French Roses (FranceXReader)

Still procrastinating. What ever. Hope you like!

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  [first name]'s head rest in her hand, the corresponding elbow of which was propped up on the counter. She was working her shift at the only green house in the small, French village she lived in. And she was bored. She had worked at the shop for many years and found it quite enjoyable. But it got a little boring after a while.
  "Nothing ever happens in this town," she would say. "I want some excitement." Well, her wish was about to come true.
  The bell above the door rang as a man with shoulder length blond hair, a stubbly chin, and stark blue eyes walked through the door. It's just Francis, [first name] thought. Though... it's nice to see him. She blushed, thinking about how sweet and charming he always acted towards her. Though the other workers complained that he was a womanizer, [first name] never noticed.
  Francis Bonnefoy came to that green house every week and always bought the same think: french roses. [first name] never understood why he did nor what he did with them afterwards, but it as nice to see his hansom face once every week.
  "Bonjour, Francis." [first name] greeted him.
  "Ah, [first name]!" he said, turning his head towards her from a bundle of daffodils he had been admiring. "It's nice to see you, always!"
  "And you as well!" Francis looked around. "Uh..." he mumbled. "Could you show me to where the french roses are? I can't seem to remember where they were." [first name] laughed.
  "You never do," she said, turning and waving her hand in the air. "Fallow me." [first name] walked down the isles, not quite sure where they were herself, though it seemed she was a bit... distracted when ever she had found them last. "French roses, french roses..." she murmured. Then, the swirling, pink petals caught her eye.
  "Ah-ha!" she said, turning to face them. "Here we are! French ros-ES!" She felt something pinch her posterior and then felt her face heat up. She whipped around, looking at the Frenchmen behind her square in the face. "Francis!" she yelled, purposefully spitting. "What the hell is wrong with you? I can't believe you just did that! Do you have any idea how embarrassing you are being? Everyone in the store is probably looking at us!" Francis stepped back, pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.
  "The attention, mon cher, is you're fault." he said. "If you hadn't yelled, they wouldn't have noticed." Then he lifted his hand to his eyes, a wide smile spreading across his face, and started chuckling. "Je suis désolé, [first name]," he said in between chuckles. "But I couldn't help my self any longer! Your rear end is just to perfect!"
  "Are you serious?" [first name] asked. "You just embarrassed me in front of the whole store just because you could resist touching my ass? I can't believe you! You're just so- so-" Francis placed his finger over her lips.
  "Sh, sh, sh, mon cher." he said. "Didn't you hear me? I had been holding back. If you were any other girl, I would have done that at least five times already. And do you know why I come here every week, or what happens to those roses? Do you ever noticed that the exact bouquet is left on your doorstep the next morning? You couldn't possibly be THAT blind, right, ma petite fleur?" [first name] looked down at the floor. She had had a crush on this man for at least a year and had never even noticed that he had been leaving her flowers right on her doorstep! She had been blind, hadn't she? "I..." she tried to apologize, but Francis silenced her.
  "Soyez tranquille, chère," he said, moving his finger beneath her chin, tilting her head backward. "You don't need to say anything." He kissed her passionately, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her close. "Oohs", "awes", and "dawes" could be heard throughout the store. They pulled apart for air and [first name] buried her face in Francis' shirt. "I love you, Francis." she murmured hurriedly.
  "I love you, too, ma petite fleur.

~~~~~~~~~Extended Ending~~~~~~~~~~

  [first name] held out small packages of flower seeds in front of her daughter, Rennet, as they sat in their back yard in front of their garden.
  "Those ones," Rennet said, pointing to the french roses, her blue eyes shining brightly in the evening sun.
  "French roses, huh?" [first name] said, remembering a particularly encounter with a certain Frenchmen. "Why did you pick these ones?"
  "Because they remind me of you and Papa."
  "Why do they remind you of me and your father?" [first name] asked, though the answer was obvious.
  "Because of the story you told me that one time when I was sick and asked you to tell me a fairy tale." Rennet replied. She smiled, giggling a little bit under her breath. "You ended telling me how you and Papa met." She laughed louder. "Did Papa really pinch your butt in front of the whole store?" [first name] thought for a moment, wondering if she should have waited until her daughter was older than eight, though that was nearly two years ago, to tell her THAT story.
  "Yes, he did." she said, standing up and brushing dirt of her pants. "Back then, he was an idiot and hopeless romantic, though he isn't much different now. How I fell for him is still beyond- ME!" [first name] felt something pinch her posterior and instantly turned around to scold the culprit, only to find his lips smashed into hers. They pulled apart and [first name] looked at him angrily, blushing like mad.
  "Francis," she said. "You're an idiot."
  "Oui, mon cher," he whispered, pecking her on the cheek. "But I'm your idiot." Rennet laughed as she skipped to the house and through the back door, her curly [hair color] locks bouncing behind her.
  "You guys are funny!" she said.