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I played with, because the idea was also to resist fun.

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Clarke loved flowers, she really is.

Bouquets are some of your favorite acts and they inherited the talent for growing things his father. It features a mini herb garden in a window sill, small pots of basil and thyme and rosemary. It adds your recipes while cooking. You never met a plant I did not like.

Until now.

Living above a flower shop seemed like a good idea at the time. Cheap, good location near the hospital, beautiful flowers every day. What's not to like?

Until I started to sneeze every time he entered the store to get your apartment. She is not sure what it is, but begins to really annoying.

The only reasonable solution is, as far as she can tell, to go through and find flowers that caused the reaction.

If the pretty girl with dark hair with a quick, friendly smile at the service, the employee.

But the man said with the eternally grumpy face almost always behind the counter and, honestly, Clarke did not understand how come all customers with black pull all the eyes. It was not quite sure how that work wouldn 't order flowers to make someone happy all day, be achieved? But that's not your business, after all. So he slipped after their shifts and tried to feel secretly Ramos and find out what exactly the problem.

This great plan lasts exactly two days before each boy with black hair behind her angrily asked: "Are you actually buy flowers or what?"

Clarke jumps a mile and sneezing.

It was not a sneeze is socially acceptable, it was the guy who made his Convulse body. Once more or less presentable and straightened himself is looking for a secretary, as he lost his mind.

How have you never had an allergic reaction, he thought angrily.

"I think I'm allergic," she began, but another violent sneeze overtook her. Chancellor decided it was time to slowly back away from the crazy girl sneezing. It was once almost completely off the road, stopped sneezing.

She blinked several times, test before the display. "... I think I'm allergic to you."

The look on his face quickly put Clarke decided discretion was the better part of valor and screwed in her apartment.

Raven on the phone at night had no sympathy.

"Clarke, honey, it's very sad," Clarke said, and growled: "Tell me something I do not know."

The next morning she stood in the flower shop, preparing for the onslaught of sneezing.

Nothing has happened.

She looked around cautiously, fully prepared for an attack, but his lungs were clear, no nose tingle. She was beautiful.

"My sister told me that the perfume smelled Octavia" offered a quiet voice and turned to the brown, dark surly secretary to see, but not quite, either smiling. "I must say, being a girl really be allergic to me is a new," he continued, and Clarke, in spite of himself, was red.

"Try the next time soap," she suggested and was a little surprised at their boldness.

"I remember," he said dryly, and to his surprise, he reached for her. "Bellamy Blake. My sister and I own the place."

"Your sister is the girl who is there?" Asked Clarke to accept his hand and asked why they should think relieved.

"That's it," he said, his hand almost completely surrounds. He had calluses on the palms. "This place was our mother."

"Oh," Clarke said in a low voice, a hint of understanding comes from her, although she did not insist. Instead, she dropped her hand and looked around, bright and colorful flowers shop full of hope and promise. "I'm going to see you," she told him the door and shouted, "Tell me what kind of flowers you want."

"All of them," she said over her shoulder with a smile her. "Good luck."

He gave her no, but it was a small bouquet of flowers at the door when he came home, a note attached.

The next time it is dinner.