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H I M

      In the final week of August, Bryson travels by car through the heavily-concreted roadway to Beaufort, South Carolina, where he spent the last 19 years of his life growing up.

The radio was on and some R&B music was playing in the background. It was good to be back after a year at Fort Leonard Wood in St. Robert, Missouri, where his father had decided to send him for "disciplining" or whatever he called it.

Bryson would prefer to spend his life messing around and doing whatever the heck he wants if he was able to but the problems that took place last year were the final straw that snapped his father's last thread of patience. Yes, he felt shameful for most of his past behaviors, hence he's glad that he went to military camp as it changed him in different kinds of way.

Good way. I hope so.

Bryson decided to buy some flowers and sweets for his family before heading straight to their house, which was located on the outskirts of the town and surrounded by cosmic trees and lakes. It has been quite some time since the last time he saw them, and as much as he hates to admit it, he misses them terribly.

He was used to a different way of life in this small town compared to what went on inside the camp. Every routine and each action, including the way you spoke there, were predetermined. Even in front of your fellow cadets, you were obligated to strictly adhere to all rules and regulations and behave like a well-oiled machine in front of your commanding officials.

It did, however, discipline them. throughout the course of the year, some of them, including him, seemed to love their time there more than they had envisioned.

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Bryson parks his car in the customer-only parking lot in front of a flower shop, which is located in the town center, along with the majority of the stores.
While driving around seeking for a bakery with good pastries a few minutes ago, he was fortunate to come across it. Except for the red roses, that he knows the names of, there are many various kinds and colors of flowers that are displayed outdoors.

The bell at the top of the door jingles as he pushes it open. As soon as he enters, his nose gets overwhelmed by an appealing, candy-like smell, but a certain one in particular stood out.

Uncertain of what it was, Bryson guessed that it could be a scent akin to vanilla and lavender. He allows his gaze to stray across the store. Even though the room seemed small for him—possibly because he was a huge man of 6'3 feet tall—it was quite clean, and the atmosphere was actually homey.

"Good morning, sir. How may I assist you?" A brunette with an apron across her torso beams at him from behind the counter. She gives Bryson that enthusiastic smile that he is sure is her typical expression whenever they have a customer. He looks around the shop, trying to find something that strikes his interest, ignoring the girl or florist who was staring at him with her expectant eyes.

"Would you like me to assist you, sir? What kind of flower do you prefer? We have some here—"

God.

Bryson wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose. He's not sure whether he was simply worn out from the long drive, but the woman's voice was echoing in his head like someone scraping the chalk down the board.

Before she could say anything that would truly annoy him, Bryson interrupts her babbling and asks, "That one. How much is it?" while pointing with his index finger towards the white and yellow flower. Given that he needed her help for whatever reason he was there, he shouldn't have snapped at her.

Remind me again why I'm here.

"Oh, that one? It's a daisy. Good choice I bet whoever—"

"I want a dozen of those."

The florist promptly stopped speaking when he looked in her direction for the first time.He's certain she hadn't expected the hint of irritation in his voice as her eyes widen for a moment before turning to her regular cheerful smile, just unlike the one earlier.

I'm just exhausted. Bryson convinces himself.

"Sorry. I'm just tired after driving," he addresses hesitantly. He just received a tight-lipped smile from the florist.

"It's okay. I understand, sir. Just give me a moment, and how would you like me to wrap the flowers?"

"Like a bouquet style or something." She simply nods and gets to work.

Bryson taps his military boots impatiently on the tiled floor and checks his phone for texts. There was one missed call from his dad ten minutes ago. He probably missed it since his phone was on silent mode and he seldom uses it while driving.

After putting the phone back in his jeans pocket, he crosses his arms in front of his chest. He tries to get rid of and lessen the effects of sleep deprivation on his eyes by rubbing his right palm over them. Yet it didn't work.

Bryson hears the jingle of the bell from the door behind him about a minute later, but he pays no attention to whoever walked into the shop, not until someone taps him on his left shoulder.

Bryson turns his body around to face the person who touched him while sporting a scowl on his face. All of his tension and exhaustion, however, seemed to dissipate the moment he set eyes on the petite girl with strawberry blonde hair and chestnut-colored eyes.

It was as if someone had punched him in the gut.

What the fuck?

The girl was about 5'3 or 5'2 ft. tall, as the top of her head was barely above his chest. She was holding a heap of pots and gazing at him with such innocence that Bryson wasn't sure it was real.

He actually stares at her for a while longer than appropriate, wanting to imprint in his mind the beautiful creature in front of him, whom he might not see again. Not that he does intend to prevent meeting her again, but why is he fascinated with her? As if it were his first time interacting with a woman. She even has the look of a kid, but damn that body says otherwise.

The florist calls out, breaking the spell that had charmed him, "Daisy! You're already here." He clenches his jaw and shakes his head to get rid of such unwanted thoughts.

Daisy.

What a coincidence, because that was the flower he was buying at that moment. The name suits her well with regard to her delicate appearance and the savory, sweet scent emitting from her body that penetrated his nostrils. It has a distinctive lavender and vanilla fragrance.

Daisy gazes out from the right side of his body because he was blocking her vision in front, and a smile so bright it was almost blinding flashes across her face.

It stirred something inside him that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Bryson has seen a lot of smiles before, including those that squinted someone's eyes, but the one she had on her face was so captivating it made him wish to see it every day just to brighten his mood.

I think I'm going insane.

"Sorry, sir, you're blocking her way; would you please let her through? Those pots are quite heavy."

Bryson's attention shifts to the pots Daisy is carrying. He hadn't noticed the shaking of her grasping hands that clasped the bottom of it. He gently takes all of it from her and presses it close to his chest without thinking. Her chestnut-colored eyes grew wider as she was about to argue, but he beat her out of it by pivoting around and facing the florist.

"Where should I put these?"

"Uh, just over there, sir," The brunette says hesitantly, looking confused, referring to a wooden table on the right side of the shop.

Bryson placed the pots on the table and brushed the dust off of his sweatshirt. Daisy, who is still standing in the same spot, stares at him with her wide doe eyes and a slightly gaping mouth.

"Uhm... Thank you, sir, although you don't have to do that since you're a customer," the girl named 'Megan' points out. He noticed the name tag on her shirt.

"It was no problem; are you finished?"

"I'll have it ready in a minute, sir," Megan adds before continuing her work.

Bryson tries not to look at Daisy since he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable with his ogling, but it's difficult because the sight of her affects him, but not in a bad way. He wanted to take her petite body and embrace it so he could feel her small frame against his own and inhale her exquisite scent.

I'm such a creep, and if I do that, she'll definitely freak out.

What the hell was going on with me? Never before have I been such a wuss. 

Bryson was so absorbed in his wandering mind that he didn't see that the subject of his imagination had appeared right in front of him again. Because of how close she was, his pulse traveled from his wrist up to his throat. Daisy looked at him with gleaming eyes, as though he had just saved the world from global warming.

She raises her hand as though she's about to give him a flying kiss.

What is she up to?

Bryson has absolutely no idea, but whatever it was, it lightened his mood a bit more since she was so fucking adorable doing it. If he could only bring her home and lock her in his room, he could have her all to himself.

Yeah. That was wrong in every aspect, and he would likely be arrested for kidnapping.

Bryson turns his attention to the florist, a bewildered look on his face, when he hears her explain, "Oh, she was thanking you, sir."

Thank you?

Why didn't she just say it? He nonetheless wants to hear her voice; he's certain it's soft and velvety.

"It's sign language... I mean, that's what she just did. Daisy can't speak, sir, so she communicates mainly through sign language."

What? She can't speak? What exactly does that mean? Could she have been deaf since birth, or did something happen in her childhood that stopped her from speaking?

Bryson met a guy during his training who lost his voice due to an accident, so he knows a little bit about it. That was quite intriguing, to say the least. It piqued his interest in finding out more about Daisy.

Fuck! I'm going soft, and I'm not sure if this is a good thing.

"I'm sorry it took so long, but here it is, sir. That will be $15." Bryson failed to comprehend what Megan was saying because he was still focused on Daisy and trying to figure out whatever was going through her head.

Is she alarmed by my presence or perturbed by how long I have been staring at her face? I certainly hope neither both.

Should I try to get her phone number? What? Why would I ask for her number? I only met her about an hour ago.

He contemplates whether or not to ask for Daisy's number. Shit. Maybe it was a bad idea, and what if she refuses him because he looks like a human trafficker.

Where in the world did that come from?

Fuck it!

After much contemplation, Bryson thinks that asking for her phone number is not a bad idea, and he will make sure to get it regardless of the results.

How am I supposed to communicate with her? I am not familiar with sign language. Bryson groans as he addresses the problem. Damn.

"Sir?" Megan's voice who was still staring at him expectantly with narrowed eyes, drags him back to his senses. She is holding a bouquet that has been elegantly wrapped in sky blue wrapping paper. Bryson pays for the flowers and thanks the florist, who only gives him a tight-lipped smile.

He clears his throat and summons the guts to ask for Daisy's phone number, but his phone vibrates inside his pants pocket before he has a chance to say anything.

His father's phone number appears on the screen. Bryson answers the phone hesitantly, his gaze following the girl who walked towards the door on the left side of the store near the counter. Bryson couldn't help but be disappointed because he missed his opportunity. He just thanked the florist before leaving.

I'll just go back here some other time.

"Hello, son, why are you not answering?" His father's gruff and deep voice on the other line echoes in his ear.

"Sorry, I just got some flowers for mom; what's up?" He explains as he opens the driver's door and lays the bouquet on the passenger seat, taking one last look inside the flower shop. Hoping to get a glimpse of Daisy for a moment, but to no avail.

Bryson takes the key from his pocket and slips it into the ignition to start the engine. His left hand was on the steering wheel, while the other was still holding the phone next to his ear.

"How was your trip? I tried contacting your mom, but she wasn't picking up; she's probably in the garden again; tell her to answer her phone when you get there."

"Fine, I'll still buy some treats, so I'll arrive home in less than twenty minutes; I'll just tell mom to call you back instead."

"All right, son, look after your mother and brother for me, and remember what I've said: stay out of trouble."

Bryson would most likely ignore it if it weren't for his dad's stern voice. He'd heard that line countless times as a child, but it sounded like a warning that he shouldn't and wouldn't bet his luck on.

"I know dad. I'm hanging up now 'cause I'm driving. Bye."

As he puts the phone in the cup holder, his mind wanders to a certain girl with strawberry blonde hair and chestnut-colored eyes. Bryson hadn't seen her before enlisting in the military, considering the town is small and he had lived there his entire life.

Is she new here? Did she just move here while I was in training? Is she still studying? What exactly is she doing in the flower shop? Working? Well, obviously, because she was carrying the pots and the florist seems to know her well.

His head was a jumbled mess, and his heart felt tied. All of this is unfamiliar to him, but more than anything, he longs to see her face again.

It's the kind of longing that could lead him to insanity in the long term. Bryson has no idea what is happening to him or how he feels, but he wants to figure it out.

Perhaps I should return to the shop after my class.

Class. Yes, he still has one year of school left since he missed his senior year. He doesn't have to finish his studies because he will be serving in the army when he chooses not to attend college after he graduates.

His mom just wants him to earn his diploma, and because he doesn't want to disappoint her again, he might as well get it. Even though he was still trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to do with his life. All he could think about right now was a girl with a name resembling a flower that was now lying comfortably in his passenger seat. What irony.

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