The mail came promptly at 1:30, just as it always did.

Belle French put down the book she'd been reading. It'd been a slow day—every day that wasn't Mother's Day or Valentine's Day was slow, if she was being honest—and the mailman was only the third person to come into her floral shop since she'd arrived herself, promptly at 8:00. The door swung open with a little jingle as he let himself in.

"Afternoon," he greeted.

"Afternoon," she replied.

"Working hard?"

"Hardly working."

This was their typical exchange. He slid her mail across the counter and went on his way. She sorted through the pile absentmindedly.

Bills, bills, spam, bills—

Hold on a minute.

Here was a letter for someone named 'Ruby Lucas.' Belle didn't recognize the name, but she knew the address. It belonged to that awful tattoo parlor next door, The Beast. The mail must have gotten mixed up somehow. Belle supposed, being a good neighbor, she would have to go and give Ruby her letter…but that would involve going inside a place like that, and she wasn't entirely sure she'd live to tell the tale.

Oh, please. It can't be that bad.

Can't it, though?

Belle put it off a little longer, sweeping the clean floor and misting some flowers that weren't dry, before finally giving in and heading next door.

As soon as she walked inside she was greeted by loud music and the sharp smell of incense. The walls were dark and covered with designs. The Beast was having a slow day, too, only one patron in the waiting area, bent over his phone. F*** YOU, YOU F****** F***, his shirt said. Belle heard a buzzy noise in the background that she recognized a moment later as the needle.

"You lost, love?" A male, British voice broke in on her thoughts. Its owner was a scruffy, dark-haired man with full sleeves (they were called sleeves, right?) on both arms—krakens and sharks, ships with tattered sails, an anchor, a jolly roger, snarls of rigging. He lounged, smirking, behind the register, his arms folded—the better to show off the artwork, Belle suspected.

"Um—"

"Or maybe you're a walk-in. But judging from the look on your face, you're having second thoughts about it."

Belle stood up a little straighter, tempted, for an instant of reckless abandon, to say yes, she was a walk-in, and she would like a flaming skull on her throat, just to prove this man wrong about her and wipe the smirk off his face. Fortunately the urge passed. She walked up to the counter.

"I'm here for—" She checked the letter again. "Ruby Lucas."

"She's on her lunch break."

"Is she here?"

He leaned forward. "Here, love, why don't I help you out?"

Belle supposed she could just give the letter to him. "Well—"

"What did I tell you about hitting on the clients, Killian?" a second voice interrupted. A tall woman walked in behind him from the back room, licking a smear of mustard off her thumb. "Rule number one."

Oh, Belle thought a little resignedly. Oh dear. She's hot.

"I'm…um...here for Ruby Lucas."

"You're looking at her."

And she was. She was looking at her hair, which was long and dark and perfectly unruly. She was looking at her grin, with its sharp and crooked canines. She was looking at her too-tight shirt and too-tight jeans. But mostly she was looking at her arms. Like Killian's, they were covered in ink, but the designs were subtle and haunting in a way his weren't. Black forests, a white moon, something that might have been a wolf…

"Sooo, what can I do for you?" Ruby continued.

"I have your mail," Belle blurted.

"What?"

She gave her the letter. "Here. This, um, came to me accidentally. I work at the flower shop next door."

"Ah, what's it called—Beauty?" Killian said, snapping his fingers. "You just moved in a few months ago, didn't you?"

Belle nodded.

Ruby took the letter but didn't look at it. She was watching Belle, so intensely Belle could feel her face starting to warm. God, her eyes—

"You work next door?" Ruby asked finally. "How come I've never seen you around before?"

"Oh, I don't know. I, um, open pretty early I guess. But you should come visit sometime. I could, um, show you all my flowers."

Did that sound vaguely sexual? That sounded vaguely sexual. Why couldn't she just have an intelligent conversation? Why couldn't she sound like the valedictorian she was?

Ruby's grin widened. "Yeah, maybe. What's your name?"

"Belle."

"Well, thanks for bringing me my mail, Belle. I'll have to return the favor sometime." She reached up with long fingers and dark nails and hooked Belle's hair behind her ear. "I bet you'd look even cuter with your cartilage done. I'd do it for free."

Oh God. Oh God.

"Yeah…maybe. Anyway, um. Bye."

Flustered, Belle turned to leave before she could make a bigger fool of herself. She could feel both their eyes on her as she walked to the door.

"Rule number one my arse," Killian accused under his breath. "Ow! Rule number two, no hitting."

Belle's heart was so loud she couldn't hear the music, or even her own thoughts.

Stop.

Another slow day. Belle had spent the last hour on an arrangement that should've taken fifteen minutes. She kept getting distracted, thinking about Ruby Lucas. What did her tattoos mean? How many did she have? Were there any on her—?

STOP.

Hmm. Ruby Lucas. Belle Lucas. What?

Of course, Belle knew not to kid herself with this. A woman like that would eat her alive. Even her friend's name had 'Kill' in it. But still…the way she'd looked at her…well, there was no harm in dreaming. It's not like Belle had anything better to do.

The shop door jingled as it opened. Belle looked up and froze.

It was her.

"Wow, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but it smells great in here."

"Ruby?" she said in a small voice.

"Yeah," Ruby said, looking around. "Cool, you remember."

Suddenly Belle became acutely aware of the soft classical music in the background, of the pastel rainbow of stuffed animals on the front counter. Balloons everywhere. God, why hadn't she worn her jeans with the rip in them today?

"How can I help you?" Belle asked, struggling for nonchalance.

"Well, you said I should come visit sometime," Ruby said. She was making like she was considering one of the arrangements, but Belle could see her watching her from the corner of her eye. "Or were you just being nice?"

"No! I mean, yes, I was being nice, I'm nice, but that's not why—unless you—um—"

Ruby sidled up to the counter, her lips curving into a smile. "Good. Because I'm on my lunch break again, and something tells me you're better company than any of the cavemen in my shop."

"What…even your boyfriend?" Belle asked warily.

"Who, Killian? God forbid. Maybe if I had to pick a dude. He is a good artist."

Belle's heart fluttered halfway up her throat.

"Anyway, I brought enough to share." Red produced a brown paper bag dripping with grease and the smell of hot steak sandwiches. "I mean, only if you have time, of course. Only if you're hungry."

Belle immediately cleared a space on the counter. She did and she was.

They started trading. Some days Ruby walked over to Beauty to eat, and some days Belle walked over to the Beast. Belle gradually lost her fear of the place. The 'cavemen' were nicer than she might have expected, and funnier too, and she liked learning about their work. They indulged her like a pet. Belle could feel herself actively getting cooler in their presence.

The time she and Ruby spent at her shop was always quieter by comparison. Belle worked alone, and her infrequent patrons were mostly anxious young men and kindly old women. Ruby would ask her what she was reading, and sometimes Belle would let her help her with an arrangement. Ruby pretended to be hopeless at it, but she obviously had an artist's eye.

"You know, if I ever were going to get a tattoo," Belle admitted one day, "And I'm not giving in to your peer pressure yet…I think I'd want a rose." They were trimming roses at the time; that's what'd made her think of it. It was getting close to Valentine's Day, and there were a lot of roses in the shop.

Ruby stopped for a moment to look at her. "Why?"

"I don't know. They're just my favorite flower I guess. The thorns, you know, how something can be beautiful and dangerous at the same time. I like things like that. Thunderstorms and things. Words. I don't know. I know it's cliché—"

"It's not," Ruby insisted, turning towards her. "It suits you."

Belle was blushing; she could feel it.

"What, beautiful and dangerous?" Belle asked, biting her lip. Too far, French, you're going too far.

"Dangerously beautiful, more like."

Oh God! She sucked in a short breath and forced herself to focus on her work.

"Where would you get it?" Ruby pressed.

"Um, somewhere easy to hide. On my ribs maybe."

And then, suddenly, Ruby was tracing a long stem up her side with the lightest of touches, then petals, then leaves, then thorns.

"I can see it," she said finally, her voice a little quieter now.

Belle's mind was screaming. Her palms broke out in sweat. She gave up any pretense of work.

"Ruby…" She looked up. Ruby met her gaze and held it. God, her face was so close. Her lips were so close. Maybe…maybe…

Belle summoned her courage. Leaned in—

The shop door jingled. The mailman walked in. 1:30.

"Afternoon."

Belle just glared.

"Damn, I'm running late," Ruby muttered suddenly. "Hey, I'll see you around, okay?"

And she left before Belle could say goodbye.

The next day when Belle went The Beast, Killian informed her that Ruby had taken a sick day. Belle immediately began to feel sick herself. She'd obviously crossed a line yesterday. Ruby didn't want to see her.

"You're welcome to hang around anyway," Killian offered.

"No, I should probably get back to work," Belle sighed, and she returned to finish her Valentine's Day arrangements.

The next day, she waited for Ruby to come visit her, but Ruby never showed. Belle didn't have it in her to go next door and ask for her. She could take a hint. It was possible Ruby was sick, but Belle was certain she wasn't.

I was too clingy. She could probably smell the desperation.

Or maybe she'd just never been interested in the first place.

The weekend came and went. Valentine's Day was on Tuesday. Belle tried to pour all her energy into preparing for it. On Monday, she had more customers than she could handle. Usually she would have enjoyed the business, would have listened to every single love story, but now, she just felt hollow.

She'd begun to think, maybe, just maybe, she'd have a story of her own this year.

Then—just before close—the last customer of the day—Ruby came in.

"Hey."

Hey? "It's not lunchtime," Belle said, feeling stupid. A tendril of hope crept through her. Ruby looked nervous. She never looked nervous.

"No, I'm, uh, here for business today, actually."

"Business?"

"Yeah, I've met someone special. I want to give her a nice bouquet for tomorrow."

"Oh." The hope died, Belle's heart sinking like a stone. So that was it then—someone else. Maybe there'd always been someone else.

"Well, you came to the right place," Belle said finally. She could feel the threat of tears and hated herself for it. This was exactly why a woman like Ruby would never take her seriously. "What kind of arrangement do you want?"

"Two dozen roses."

Two dozen? That wasn't cheap. God, it was someone special. Belle had never felt like such a fool. Her hands started shaking.

"Here, let me help," Ruby said softly. She'd had so much practice she practically arranged the whole thing herself. It was almost cruel, to have her close like this again. But Belle supposed her situation wasn't anyone's fault but her own. She was the one who read too much into things.

"Do you need them delivered?" Belle asked when they were done.

"No, I'll drop them off myself now. Thanks, Belle."

"And Ruby…" Belle hesitated. But what did she have to lose, after all? "Will I be seeing you for lunch tomorrow?"

Ruby smiled. Was it pitying? Was it mocking? She couldn't tell. "No. Not tomorrow."

And she paid and left.

Belle went through the motions of closing shop. It took her longer than usual, as chaotic as the day had been, and the traffic on the way home seemed heavier, too. By the time she turned onto her street, she was more desperate than ever to get into bed and curl up with her cat. Maybe tonight they'd watch Pride and Prejudice. That was her go-to for times like these.

Belle pulled into her driveway. Made her way to the front door. Stopped.

There was something on the front porch.

There were flowers on the front porch.

There were two dozen roses on the front porch.

Belle dashed up to the bouquet and snatched the note from the middle of it.

The mailman gave me your address, it said in Ruby's elegant script. Tomorrow, let's do dinner.