More:
Helen washed out of the army, but she keeps herself in shape out of habit, even after returning to help her parents run their shop. She isn't much interested in running the shop or catching a man, both things her mother wishes she would show more initiative with, but she helps out with the shop anyway, since she hasn't really been employed lately, either.

Sample:
"Helen, can you watch the shop for a few minutes?"

Helen looked up from the arrangements she was arranging, eyes darting reflexively toward the door, which had just jangled to admit a customer.

"Sure, Mom," was out of her mouth just as a tall individual of the male persuasion walked in, looking lost.

She turned a glare on her mother, who smiled angelically and gathered up her purse. "Thank you, dear."

Muttering grimly to herself, she finished straightening the arrangements before making her way slowly over to the customer, who was standing at the counter and staring blankly at the displays.

"Can I help you?" she asked, probably more briskly than her mother would have liked.

"Oh -- uh, yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking somewhat like a lost puppy. "I guess I wanted to get a bouquet ..." His inflection swept the last syllable into a question, and she arched an eyebrow.

"You don't sound too sure of that."

"Oh -- well, I'm just not ... sure." His expression grew, if possible even more depressed.

"Well," she said. "Who's it for?"

Embarrassment flashed across his features. "My, uh, my sister."

Her eyebrows lifted despite her best effort to keep her expression neutral. "What did you do to your sister that you have to buy her flowers?"

She froze for a split second, considering for a moment that his sister might have just -- graduated from college? Had a baby? Then she saw his face, bright red and chagrined.

"Um -- well -- maybe that's not important. Am I right about about this being an -- apology?"

He nodded, head hanging. Sharing his embarrassment, for a split second, all her knowledge of flowers and their meaning, bolstered by her mother's constant reminders, failed her.

"What -- what's her favorite color?" she blurted.

"Um ..." He rubbed his cheek. "Well -- she likes pink and yellow."

"All right," she said, hurrying off into their stock before she realized she'd completely forgotten to ask him what his price range was. She kept her gatherings moderate, calculating the price on the fly, and came back with a neatly arranged bouquet.

"Oh," he said blankly. "That looks -- good. How much is it?"

She reached for colored paper to wrap it in, double-checking her calculations. "Ten fifty-two," she said, reaching over to tap the amount into the register.

"Oh -- okay, I've got that." He fumbled for his wallet. His haste mirrored hers, and she repressed a sigh of relief when he handed over exact change.

She handed him the bouquet with a quickly manufactured smile. "Good luck with your sister."

"Yeah -- thanks." And with that, he was out the door.

Helen groaned faintly, leaning against the counter and hoping any other customers who wandered in before her mother came back were female.