Hyacinth
Bouquet Of Love Stores 💐
Dr Jack Abbot x Florist!Reader, The Pitt x Reader
Find My Pitt Masterlist here Hyacinth: Depending on the colour it can symbolise deep sorrow, sincerity, constancy, peace and unwavering loyalty. But it can also symbolise new beginnings. Jack is a man of routine. And one of those routines. Is consistently buying bouquets of flowers on those anniversaries he left unspoken. There he meets you. And catches your eye. Catches your attention. He begins to be enamoured by you. Until one day. He decides to do something about his feelings. And what better way to do so, than to use your love language. Flowers.
Warnings: not really any? little bit of strong language, no specified age gap (like it could or couldn't exist), small injury, fluff, mild mentions of Jack's late wife.
Word Count: ~ 5.8k
Jack was a man of routine.
Of unbreakable habits.
Whether he recognised it or not.
He was stuck in this cycle. In this circle of neverending patterns.
And one of these habits.
Choices.
Patterns.
Was that twice a year…
He would order flowers from you.
Routinely.
He’d call. Place the order. Before coming in a few days later…
Always simple. Always brief.
Always polite.
Jack would come in.
Pick them up.
He’d thank you before paying.
To lighten the mood, he’d make a small joke. One made to distract himself. One made to make you laugh…
And then he’d leave.
Always twice a year. Sometimes more. But always at least twice.
A routine that had been maintained over the last 3 years…
Early on you had learnt to stop asking what the flowers were for…
Had stopped asking who they were for…
Had stopped asking why it was always the same time twice a year…
Each time he entered your store, you’d notice this distant look in his eyes. The way his hands twisted to fidget with his ring. The way it would linger on the flowers. Tentative as he took them in his grasp.
As you noticed those simple things.
Those small things.
It made you realise…
That these flowers were not bought for an anniversary that made people beam brightly. That made them gush over everlasting promises to never be broken…
They weren’t flowers bought to surprise someone. Weren’t bought in the hopes of making someone smile. Weren’t bought for a birthday present or a day filled with smiles…
No.
There were for the anniversaries that were left unspoken. For the ones that were left buried in the heart of grief.
Your store wasn’t very far from a cemetery. Only a few blocks away.
Many orders had come through these doors, often made to be delivered to the cemetery.
Flowers arranged for funerals.
For anniversaries of remembrance.
For loved ones lost.
These were the anniversaries that brought him back through your shop doors.
But there was something about him.
Something about Jack that intrigued you.
Had caught your eye.
The quiet strength he carried.
The silent weight he beared.
All of it.
Each time your affection for him only grows with each passing year. Eyes lingering on him, whilst you gently explain the flowers in the bouquet. Simply explaining what flowers were included.
Keeping their meanings close to your chest.
And in each bouquet you curated for him.
In every single one.
You would include Hyacinths.
Blends of soft purples, crisp blues and powder white petals, all chosen so carefully.
A flower that expressed the depths of sorrow that accompanies loss. A flower that represents the grief of love. Sincerity, and the constancy of love.
A flower that represented peace.
Peace for the departed or for him.
Perhaps it was both.
“Hello,” you’d call out before turning to meet his eyes, smile softening at the sight, you nod, “How’s your day been?”
His hands tucked into his pockets, he shrugs lightly, “Just the same old circus”
“Hopefully with different monkeys,” you remarked lightly. Before twisting to grasp onto his bouquet, all set and ready to go.
Neatly arranged.
Nothing overly extravagant.
Just simple elegance, as the flowers were all arranged together in perfect harmony.
His lips quirked up as he let out a silent laugh to your words.
“How’s business?” he asked. While you ring up his order.
“Just the usual stresses, but I can’t complain too much,” you shrugged.
He takes the flowers. Glancing them over, taking in the curated blooms, before looking up to meet your eyes, “Thank you–again”
You shake your head, joking lightly, “That’s what the money’s for,” before your words softening, “Enjoy the flowers”
He nods once more, offering a small wave.
Biting his tongue.
“Have a good day”
“You too,” you called out. Eyes trained on his retreating figure.
Until your colleague, Maggie, bumps into your side, with a knowing look. “Was that Mr Hyacinth?"
“I don’t know what you mean,” you deny. Shuffling back to work, distracting yourself with arranging and rearranging a display.
“Sure,” she answer sarcastically, “And you totally don’t find him handsome”
You blink, stammering out, “That–that is way off base–”
“But you didn’t deny it,” Maggie snickered.
You wave them off, “Just go check on the geraniums”
She throw her hands up in the air with a wide grin, “I’m just saying, the handsome man comes in here for flowers and each time, I catch you staring at him”
“He’s married,” you counteracted. Referencing his ring.
She click her tongue, sending you an arched brow, “You and I both know the reason he comes in here for flowers isn’t because he has a wife waiting for him at home”
You bury your head into your work. Trying to distract yourself from the rising heat to your cheeks.
Trying your best to leave the memory of the handsome man, with hazel eyes, and softly curled hair.
But no matter your efforts he stays with you.
He stays with you like a thorn in your side, unable to be plucked. Unable to be pulled from your mind.
An uncomfortable memory you’re not willing to part from.
But it wasn’t quite the type of discomfort a thorn would create. It wasn’t something you could quite differentiate…
Or at the very least.
Not something you were willing to differentiate.
…
And then.
There comes a day.
When the rent of your shop becomes too high.
When the price is too much for your little business to cope despite its success…
And you’re left with no choice.
No alternative.
But to move…
The new store is a little further, a little smaller, and a little closer to a hospital.
But no matter the new fixtures.
The new facade.
The new location.
Or the restricted spacing.
It is still your store.
Your dream.
The orders change.
They shift from overwhelming amounts of funeral arrangements you used to get. To now weigh in favour of get well soon bouquets. Of bouquets to say thank you.
Of bouquets that represented hope.
For months.
While you curated a new clientele.
Trying to rebuild your store to the way it once was.
Mr Hyacinth.
Jack…
The man with the silvered curls, the warming hazel eyes and broad shoulders. Who came in with a little funny thing to say to alleviate the weight of his grief.
No.
Instead.
He no longer appears for a number of months. Even when one of the anniversaries comes around —the date in which you certainly didn’t memorise...
No.
His face doesn’t pop into the store.
You chalk it up to the idea that it had to do with the move.
That the invisible link you had with him was only in your mind.
…But then.
One day.
When your store hours come to a close for the day. An order comes through for the nearby hospital. For PTMC.
And instead of pushing it aside.
Or delaying it until tomorrow.
Or having one of your employees drop it off.
You take the chance to drop it off yourself.
Sending your employees home. You close up shop. Bringing you back to those early days when it was just you trying to first start up shop.
When it was just you filling in orders. Organising the chaos…
Back then you might not have realised it. Might not have been able to appreciate it.
But now, you cherish the peace it brings you.
The simplicity of it all.
Taking in the crisp evening air, as the warmth from the day slips away under the night sky.
Strolling along the street, the bouquet in hand.
And just as you’re walking towards the entrance, looking down at your phone to double check where you’re supposed to be headed.
You hear your name.
“Y/N?”
Blinking, you look up, turning around to come face to face with–Jack.
A little startled by how close he really was.
A smile forms upon your face.
“Oh–hey, Jack,” you greet.
His hand grips the strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder. His lips morph into a smile, nodding, “How are you?”
“I’m good thanks, same old, same old,” you shrug, “What about yourself?”
“Just the usual–uh, I noticed your shop disappeared–everything ok?” he asked.
And the way his words carry this sense of sincerity. This sense of true interest catches you off guard.
“Oh, yeah. I’m still in business,” you show off the bouquet, “I had to move cause of the rent, I’m actually just down the street now.”
He flashes you a smile, nodding, “Well, I’ll make sure to come by to say hi”
“That’d be nice,” you shift a little nervously.
Before your brows furrow, knitting together as you notice the scrubs. Tilting your head, “D’you work here?”
“Didn’t I mention?” he asks a little surprised, whilst you shake your head no, “I’m a doctor in the ED here”
“That’s cool, must be hectic”
“No more hectic than that time you were prepping for that wedding order,” he joked. Reminiscing his one visit to your store whilst you were knee deep drowning in white long stem roses, all needed to be trimmed and dethorned. And a sea of baby’s breath.
You laugh softly, shaking your head, feeling a warmth rise to your cheeks, trying to hide your face into the bouquet of flowers, “Well my job doesn’t depend on saving lives”
“Maybe not, but it does make a difference,” he compliments so sweetly. He gestures to the flowers, “Are they for someone in particular?”
The question feels uncomfortable on his tongue.
As though he’s probing beyond the boundaries of your relationship.
Unsure of whether or not he truly wants the answer…Thinking that those flowers might be for someone dear to you…Someone who’s able to call you theirs.
Not wanting the answer.
Because truthfully.
Jack had noticed his own shifting feelings for you.
Had noticed how there were days he couldn’t shake you from his thoughts. Days where he wanted to buy a bouquet just to simply see you.
He noticed how he looked forward to seeing you.
The moment he had seen your store gone.
Packed up and closed.
It made his heart fracture a little. It made him ache.
Shaking your head, “No, these are for a delivery. Decided to run my own errands instead of making one of my employees do this–actually could you point me in the direction of the maternity ward?”
Your answer sends a wave of relief rippling through him.
He does his best to hide how happy this makes him. “I’ll take you through, bit of a short cut,” he juts his head, prompting you to follow him through.
Walking through the chaos, through chairs, through the ED, you breeze through. Guided by him. Steadied by his calm.
For once you are privy to see him in his work environment for a change.
See how he interacts with his colleagues.
However brief it is.
It’s nice.
He takes you through to the elevator.
Pressing the button inside, telling you that it’ll lead you where you need to go. Eyes softening, as he steps back, hand still keeping the lift doors open…
Simply basking a little longer in your company.
“Well–I’ll see you around,” he nods towards you, coughing slightly to break him out of his own daze.
Smiling softly at him, you nod, “Yeah…I hope so”
And then he steps back, his eyes don’t leave you even as the doors close, he offers a small wave.
And then the doors close.
Robby claps a hand onto his shoulder, breaking Jack from his daze, he arches a brow, “Wanna tell me who that was?”
Jack brows furrow, jaw set tight, “Was just helping her out”
“Right,” Robby nods, “So that wasn’t the florist I’ve heard you talking about to Dana?”
“How do you know–you know what, I am not doing this with you,” Jack shakes his head, starting to walk to the lockers, to place his bag away. Only for Robby to follow him.
“C’mon, you’re always telling me to be a bit more open–shouldn’t the same apply to you?” Robby remarks.
Jack tuts, “Not until you are”
Robby chuckles under his breath, being pulled back into work. Calling back, “I’ll find out sooner or later”
“I’d like to see you try,” Jack retorts.
Jack’s view of you might’ve faded away.
But the memory of you lingers…
And the smile that had adorned your face since seeing him–hadn’t dimmed for a second. Lasting until you were tucked up in bed, soothed by the image of his face even as you drifted asleep.
Wishful that that wouldn’t be the last of him you’d see…
And if there was one thing you had discovered about Jack.
Was that he was a man of his word.
Loyal to a fault.
True to his words.
So when he said he’d stop by–he meant it.
Coming by in the early morning just after his shift, or just before he started work, just as you were closing, he’d stop to say hello, he’d come in to buy flowers.
Even though it wasn’t the very dates you had memorised.
He continued stopping by.
He continued to say hello, continued to stop and have a chat with you. Each time getting to know you a little more, a little bit better.
Even asking you questions about flowers. Loving the way you talk about them. Loving the passion that seeps into your words, how it makes your eyes shine in interest.
Getting lost in a ramble of the types of flowers, what they mean, the history of them. And all those little facts that you’re fascinated by.
And in those early mornings, over time, over the course of a few weeks he had started bringing you a coffee, and a pastry.
The first time he had simply insisted he was given the wrong order, which so happened to be your exact order.
And then it became habit.
Routine.
And in the evenings, you started making sure you had a pot of coffee ready and waiting, for just in case he stopped by. Just in case he came to say hello…
Dancing around these labels of client and friend. Blurring between what was professional and friendly…with glimpses into something more.
Glimpses into what it would feel like.
Craving to know what it would feel like…
Unable to know just how to cross those lines. To make a definite choice. To potentially alter your relationship for better–or more terrifyingly–for worse.
And Jack…
Well he had never been one to run away from a challenge.
And he wasn’t about to start now.
And with one final push from Dana. Some vague words of encouragement from Robby. And perhaps some probing from his very own nightcrawlers…
He finally decided to bite the bullet.
Staring down at the ring on his hand.
He decided.
He deserved a second chance…
Deserved another chance at happiness. Even at the cost of heartbreak–
Jack knew better than most. That it was better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. Even if it had taken him some time to realise this…
And so.
It had led to him colluding with Maggie from your store…
Over the recent visits he had asked you questions. Questions that seemed ordinary on the surface. Simple.
But they helped him build an idea of the flowers you treasured most.
Which ones held the most meaning…
And so.
With these ideas in mind, he had secretly asked Maggie to build the bouquet. Maggie had even gone as far as to slip out the back to hand them over to Jack while you were busy and distracted.
The wide grin on her face, unable to be hidden. She winked at him, “Good luck to you, Mr Hyacinth”
“Hyacinth?” he asked, confused.
Maggie only laughs softly, “Sorry, force of habit.”
“What does it mean?”
“Oh, just a little nickname we call you by–cause all of your bouquets have hyacinths,” She explains, “Y/N’s always insisted on it. But only ever the blue, purple or white ones.”
Jack’s brows knit together, glancing down at the bouquet. It was on the surface, perfect.
Complete.
But it was missing something.
“They tend to represent remembrance, in honour of loved ones who have departed,” Maggie explains softly.
Biting his lip.
He’s warmed by your thoughtfulness.
All this time he had never known what those hyacinths had represented.
Had never known the depths of their meaning.
He looks up at her, asking, “Are there any hyacinths that have a positive meaning?”
She beams at him, nodding, “One second”
She slips back inside, and before long she’s cracking the door open, with blooms of pink hyacinths in hand. Gently threading them into the bouquet.
“Y/N once told me that these represent new beginnings and joy,” She nods in satisfaction, before stepping away.
He smiles at her words, about to walk away before Maggie calls out, “And Jack?”
He hums glancing up at her.
“Please be good to her”
Nodding he replies, “Of course”
She slips back inside, and Jack is left with a beautiful bouquet, crafted especially for you.
Now all that was left to do…
…Was tell you how he felt about you.
And somehow.
That made him nervous. More nervous than he had been in a long time.
Doing all that he could to build his courage.
…
Your day had been long.
Brutal.
The work simply never ended.
And as good as that was for business. It was definitely draining for you.
On top of that. Just as you were closing up, you had nicked your hand with a sharp thorn. Biting your lip, hissing from the stinging pain.
The spot was awkward and a little finicky.
You were fishing in the drawer to try and find your tweezers, the ones you kept for these situations.
And as if your luck today couldn’t get any worse, you shift causing the thorn to dig in a little deeper.
Groaning in pain, you drop the tweezers, accidentally knocking them behind some of the buckets of flowers.
Sucking in a harsh breath, you mutter, “Fuck–”
And then there’s a knock on your door. Your head shoots up. Blinking in shock, while your eyes meet with Jack’s who waves a little nervously.
Eyes flickering down to where the tweezers disappeared, before walking over to unlock the door.
“Hey–” His brows knit in concern as he notices your panicked look. “Are you okay?”
Sighing, you shake your head, as you show him the thorn, “I managed to make myself into a human pin cushion, and now the tweezers I normally use have decided now's the time to explore behind the sunflowers,” you gesture towards the place they disappeared to.
Jack nods listening, before guiding you back to the stool by the bench, “I’ll get those, just sit, before you do anything to dig it in a little further”
You nod thankfully. Shoulders dropping as you finally relax into the chair.
He places the bouquet of flowers upon the bench, before going down onto the flower to try and find these tweezers.
You watch him, smiling softly.
Before you glance at the flowers on the bench, a small frown forming upon your lips.
They were beautiful.
Gentle colours.
Soothing.
All blending together seamlessly.
You note the different flowers threaded through.
The light pink poppies.
Creamy white sweat peas.
Gerbera daisies, in both pale pink and buttercream tones.
Tufts of ruffled pink carnations. Varying in depths and hues.
All of them were some of your very favourites. The bouquet wasn’t overly extravagant, it was elegantly simple.
And then–
You noticed the pink hyacinths.
A flower symbolising joy, new beginnings…And then all the flowers build to form this picture in your mind, this idea in your head.
Their meanings coming together, overlapping.
They were the perfect bouquet for symbolising the start of a new relationship–a new romantic relationship.
“Ah, found it,” Jack called out, standing back up from his spot on the floor.
Stopping before you, as he gently takes your hand, twisting it to find the thorn. Clicking his tongue as he sees it.
“I thought you wore gloves when handling roses?” he asked, concentrating on carefully pulling the thorn out.
Nodding a little sheepishly, “I do–but I had already taken them off and it was just this one flower and then–” you wince slightly.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, brows furrowing in worry.
You shake your head, “My fault.” And then your eyes drift once more. Going back to linger upon the flowers on the bench, the beautiful bouquet Jack had brought. “So who’re the flowers for? You got a hot date or something?”
The question feels lighthearted. Feels friendly. But it aches you to ask.
Breaks your heart to ask whether the guy you had been pining after…was interested in someone else…
His smile softens, eyes focused on your hand, the thorn pulled out, as he gently wipes at the small scratch it had left, he grabs a bandaid from your drawer before plastering it.
“I’m hoping for one anyway,” he answers coyly.
Those nervous feelings building within him once more, “It’s been a while–so I’m a little rusty. I don’t even know if flowers are the thing to do anymore–”
You snort, “Well for the sake of my business I hope flowers are still the thing to do when it comes to romance”
He nods to your words. Adding quickly, “–Oh, before you ask. Yes, they’re are from your shop.”
Your brows knit together, watching as he takes the bouquet, to hold them out to you.
You blink.
Once.
Twice.
Before your brows shoot up, “Uh–I don’t, I don’t understand”
He sucked in a deep breath, before starting to explain, dancing around his question, prolonging the inevitable, for a few moments more, he still had a chance, still had hope, “Maggie helped arrange them, and we made sure they were all your favourites–So I’m hoping. Hoping that you might–”
He pauses.
Struck by how nervous he truly was.
How when he looked into your eyes, you made him breathless.
Made his heart race.
Made him feel things he hadn’t felt in forever.
Had reawakened a part of him that he had thought was long dormant…
And that scared him.
Terrified him.
Afraid that you would say no.
You take hold of the bouquet, hands brushing his as one stays within his grasp, threading your fingers with his, “Might?” you probe softly.
Hope filters across your features.
The way his smile causes a warmth to bloom from your chest, makes your heart skip a beat.
“I was hoping you might–might go out with me?” his words slip into something vulnerable. Quiet.
It feels so foreign to see this man.
Usually so sure of himself.
Usually so confident.
Now becoming nervous.
Nervous from asking you out.
It was incredibly endearing, you squeezed his hand, a wide smile beams across your face. Before you can find the words you nod.
Bursting from excitement.
Disbelief.
“Is that–is that a yes?” he clarifies.
Leaning into him, your arms wrap around him, “Yes, yes!” before you quell your excitement, regain your cool just a little, as you lean back to meet his eyes, “I’d love to go out with you”
He takes your hand once more, “Is tonight too soon?”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” you smile.
“Great,” he echoes, “Because I’ve already made a booking for us”
You lift a brow, “Oh? And how’d you know I’d say yes?”
“I didn’t–but Maggie made me think I might have a shot”
You laugh softly, “And how’d she manage that?”
“Might have to do with hyacinths…”He says a little cheekily.
Your eyes flutter in confusion, “Hyacinths?–Oh no”
His grin widens into a smirk, as he hums out in acknowledgement, “Oh yes”
You squeeze your eyes shut, “Don’t tell me–did she say”
“She might’ve”
“And now you know we called you?..”
“Just so you know, you can call me Mr Hyacinth if you prefer, you know, just in case you don’t want to call me Jack,” he teased.
You lightly shove his arm. Tutting, as you groan out in embarrassment.
“For the record, Maggie came up with the name,” you state.
He licks his lips, amused by your reaction, “And I hear it was your idea to include hyacinths in my bouquet.”
“...Maybe,” you confirm softly, before standing to pull him by the hand, grasping your bag, “Ok–We should go out before I’m too embarrassed to go out in public”
He shakes his head, his hand so warm in yours.
So soothing.
Comforting.
Familiar.
It’s a feeling he begins to crave.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I happen to love that nickname,” Jack replies. Voice full of warmth, of honesty.
You smile up at him, locking the door behind you.
“Ok, then. Lead the way,” you nod.
Following Jack’s lead.
Over the course of your relationship. You take it as slow as he needs. Pacing and never pushing further than he can handle.
And Jack.
He dives right into the relationship with you. He reminds you that he is all in. That he is in this for you. Reassuring you of his growing devotion. Growing admiration.
Until it becomes love.
Until it becomes something he can’t see himself without.
He had known love before. Had lost love before…and the hurt was immeasurable.
But for you, he would go through it again.
Would take that leap.
Would take that risk.
So long as he could wake up to you wrapped in his arms, over and over again.
Which had led him to the decision to ask you to marry him. To which you had answered with an overwhelming gleeful yes.
Springing you both into a whirlwind of planning.
Decisions such as who to invite.
Where to hold it.
When to have it.
And what flowers to include.
You had gotten almost everything perfectly planned out, all ready for the big day…
There was just one thing left to do before the wedding.
One small thing you wanted to do. Felt compelled to do.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to–”
You take his hand in yours, “Jack, I want to”
He smiles at you, “You know I love you so much”
Leaning up you press a kiss to his lips, murmuring against his lips, “And I love you too”
Taking in a deep breath as you part, calming your racing heart.
You walk side by side.
A comforting silence brews between you both.
Treading through the pathways, passing by the different headstones.
Until you come to a stop.
You offer a sad smile, eyes softening as you read the name. Read the words imprinted upon the stone.
You squeeze Jack’s hand, as you feel him shift and fidget slightly.
“Hey, Darling–I know it’s not usually the day I come to visit,” he swallows thickly, feeling a lump form in the back of his throat, “But I brought someone I’d like you to meet”
Darling.
Jack would call you many little affectionate nicknames. From love, sweetheart, angel, baby, and many others.
But the one name he didn’t use.
Was Darling.
A name reserved for his first love.
And that was something you respected.
You offer him a small nod, your hand slipping from his, as you crouch down to clear the few weeds growing around the headstone, arranging the flowers neatly at the headstone.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jack’s told me a lot about you–not sure if he’s done the same–” you begin to say, staying knelt on the ground.
“–I have spoken about you, a lot, probably a bit too much,” he interjected.
You smile at his words, “I only hope they were all good things,” you joke lightly.
Jack goes quiet beside you.
You don't look at him immediately.
Instead, you finish adjusting the bouquet, tucking one stray stem back into place. White lilies. Soft pink roses. A few sprigs of baby's breath woven through the arrangement.
And of course, pale blue hyacinths.
Flowers chosen carefully.
Flowers chosen with love.
For a woman you'd never met.
A woman who had shaped the man standing beside you.
Your fingers brush the cool stone.
"I know it's probably strange," you continue softly. "Talking to someone I've never actually met,” eyes watering slightly,"But I feel like I know you a little."
Beside you, Jack drops his gaze.
The wind stirs through the cemetery.
Gentle.
Quiet.
"I know how much you loved him,” Your voice catches slightly, "And I know how much he loved you."
Jack's eyes close.
Because he had.
God, he had.
There had been a time he thought he'd never survive losing her.
A time he thought his heart had been buried right alongside her.
Then somehow–
Years later–
He had walked into a flower shop to see you carrying a crate of peonies and completely turned his world upside down.
You glance up at him.
Your smile is small.
Tender.
"He's still carrying you with him," you continue.
Jack swallows.
Hard.
Your hand rests lightly atop the headstone, "But that's okay. Because loving someone doesn't stop just because they're gone."
The lump in Jack's throat grows impossible to ignore.
"And I don't want it to,” You shake your head slightly. That finally makes him look at you.
Really look at you.
Your eyes shine with sincerity.
No jealousy.
No resentment.
No insecurity.
Just kindness.
The kind that seemed woven into every part of you, "And I don't think loving me means he loved you any less."
A tear slips down Jack's cheek before he can stop it.
You immediately reach for him.
His hand finds yours halfway.
Intertwining your fingers.
Holding on. As you tether him to the present.
"He talks about you with so much love,” Your thumb brushes across Jack's knuckles, you smile, "And honestly? I think that's one of the reasons I fell in love with him."
Jack lets out a shaky laugh.
You continue, "I have a feeling he's the man he is today because of you."
His shoulders tremble.
"He loves deeply."
A pause.
"He's patient."
Another.
"He notices the little things."
A smile.
"He remembers anniversaries."
That earns a choked laugh from Jack.
"And he loves with everything he has."
Your eyes return to the headstone, "So thank you,” The words come quietly. Sincerely. Falling from your lips, they were the words you had held close to your heart, words you had longed to say for so long, now finally spoken aloud, "Thank you for loving him first."
Jack's breath hitches. His chest constricts, moved by your words.
"Thank you for helping shape the man I get to spend my life with,” Your eyes flicker down at the engagement ring sparkling on your finger.
The one Jack had slipped onto your hand a few months ago. The one that still made your heart race every time you looked at it.
"And I promise I'll take good care of him,” Your voice softens. Your words are so tender, and sincere, "I'll love him enough for both of us."
Tears burn behind Jack's eyes. Makes him hold your hand a little tighter. A little firmer. Clinging onto the connection.
You smile sadly. Holding back your own tears, as your eyes grow misty, "On your behalf, of course."
The cemetery falls silent again.
The kind of silence that doesn't feel empty.
Just peaceful.
For a long moment neither of you speaks.
Then Jack suddenly crouches beside you as best he can. And before you can react, his arms wrap around you. Holding you tightly.
Desperately.
His face presses into your shoulder.
You immediately return the embrace.
One hand sliding into his hair.
The other rubbing gentle circles across his back.
His voice cracks, "You have no idea how much I love you."
Your eyes sting.
You smile against his temple, "I think I'm starting to."
He lets out a wet laugh.
Pulling back just enough to look at you.
There are tears on his face.
But there's something else too.
Relief.
Peace.
Certainty.
The kind of certainty he'd spent years searching for.
"I was scared,” he admitted.
Feeling a weight lifting off of his chest. One he had carried for so long. One that was only now being alleviated.
Not completely.
It never would.
Grief didn't disappear.
Love didn't disappear.
But somehow they fit together now.
Past and future.
Memory and possibility.
Loss and joy.
All existing side by side.
"Of what?" You question.
Jack glances toward the grave. Then back to you, "That moving forward meant leaving her behind."
Your heart aches, "Oh, Jack."
"But standing here..." His thumb brushes over your engagement ring, "Listening to you. I think she'd love you." His smile trembles.
Sucking in a harsh breath, his pretty hazel eyes peering into yours.
And with that look. So pure. So full of devotion. The tears finally spill down your cheeks.
Jack squeezes your hand. Then his eyes flick toward the headstone once more. A soft smile touching his face, "I think I’ve probably mentioned this but she's a florist." He starts to explain.
Introducing you officially. To the woman who still kept a piece of him. Who would forever keep a part of his heart.
"She makes sure I eat properly, fulls meals, no granola bars for dinner anymore."
You snort, "Jack."
"She steals my hoodies."
"Because they're comfortable,” you explain.
"She cries during dog food commercials,” he shares.
Your mouth falls open, "I do not."
"You absolutely do," he argues.
You can't stop laughing now.
The sound carries softly through the quiet cemetery. And for the first time all afternoon, Jack laughs too.
A real one.
Warm.
Bright.
Alive.
He looks down at the woman kneeling beside him.
You.
His fiancée.
His future.
And somehow he knows.
Without doubt.
Without guilt.
Without fear.
He had loved once.
Deeply.
Completely.
And he would always carry that love with him.
But being here now, side by side with you, with your hand in his–
With flowers resting at the grave and sunlight filtering through the trees–
Jack Abbott realizes something else.
His heart had not been buried here.
It had survived.
And somehow, against all odds, it had found its way home again.
His gaze drifts to the headstone.
A small smile forming, softly whispering, "Thank you, Darling."
Then he looks at you.
His eyes full of love.
As you peer up at him.
"For leading me to her"
You smile at him, mirroring back his own deep affections. You pull him closely into your arms, as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek.
And in that moment you knew.
You belonged in his arms.
Just as Jack knew. That you belonged in his heart forever intertwined with his life.
The beginnings of something new.
Moving on didn’t mean forgetting the past. It meant embracing the future, in remembrance of what once was…
And that was something Jack was more than ready for.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this fic, revolving around Jack and a Florist!Reader (heavy on the hyacinth this time around) ♥️ Just a whole lot of sweetness. Hope you enjoyed the little exploration into them honouring Jack's late wife (felt so bittersweet to include) anyway! this was so cute to explore and I hope you thought so too! Let me know what you thought or if you'd like to be tagged in this collection of stories ✨
Read the next instalment of the Bouquet of Love Stories 💐
-> Read Next...Dennis Whitaker x Florist!Reader: Cotton Blooms
Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 If you want more Jack Abbot check out my series below! Who Would've Thought series here💖 Sugar, Butter, Flour series 🥧 I Know You're Hurting series Before You Ask...It Was A Shark 🦈 Help yourself and check out my other Pitt Works on My Masterlist Here!
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This is the bouquet of flowers I sort of imagined that Jack gave to you.
