The shopkeeper's bell, nearly worn to a nubbin now, tinkled furiously as the pawnshop door jerked open and a pair of heels clacked across the faux wood floor. "Get your lousy lips off my man!" Belle's sweet librarian voice rang out in imitation of an enraged driver at a stock car rally. Ignoring the six-inch difference in height between them, Belle grabbed the other woman by the shoulder and spun her around with practiced efficiency, simultaneously landing a fist in the enemy's gut. "Out of my shop and out of my town, you witch!" As the other woman doubled over, Belle swung her fist into her jaw.
"Actually, she's a water sprite," Rumple corrected. Then with a wave of his hand, he sent the sprite to Storybrooke Lake. He picked up his wife's bloodied fist, kissed her knuckles and conjured the injury away.
But Belle was still fuming. "Seventh one this year. Who was this one, another apprentice?"
"An acquaintance of Ursula's. I guess Ursula said something about me and the sprite got curious."
"Oh, I get it. Grapevine chatter: go to Gold's; he's the best kisser in the realm." Belle yanked her hand away. "I don't care if it is the truth. When we married, ownership of your lips and the exclusive rights to all current and future kisses transferred to me." She threw her hands into the air. "First Miss Heartless, then the Greenie, then the sea hag–what is it with these daughters of demons and their lusting after your lips?"
He smiled sheepishly. "I'm not encouraging them, sweetheart. I swear I'm not."
"I know, I know, I saw you pushing that one away. And I remember after Zelena kissed you, you scrubbed your teeth till the gums bled. And the sea hag! You dunked your head in turpentine to get the fish smell out of your hair. It's not your fault, Rumple, but I swear, if one more minion of evil plants her–or his–slimy lips on yours, I'm coming after them with a pitchfork and a flaming broom! You belong to me and only me, and they'd best be learning that! Seven of them! How many more kiss-starved witches are there in this realm? Geesh!"
Rumple swiped his sleeve across his mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick. This one had eaten hakari for lunch." He shuddered.
"Hakari? What's that?"
"Don't ask." Then he brightened. "But that gives me an idea." He conjured a jar and showed it to her. "Next time a witch, sprite, sorceress, succubus, sea hag, nymph, fairy or other female practitioner of dark magic darkens our door–"
"Wait a minute. You're lumping fairies in with that lot? Oh, never mind."
"As I was saying, next time, I'll just pop one of these in my mouth and voila! Any desire to kiss me will be quelled."
Belle picked up the jar. "What is this? Some sort of anti-kissing potion?"
"Better." He turned the jar around so she could read the label: Pickled Garlic.
"Fine," Belle agreed. "As long as you follow it with a Certs as soon as I'm done punching her out."