one last time into the largest refrigerated case. Opening it, he pulled out a large, colorful arrangement: sunflowers, pink roses, and orange lilies, chiefly. It wasn't extravagant, but it would make a very nice gift for someone. Clint, speculated, as always, on the recipient, and the occasion. It was one of his favorite games.
The arrangement was friendly and cheerful but not overtly romantic, less likely to be an apology or an anniversary. Get Well Soon, maybe? Or a birthday? He'd probably never know.
"All set?" Clint asked as Phil neared the counter, and Phil nodded. The friendly smile he gave Clint made his eyes crinkle up again, and Clint swallowed roughly. That was just unfair. Phil's eyes were a soft blue, open and kind, his face framed by fine, soft-looking light brown hair kept short and neat. Clint could see a light dusting of freckles on his cheeks and forehead, and the hint of stubble darkening his jaw. Everything about Phil seemed custom designed to make Clint long to reach out and touch.
Clint busied himself ringing up Phil's order as a distraction, but he could feel Phil's gaze on him, and it felt a lot more focused than that of a customer waiting for a total.
He glanced up again, and their gazes caught, held. Clint was definitely not imagining the tension. He cleared his throat, and Phil's friendly smile slid into a heated smirk.
"That, uh… that comes out to $57.39," Clint told him, his voice a little rough, and Phil nodded, reaching for his wallet. "Would you like a card for the flowers?" Clint added. "They're free."
He gestured at the little rack with a dramatic flourish. "We got every occasion. New baby, graduation, birthday, anniversary, 'I'm very sorry, dear'..."
The corner of Phil's mouth kicked up in that smirk again, his eyes sparkling with sly humor. "I can think of much better ways to say sorry than flowers," he said archly. "No offense."
"None taken," Clint said with a grin. He let his gaze linger on Phil's lips for a moment, watching as the very tip of Phil's tongue came out to wet them. "You seem like a man who could be very... creative in his apologies."
"'Anything worth doing', they say," Phil said, leaning against the counter, and Clint finished with him, "'is worth doing right.'"
They grinned at each other as Phil handed over the cash for his order. Clint quickly counted it, his peripheral vision catching Phil as he selected a card -- a Happy Birthday card -- and slid an elegant silver pen out of his pocket.
Clint settled the vase holding Phil's flowers into a transport box as Phil wrote, and even though he could easily see every letter, even upside down and hidden by shadow as they were, he was very careful to keep his gaze unfocused, noting only the bold confidence of Phil's handwriting.
Confidence. Right. Clint could be confident, too. Maybe Phil was just flirting to pass the time, but maybe he'd be interested in more. It had sure seemed a few minutes ago like he wouldn't be against the idea.
Well, Clint had never been the type to look carefully before he leaped.
"Hey, listen," he said as he handed over Phil's change and tucked the card Phil had written into the arrangement. "I was wondering if you might -- "
He was cut off by a shrill electronic ring. Unlike Phil's previous ringtone, this one was no-nonsense, and the sleek black phone Phil quickly pulled out matched it in seriousness.
Phil's whole demeanor changed in an instant. His gaze sharpened, eyes now a steely gray, his jaw firming as the casual way he was standing straightened into something like military attention.
"Go," he said sharply as he held his phone up to his ear, sliding his wallet back into a pocket. He fitted an earpiece into his right ear and put his phone back into his coat to free his hands. "How long ago?"
Picking up the flowers, he gave Clint a polite -- but brief -- nod of thanks.
"ETA 45," he said as he turned toward the door, and then, "Make that 35. I expect a full sitrep."
Still talking, he strode out the door without a glance backward, looking very much like a man who needed to be somewhere else, and fast. It should've looked strange, that businesslike -- almost predatory -- gait with his hands full of colorful blooms in a cheery vase, but it really, really didn't.
"What the hell just happened?" Clint breathed, a tangled-up ball of lust and regret.
Phil had been handsome when he'd walked in, but the way he'd left… Clint breathed out shakily.
When Phil left, he'd been like an arrow, loosed at the target. Swift, purposeful, and most likely deadly. It was probably the hottest thing Clint had ever seen.
"What do you think, Luck?" he asked, shifting to glance down at where the dog lay behind the counter in his ratty, beloved dog bed. "Hostage negotiator? Bodyguard? Secret Service?"
Lucky tilted his head and peered up at Clint out of his one good eye, seemingly unimpressed with the options he'd been given.
Clint sighed, staring out the door, regret finally overtaking the lust and the curiosity.
"I kinda feel like we had something good going there, you know? Think he'll be back?" he asked the dog, and Lucky lay his head back on his paws, grumbling. Clint frowned at him. "Aw, what do you know, anyway. You'll see. He'll be back."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Clint wondered if Phil would come back when whatever crazy circumstance had called him away was settled. It was possible, he guessed, but with his luck, Phil had just been passing through on his way to meet whoever the birthday flowers were for.
Days turned into weeks, and that idea seemed more and more likely. Clint silently cursed Phil's stupid black phone with its stupid annoying ring. It couldn't have waited two minutes to ring? By then, Clint would've asked Phil if he wanted to grab coffee or something, and Phil would've said yes, and everything would be wonderful now. Dates and stuff, and more of those smiles that made Phil's eyes crinkle, and eventually possibly getting a look at what was under that suit.
"Of course, if he was just passing through, he'd probably have said no anyway, even if he was interested," Clint told Lucky, who woofed sympathetically and licked his hand.
"Are you still moping about the secret badass that got away?" Natasha asked curtly as she trimmed stems.
"Maybe," Clint snarked back as he culled older arrangements from their stock, Lucky trotting faithfully behind him, in the eternal hope that Clint might magically produce food from somewhere.
Clint had tried to explain the whole encounter with Phil to Natasha -- including the hot weirdness at the end -- when she'd come back from her dinner break that first night, but she remained underwhelmed.
She rolled her eyes now, and he contemplated what she might do if he tossed half a bucket of freezing water at her.
None of the options were pretty, not even the ones that didn't account for the pruning shears she was holding. He went back to work instead.
A few more weeks passed, and Clint was idly staring out the front window as he sorted through a new shipment when he realized just who was picking through the apples at the market across the street.
"Holy shit, Phil!" he yelped, knocking half a dozen tulips off the work counter as he flailed. Lucky woke with a startled bark, and Natasha glared at him from the small office, where she was on the phone with a customer.
"It's Phil!" he whisper-shouted, pointing at the window, and she rolled her eyes and gestured toward the door. Clint hesitated, not wanting to leave the front of the store unattended, but he didn't want to miss the chance he'd been given.
He'd just rounded the counter, wondering what Phil would think about Clint just appearing at his elbow, when the bell above the door jingled cheerfully.
A woman and a teenage girl walked in, glancing around the shop, and Clint barely resisted the urge to drop to his knees and wail, "Nooooooooo!" while shaking his fists at the universe.
"Welcome to Sherwood Florist, how can I help you?" he said instead, giving them what he hoped was a friendly smile and not a grimace.
"My daughter is looking for corsage options for her and her girlfriend, for prom," the woman said with a proud, steely smile that dared him to make a fuss. The girl looked half-embarrassed and half-wary.
Clint put all thoughts of missed opportunities out of his mind, determined to make sure this kid and her girlfriend had the best damn corsages of everyone at their prom.
"Of course," he said with a grin, gesturing them toward one of the cases. "Right over here, we've got some pre-made options, and of course, we do custom orders, too..."
They were still discussing ribbon options and dress colors when Clint glanced up to see Phil walking down the street away from the shop, bag of apples in hand.
After that, Clint kept seeing him, at the market across the street, or the coffeeshop next to the market, or just walking down the street, but it was always when Clint was on the phone, or with a customer, or in the shop by himself. It wasn't like he could excuse himself and drop the phone or run out on a customer, or leave the shop unattended just to go chasing after a hot guy.
Phil was obviously a local after all -- or maybe he was a new local? -- and Clint looked for him everywhere during his off time, with no success. He was starting to feel like he was cursed, that the universe was against him meeting up with Phil again. Which of course, only made him want it more.
Clint and Natasha worked through the busy spring and into the summer, surviving prom season and Mother's Day, Memorial Day and Father's Day, and Katie joined them more often once her classes ended for the summer. All the while, Clint kept hoping Phil might come in again. He had to need flowers for something, right? Birthday? Sick friend? Cemetery visit!
"Okay, that's a little morbid," he mumbled to himself. He was getting desperate.
And then it hit him like a bolt of lightning. He shot upright from where he'd been slouching against the counter.
"I have an idea!"
"Oh, shit," Katie muttered, her eyes widening. Clint scowled at her on his way to the storage area at the back of the shop.
Clint dragged out the old sandwich board and its accompanying white letters. They'd come with the shop when he'd bought it, but he'd never used them. He dusted everything off, coughing at the mess and making Lucky whine and retreat to Natasha's side. Finally, he had to grab a rag and a spray bottle of cleanser to finish the job.
"What are you doing?" Natasha asked eventually, when he started picking through the letters.
"Marketing," Clint grunted as he concentrated on making sure the spacing was even and that he'd spelled everything right. It was no coincidence that he left most of the emails and all of the marketing work to Tasha. "We'll pick a new name every week. Drum up business!"
"'If your name is Phil, come in for a free rose,'" Katie read skeptically. "And you just happened to pick 'Phil' to start with, hmm? You don't think maybe this is a little desperate and creepy?"
Clint thought maybe it was. Just a little. Probably. Which made him defensive. "It's a marketing tactic!" he argued indignantly.
"What?" he added when Natasha only stared impassively at him.
"This is a florist shop," she said after another moment, crossing her arms over her chest. "That means we sell flowers. Giving them away is not your most outstanding business decision."
"No, see, people will come in for the rose, and then they'll buy more," he countered, carrying the sandwich board to the door and then out onto the sidewalk. "It'll work, you'll see."
"Well, we do have all the purple roses Clint keeps ordering that no one ever buys," Katie said contemplatively.
"People do too buy them!" he said, glaring at her. Maybe not as many as he thought should buy them, but he couldn't help it if his customers had no taste or style.
"Just how many people named Phil do you think live around here?" Natasha asked, and Clint shrugged.
"Guess we'll find out."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
There were, as it turned out, a lot of Phils. Well, probably Phils, it wasn't like Clint was checking IDs. He suspected Nat probably was. He wasn't sure about Katie.
But the only one he was interested in had not come by, and the shop was set to close in half an hour. Nat and Katie had already gone home for the night.
It hadn't worked. His last hope hadn't worked, and now he was just going to have to give up and admit that the universe was against him having anything more to do with the gorgeous, possibly deadly guy that had gotten away.
Worse, he was going to have to pick some stupid name at random next week and give away more of his stock, or admit to Nat and Katie that they were right.
Clint hated doing that. Though he did have a lot of practice at it. His only hope was that the few sales they'd made off the "Phil"s that had come in had offset the cost of giving away the roses, and he wouldn't be able to tell that until he settled the day's take in the morning.
With a sigh, he started his end of day routine, grabbing the broom from the closet to sweep the floor. He almost dropped it in shock when he moved out onto the floor just enough to see Phil on the sidewalk outside the bookstore down the street. Phil was talking to Dani, the owner, who was pointing at the sandwich board outside Clint's shop.
Clint watched, his heart racing, as Phil tilted his head, clearly reading the sign. He said something to Dani, who laughed and nodded a goodbye before heading back into her shop. Phil looked both ways and crossed the street. In Clint's direction. He was coming. Here. To the shop.
"Oh, shit!" Clint breathed. He dashed across the store to shove the broom into a corner and then wiped his hands off on his work apron. "Shit shit shit!"
He hadn't actually thought about what he'd do if Phil really came in!
Glancing over the few remaining purple long-stemmed roses in the case, he was dismayed to see that most of them were looking pretty ragged by now. He was still trying to find the best looking one left when the bell over the door jingled.
Clint whirled around just in time to see Phil step inside.
"Hi!" he said, and oh, shit, that came out a little too excited. He took a deep breath. "Welcome. Back. Um. Welcome back. To Sherwood Florist."
Time had either fuzzed his memories of just how good looking Phil was, or Phil had gotten even hotter. Clint tried not to gulp in air.
Phil blinked at him, and his smile looked a little confused. "Good memory. Thank you. I saw your sign," he said, gesturing toward the sidewalk. "Interesting... marketing strategy?"
Unwilling to take his eyes off Phil in case he disappeared again, Clint reached behind him into the still open case and grabbed a rose at random, practically shoving it, still dripping, at Phil.
"Your rose, as promised," he said, with a grin at Phil that felt a little too frantic. He opened his mouth, and apparently some things had just been bottled up too long, because what spilled out was, "Do you want to maybe have coffee or go get a drink?"
Aww, mouth, no.
Phil raised an eyebrow at him, folding his hands behind his back. "Are you offering a date to every Phil that comes in for a rose?"
This was not going well.
"No?" Clint offered, resisting the urge to shake the rose at Phil so that he might take it.
Phil just stared at him with a mixture of amusement, confusion, and maybe the beginnings of alarm. That was not good. That was bad.
"Okay, look," Clint said, reaching behind him to slide the case shut, because his ass was freezing and the flowers were probably wilting in the July humidity. "You came in, right, and we were, like, flirting, and then your phone rang and you stormed out of here like some kind of loaded weapon, which was a little weird, but very hot? And I was hoping you'd come back later, but you didn't, and I kept... seeing you out there, on the street or whatever, but you never came in here, and I knew your name was Phil, cause I heard you say it on the phone, but you paid cash, so it's not like I could look you up by your credit card receipt -- oh shit, not that I would look you up that way, that's totally creepy, I'd never do that, okay? I wouldn't, I swear."
Clint physically bit his tongue to get himself to shut up. Closing his eyes in defeat, he offered the rose to Phil again.
"Shit. Just... just, um, you can take it. It's yours, no strings or anything, I swear. Just forget everything I just said. If you can."
The rose was gently taken from his hand, but to his surprise, he heard a soft laugh from Phil instead of the bell on the door jingling as Phil got the hell out of the store and as far away from Clint as he could.
Clint's eyes fluttered open. Phil was still standing in front of him, the rose held in both hands, and he was still staring at Clint with amusement, and alarm, but also... fondness?
"Okay," Phil said.
It was Clint's turn to blink in confusion. "Sorry?"
"Okay, let's get coffee. Or a drink."
"Seriously?" Clint blurted out, and Phil laughed, and oh, there went those eye crinkles. Clint definitely hadn't forgotten those. "How did my crazy babble not scare you off?"
Phil frowned, thinking. "It was a little crazed, but more cute than worrying, and... I make a lot of reckless decisions, to tell you the truth. They usually work out pretty well for me."
"Really?" Clint said in disbelief. "Mine hardly ever do."
Phil laughed, and Clint sheepishly reached up to scratch the back of his head.
"Maybe this one will turn out better for both of us than most," Phil said, and Clint grinned. "So we've established how you know my name. Do I get to know yours?"
"Oh, god, yes, sorry!" He wiped his hand on his apron again and stuck it out. "Clint. Barton. Clint Barton. Hi."
Phil laughed again, shifting his rose to his left hand to shake Clint's. His hand was warm, and interestingly calloused, and Clint shivered at the touch. "Hi, Clint. Phil Coulson."
They stared at each other, smiling and basically holding hands, and the moment stretched out. Clint didn't really want to let go, and it didn't seem like Phil did either, but eventually his grip loosened, and Clint reluctantly let his hand slip away.
"For the record," Phil told him, "I'm, well, a little flattered that you went to all this effort to find me. If I'd known you were interested, I would certainly have come back in. I just..."
Phil trailed off, ducking his head as he shrugged, and Clint found it adorable. Oh no. How was he supposed to deal with smirky and gorgeous, hot and possibly deadly, and adorable, all in one package? He was doomed.
"I just assumed flirting with customers was standard? Part of the Sherwood Florist package? Come in for a bouquet, and flirting with the hot owner is included?"
Clint opened his mouth and shut it, not sure if he was insulted, flattered (Phil called him hot!), or both.
"I'll have you know that I'm friendly and charming to everyone who comes in my shop," he said, and Phil huffed a laugh. "But flirting is reserved for... my most valued customers."
"Is that so?" Phil asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned a little closer.
"Mm hmm," Clint said as he leaned in, too.
"And how many of those are there?" Phil murmured, his voice a low rumble.
"Not many," Clint answered, his gaze falling to Phil's lips.
"Oh?" Phil asked, and Clint nodded, a little dazed.
"Sherwood Florist VIP Club, newly founded, membership of one," he whispered, hardly even aware of what he was saying anymore as Phil's lips quirked into a smile that Clint wanted -- needed -- to taste. Clint strained half an inch closer -- he could feel the warmth of Phil's body, catch a hint of his cologne, and --
The bell over the door jingled, and they sprang apart -- but not too far apart.
"I, uh, saw your sign outside," the man said, frozen halfway through the door, and Clint had never before wanted to throw something at a potential customer.
"Sorry, man, we're all out," Clint said sharply, and Phil laughed, resting his forehead against Clint's. Phil's laugh was a gorgeous sound, and Clint couldn't wait to hear it again -- and any other sounds Phil might choose to make.
Just as soon as he locked the damn door.
END