While considered by the ancient Aztecs to be symbols of purity, in today's language of flowers, red, white or pink poinsettias, the December birth flower, symbolize good cheer and success and are said to bring wishes of mirth and celebration.

Lucien arrived home early from the autopsy, the late July wind chilling him to the bone. He hoped to find Jean for a chat and warming tea, but the house was quiet and seemingly empty when he let himself in. He sought her in the sunroom, but she wasn't there either. Had been recently, as there was potting soil and various tools spread on the workbench, but she was absent.

The sunroom was a mystery to Lucien. It was humbling to admit, for a man of science, that he did not fully understand the floral alchemy that Jean achieved in there. She'd told him once, that the growing of things was the most honest work she could imagine. Her life on the farm had been difficult, but there was little more satisfying than watching the seeds sprout to life. After the loss of Christopher, leaving the farm behind had been like cleaving another part of herself. It was, Lucien thought, a blessing that she could find comfort amid the dirt and seeds, leaf and flower of his father's sunroom. He almost felt an interloper, entering her domain without her permission, but he couldn't help but check out her latest project.

It looked to be a small shrub - sturdy with big, slightly velvety leaves and bright, blood red flowers. Upon closer inspection Lucien noted the flowers weren't exactly that, but clusters of leaves themselves that were a brilliant crimson.

"Like it?" Jean asked from the doorway and Lucien couldn't quite control a little jerk of surprise. He rested his hands over the pockets on his vest and rocked back on his heels.

"It's interesting. Different. What is it?"

"A Christmas flower." Jean stepped beside him and stroked the red leaves. "They had them in one of the shops and...I hope I can keep it alive and blooming until the holidays."

"A touchy one, is it?" He looked at her out of the corner of her eye. Things had been so tentative between them since Mei Lin, and his impromptu proposal. She hadn't exactly said no...but she hadn't exactly said yes, either. She said they needed time to let the gossip settle. In any case, her lips were not pressed thin and the harsh lines around her cheeks were soft.

She bumped his shoulder, her cheeks reddening under what was obviously not his surreptitious gaze. "You're thinking awfully loud, Lucien."

"I...ah. Yes." He shook his head a little and grinned. She answered with a small smile. "A christmas flower, eh? Christmas in July, then?"

She finally dropped her gaze, squirming under his scrutiny. She felt exposed when he watched her so openly, when all of his consuming curiosity was turned on her. She felt she had no secrets, that he was able to unlock all of those little corners she'd kept bolted tight for...ages.

It was easier in the sunroom, amid her flowers, where life followed a very specific path. Her own life had been similar predestined. Even her early widowhood followed a predictable pattern. It was Lucien and his wild, wonderful, infuriating energy that had upset her carefully constructed apple cart.

She didn't really regret it, either.

"Something like that."

"Is it poisonous?" Lucien poked again at the bright red leaves, but he was looking straight at Jean, his storm-tossed eyes seeking something deeper from her. He looked at her that way often since Mei Lin left, and she felt slightly guilty leaving him hanging, despite the fact that she needed the time to collect her thoughts and feelings.

Finally she raised the hand she'd had twisted in her apron, pressing her fingers to Lucien's wrist. He followed her eyes to her finger, where the diamond and emerald engagement right glittered.

Lucien's smile was bright.

"No," Jean spoke at last, and Lucien's spit-take was almost comical before she realized what she'd said. "No, the plant isn't poisonous."

"Oh."

Jean waited patiently, watching Lucien glance between the poinsettia and her finger, his grin widening so that she thought his cheeks might crack.

"So…" She said at last, when she could wait no longer.

"So?"

"Are you going to kiss me, or not?"

Lucien stunned her by looking at the ceiling as though in confusion.

"Lucien?"

"You haven't by chance grown mistletoe have you?"

"Silly man," She whispered, and kissed him herself, no parasitic greenery required.