Chapter Text
“Yes, Lou, I’ll be there in 10 minutes, promise!” Phil said, slightly too loudly and much too quickly, as he slammed the truck door and yanked his seatbelt into place. “I know, I know! I’m right around the bend, I’ll see you soon!”, he shouted into the phone tucked into the crook of his neck and shoulder. With one hand ending the call and the other on the wheel ready to reverse, he quickly scanned the back of the truck. Gentians, peonies, forget-me-nots, and baby’s breath. Good to go.
Speeding through residentials and weaving through traffic, Phil guessed he was approximately 17 times more of a road hazard than usual. Of course, this could have all been avoided if he hadn’t taken half of the morning pouring 3 teaspoons of sugar into each vase so the flowers would perk up. For all 35 centerpiece bouquets. And stirring the water so it wouldn’t be murky and dingy, because obviously the guests would notice that. Of course.
Phil knew he was meticulous, but he didn't regret the care he put into his work. Or at least, that's what he repeated to himself after narrowly T-boning a Honda Civic as he pulled into the venue. The thing is, they weren’t just flowers. Not at all. They were a fundamental element of a perfect day, a magical moment for the starry-eyed couple that would be making eternal promises that day. Yes, he was more than a florist, he was an ambassador of love and joy for every wedding he catered, in charge of perfectly conveying an aesthetic and deeper meaning with every stem and petal in a bouquet. Romance and magic, that was his specialty.
Grace, timeliness, not so much. A frantic Louise Pentland greeted him from the front of the lot, a wild look in her eyes that did not match her red cocktail dress and blonde hair tied in classy updo. “16 minutes, you meant, not 10. You drive me mad sometimes, Phil.” She squeezed his elbow playfully as he stepped out of the truck and made his way to the back. He grabbed the first box of vases and turned to her with a sheepish grin. “I’ll give you my slice of cake as an apology. Could you give me a hand?”
Louise was the most sought-after wedding planner from Manchester to London, and in Phil’s professional opinion, the best companion for tipsy talks at the end of receptions. When Phil first opened his small floral shop in London Square, back when he wore his hair in a severe emo swoop, his customer demographic was mostly middle-aged adults ordering for funerals and secondary school lads buying the cheapest bouquet available for one-month anniversaries. He was on the verge of shutting down when Louise popped her head in and introduced herself, looking for a new florist to add to her arsenal after the old one retired. He made sure to impress her with some arrangements from his catalog and sent her home with a mix of tulips, lilies, and cosmos in various hues of pink, on the house. Thankfully, he had done something right, as she recruited him for a small brick house wedding not long after, quickly followed by another at a vineyard in Reading, and then a swanky reception at a park-side resort overlooking the city. After passing her extensive test, Phil had earned the trust of Louise and was appointed her exclusive florist.
Phil had always considered himself something of an introvert, but Louise’s team spent a lot of time together; every wedding needs flowers, catering, and a photographer. Phil found himself laughing over champagne with these coworkers many weekends of the year, and in the summer-spring wedding boom, almost every day.
“Behind!” yelled a voice as Phil entered the hall that was decked from top to bottom with sheets of white chiffon draped over chairs and tables, with accents of dreamy baby blue and deep purple glittering from centerpieces and ceiling decorations.
“Ah! Sorry Peej!” Phil called out as a lean man whizzed past him. PJ turned around, brown curls in a whirlwind around his head, and flashed a lopsided grin. “Nah, no big deal! Just the cake, is all!” he chuckled, gliding into the kitchen.
“Morning Soph”, Louise called into the altar room absentmindedly. Glancing over, Phil made eye contact with Sophie, who looked up from her deep concentration as she fiddled with different lenses for a camera fixed on a tall tripod. “Hello!” She beamed, “Remind me, when are guests arriving?”
“12pm! Around…3 hours 'n 26 minutes. Give or take.” Louise called, placing down her box of flowers on a guest chair. She turned to Phil, “You good?”
He smiled back at her as he plunked down his own box with a thud. “Yep! All set. Thanks for the help, Louise.”
“Great”, she sighed, immediately pulling out her phone and dialing a contact labeled “Marissa - Hair and Makeup”. Pacing out of the room, she called, “I'll be back at 11!”
Phil faced the wedding arch, picturing a blank canvas waiting to be transformed into a masterpiece. Showtime.
Minutes became hours as he carefully draped and arranged a halo of flowers atop the altar. He moved on to distributing his vases, then, the piece de resistance, touching up the bride's bouquet, clipping tiny leaves to perfection and retying the same satin bow countless times.
…
“Alright people!” Louise came in, eyes scanning her clipboard. “An hour until guests arrive! Lemme hear it!”
“Cameras are all set! One at the bride's hair and makeup station, one at the groom's dressing room, and three by the altar. And of course, my personal, for floating shots,” said Sophie, gesturing to the Kodak around her neck.
“Perfect, lovely.” Louise replied, and with four scratches of her pen on the clipboard, she turned to PJ. “What say you, Chef?”
“Cocktail station is set; my mixologist hand is there now. Dinner is perfectly on schedule to be hot and ready at 5. The venue staff has just informed me that plates, cups, and utensils are all accounted for.” He reported, hands fidgeting a cloth napkin. “And, of course, my cake is gorgeous,” He grinned.
Louise shook her head as she stifled a smile. Four more checks sounded. “Philly?”
Phil beamed, glancing at his work. “There are two centerpiece vases at each table. Altar room is fully done as well, and the bridal bouquet is in the fridge waiting for its moment. And here is the flower girl’s basket,” he said, gesturing to the small basket filled to the brim with petals.
Four ticks. “That's my team, smooth as clockwork.” Louise smiled at them. “Alright loves, I need to check in on entertainment! Take a break, have a wee, do whatever you need to before guests arrive! Regroup at 10 'til!”
…
Phil could just barely make out his reflection in the tall shining windows. His black quiff was a stark contrast to the brightness of his blue eyes, the same shade as his pale sapphire tie. His lavender shirt peaked out from underneath his dark navy suit. His color palette resembled that of tonight's flowers, his favorite cheap trick that ensured he was always on theme. He pulled at the button of his coat jacket as he scanned the hall.
“Who are we looking for?” PJ asked over Phil’s shoulders.
Phil gasped and turned around, raising a hand to lightly shove PJ’s shoulder. As the caterer, PJ typically didn't need to dress up for weddings, but tonight’s extended cocktail hour, or hours, ironically, allowed him to sport a maroon three-piece suit that matched his chunky glasses frames.
“Shut it,” Phil laughed, as PJ pushed him back.
“Today’s the day, Phil, I can feel it!” PJ announced confidently, hands gesturing to an invisible scene playing out in front of them as he continued. “In the midst of the party, when the bridesmaids are getting drunk and the DJ is playing 2000s hits, you’ll stride on over as he’s packing up and say -”.
“PJ!” Phil interrupted, reaching over to playfully cover his friend’s mouth. “Christ,” he sighed as PJ laughed and lowered Phil’s hands.
It was embarrassing enough that the whole staff had caught on to Phil’s crush on the piano player, but it was only made worse by the fact that the guy hadn’t noticed Phil at all. And, introverted as he was, Phil wasn’t exactly doing much to change that.
“Get into position, everyone! Guests are here!” Louise’s voice rang toward the entrance.
“I better go check on the appetizers,” PJ said, giving Phil’s arm a farewell pat as he strode to the kitchen. “Today’s the day!”, he turned to Phil, pointing dramatically into the sky.
…
Phil grabbed the basket of petals and waited in the wings of the hall as the guests piled in. He watched as Sophie buzzed around, her green dress twirling as she changed direction, snapping shots of different families talking and hugging on their way to their seats.
When all the guests had arrived and the doors closed, Phil scanned the room again, until finally his eyes found it. The piano rolled out to the right of the altar, and in front of it sat Daniel Howell, flipping through his sheet music.
As the procession started, and the guests' conversations slowly transitioned into whispers, Phil studied Dan’s hands as they shifted over the keys, his neck slowly craning from side to side with the slow cadence of the music.
He was wearing what he always wore to these events: a plain black suit and dark red button-up beneath his jacket. His lack of tie allowed for leaving the top-most button undone, exposing a bit of collarbone. Dan was even taller than Phil, and his pants were just the slightest touch too short for him, made obvious whenever he was sat to play. The big black boots he wore added an edge to the whole ensemble, and the metal shoelace hooks on them matched the single silver hoop earring he always wore. His eyes were the exact same shade of earthy brown as his curly hair, as if whatever higher being that made him took extra care into making sure all the little details were right.
Phil tried not to think about it too much.
The procession continued, and Phil watched the entirety of the bridal party make their way down the carpeted aisle. A small tug at the calf of his pants turned his attention down and he locked eyes with a small girl, her frilly blue dress matching those of the bride’s maids’. Her face lit up as he handed her the flower basket, and she took off, tossing fistfuls of peony petals as high into the air as she could.
Finally, the bride, arm in arm with her father, made her way down to the arch. Phil mentally thanked her for requesting a live pianist for her big day. Unfortunately, some selfish brides preferred violinists, harp players, or even recorded tracks. How inconsiderate of them, he thought.
When she finally met the groom at the altar, and Dan’s wedding march came to a stop, it was time for Phil’s favorite part, the vows. Phil enjoyed all of the aspects of weddings, the teary look on the families' faces, the pleasant banter over dinner, the manic dancing. Still, the vows were special. Proclamations and promises that bring the room to a halt, and the tiny universe of this venue hushes to honor the vulnerability dripping from every word.
As the couple read off their mushy declarations, Phil tried to fight every impulse telling him to look in the direction of the piano. It was a fight lost, and he stared at the back of Dan’s head as sentences of love traveled from his ears to his brain, and became twisted until they were his own, private little confessions.
With a definitive kiss, the bride and groom were officially wed, happy, and ready to party. For most people, this is when the real fun of weddings begins, but Phil held his breath and watched Dan put his music back into his folder.
He felt an arm loop around his, and reflexively tilted his head down as Louise craned her neck toward his ear and whispered, “Don’t worry, he’s staying through dinner.” As he pulled away to look at her, he was met with encouraging and eager eyes, and his attempt to hide a smile was thwarted. “Thanks,” he whispered back as she unlinked their arms.
For most weddings, it was a toss-up for how long Dan stayed. Often, the couple only wanted live piano for the procession, maybe during cocktail hour to fill dead air as guests socialize. It was rare that they request entertainment after dinner though, so today was an exception. And, an opportunity, Phil thought.
While other entertainers made an effort to exchange pleasantries with the rest of the staff, Dan Howell seemed to slip in and out without a trace. Even though he’d been playing the same weddings as them for many months now, he’d yet to speak to Phil or anyone else on the team besides Louise. However intriguing though, Phil didn't care much for the lone-wolf mystery, not when all he wanted was to actually speak to him. Today was the day he’d finally break the ice; beautiful setting, nice suit, and a day with plenty of time to get to know each other. The perfect conditions for what could be something truly amazing, thought Phil.
Phil grabbed two mojitos off of a wandering waiter’s tray and took a breath as he walked over to the corner where Dan was packing up his stuff. He mentally ran through the lines of his introduction a final time as he reached the piano.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Phil felt a slam against his shoulder, and a distressed waitress gasped as a tray of shots spilled over the front of Phil’s shirt, the jolt of the collision sending him to the floor.