Wow! What a whirlwind! Thank you so, so much to everyone for your encouraging words and interest. Reviews! Alerts! Craziness!

Some things to share:

Zaza724 has pulled me completely under. I now have fic twitter. I'm dreamnorweigen. And I started a tumbler for this story: markedindelibly[dot]tumblr[dot]com. There are photos of the flowers I mentioned in the last chapter and this one, in case you're interested. I will continue to update that as I go along.

Also, Zaza found an inconsistency in the last chapter. The tattoo that Esme has is now from 1991. Not 1973. When I first started writing this I was considering a different timeline. I tried to figure out if there was a way to make it work but finally decided to go back and change the date.

Finally, thank you to my readers Zaza, winterstale and RillaotValley. I'm not fibbing when I tell you people, I was blocked. For years. The damn has burst and these women are keeping up with me. Now, that said, this technical edit is mine. So, don't blame them for my lack of commas!

Enjoy!

Chapter Two::Gooseberry::Anticipation

Alice bounced around the shop like a damn bug. Like one of those big-ass, brown crickets in the storage room, except she didn't scare the living shit out Emmett. She'd just pop up out of nowhere sometimes, and it could catch a person off guard.

She touched down lightly all over the place; never staying anywhere for long. Asking Edward, "Do you need goo?" Asking Garrett, "Esquivel or Johnny Cash?" Asking a customer, "Do you want a cool cloth? A Mountain Dew?" She never asked Emmett what he wanted, knowing he'd tell her exactly what he needed, exactly when he needed it.

The only time Alice sat absolutely still was when she had the swine to practice on, or when Emmett gave in and let her shadow him. She had the knack for it, though. Even if she was fucking all over the place. For a time—when she'd first started to work at Miss Pixie's—he wondered if she was on something. It didn't take long to learn there were no drugs involved. Just her morning caffeine. Otherwise, it was pure Alice.

She flitted from station to station making sure they were each fully-stocked before leaving to get the dinner order from the market down the street. Emmett pulled back from the piece he was finishing just as Alice put a fresh box of gloves on his cart. She looked at him pointedly and he nodded. Grinning, she stepped off to his side, settling into stillness and taking in the work and every word he said.

It was a fucking, flash hummingbird; straight off the wall in the front. It looked awesome, but it was exactly like the other two hummingbirds he'd tac-ed earlier in the month. Now, depressingly, there'd be three of them walking around town. Not that he could complain too much. Flash work kept him in business.

"How's that feel?" he asked, rubbing the excess ink and blood off the girl's shoulder blade.

"It hurts a little, but it's not too bad."

"That's what she said," Edward chuckled lowly from one station over. The rest of the shop erupted in laughter and Emmett grinned, his dimples cutting deeply into his cheeks. Alice just rolled her eyes.

"How do you feel?" he said as he helped the girl sit up.

"Okay, I think," she warbled. She looked a little woozy, but determined to stay cool. She'd been a cadaver the entire time, not saying a word.

"It looks hot, chica!" Alice piped in. "Super hot. Your boyfriend won't be able to get enough of taking care of you, knowing that you did this for him."

The girl's cheeks pinked and Alice stepped in to take her elbow and help her stand. She seemed to have perked up a bit, now that her blood was flowing again and her mind was clearly on how her man would react. Alice did have a way with the customers. She always knew exactly what to say to get the sale. Exactly what to say to soothe people's nerves. It didn't matter if they were waify chicks like this one or big macho fuckers that cried silently (or loudly) into the crooks of their elbows.

"Come on, let's go check it out in the mirror." Grabbing the waif's hand and swinging it playfully, Alice led her across the room. "Then I'll get you some goo and a wrap and we can go get your aftercare sheet." The girl nodded, walking gingerly along with Alice toward the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Emmett smiled gratefully at her when she looked back at him. She knew how to clear a station too, without making the customer feel like they were being rushed.

"Oh, I love it," the waif squeaked as she looked at the reflection of her back in the hand mirror that Alice had given her. "It's perfect," she said turning back to Emmett. "Thank you."

He nodded with a smile and started to clean up, snapping his black, surgical gloves off and tossing them into the trash with the inked and bloody towels. "Be sure to follow those directions she's gonna give you to a tee. Aftercare is really important."

"That's what..."

"Shut it, Edward." Then back to the waif, "I'm serious. Have your man read the sheet, too. You being on top of it with him will help ensure you don't get an infection."

"That's..."

"Edward!" Emmett growled. "Enough."

"Oh, Come. On. You're just serving 'em up, Em."

Emmett stood, stretching his long legs and arms after two hours in the stool. He rubbed and shifted his jaw, relieving the muscle tension that had built up from clenching and grinding his teeth. Edward ducked his head and redoubled his attention on his client. Walking toward the mirror, Emment nodded to Alice and she slipped quietly away to the front.

Standing over the girl, he dug his fingers deep into the muscles at the base of his neck and rolled his head forward and side-to-side. Her mind had clearly moved on to how the rest of her evening would go and her smile looked mischievous and horny. When Emmett caught her eye in the mirror she blushed. Deeply.

With a knowing smile, he clinically applied ointment to her shoulder and then cut a bandage to fit. "Take this off after about an hour. When you're home. No more than two. All wounds need to breathe. Keep it clean but be gentle when you wash. Don't scrub for at least two weeks. The sheet will tell you everything you need to know." The waif nodded, watching his ministrations over her shoulder.

When he was done Emmett deftly guided her to the reception area where Alice waited with the usual bag of aftercare instructions, trial-size bottle of lotion and Miss Pixie's bumper sticker. "Don't forget to come back and see us when you're ready for your second," he grinned, flashing those ridiculous dimples that he'd learned for some reason seemed to leave women weak. Winking, he turned toward the back, leaving the waif a little breathless, despite what she might have been thinking about doing to her boyfriend just moments before.

-:-

"Just to confirm: Two veggie subs and a spicy Italian, right? A Sprite, a Vitaminwater and a ginger ale." Alice recited back their dinner orders as she swung her messenger bag over her shoulder and walked toward the front. "Oh, and another big bag of Cheetos," she grinned. "We're running low."

"Affirmative, Small One," Edward barked, saluting her.

She stuck her tongue out at him, flicking her piercing on her front teeth. Turning to Emmett as she pushed the door open, she said, "Can we find some time to work on the pig tomorrow, Em?"

"Maybe."

Pulling food delivery, providing janitorial services and stocking station carts was part of the grunt duty that Alice was obligated to do as an apprentice. His weekend receptionist, Heidi, had made it clear that shit like that was a non-starter for her. And he let it slide because her big boobs and small clothes pulled in the fish on a slow Saturday or Sunday. Besides, he was more than happy to make Edward sweep when he had to.

If Alice were a guy, they would have thought nothing of calling her The Bitch. "Hop to it, Bitch," Edward used to say to the last guy. But with Alice, that just seem wrong. Because she wasn't. She was the apprentice. And she was the best he'd ever had.

If it meant extra time on the swine, shadowing or time he'd spend critiquing her sketchbook, she'd probably clean the bathroom, too. The girl was mad driven, for sure. And that can-do attitude coupled with the magic ways she had with the customers made him feel guilty when he wasn't giving her everything he felt she was earning.

"We'll take a look at the schedule in the morning and see if we can squeeze it in," he said. Even as the words were leaving his mouth Emmett could see Edward lifting his eyes from the cuff he was working on; a wicked grin plastered on his face. It was like slow motion and Emmett could feel his own smile creeping in, as well. Sometimes he just couldn't help it.

"That's what she said!" Edward rumbled as both Emmett and Garrett laughed. Because, well, that shit was funny. And they couldn't help but give the girl a hard time. Only because she could take it. And only because, on a good day, she could give it right back.

"That's what she said?" Alice simpered, annoyed.

"Now you're gettin' it, girl," Edward whooped. He stopped working for a moment, leaning back on his stool, his lips curling into a baiting, crooked smile. Those two were at it constantly. Like a brother and a sister of another mother and a mister. It was funny. But it could wear on you, too.

"That's what HE said," she shot back.

Garrett looked up and the shop was void of the constant buzzing of the tattoo machines. "You better watch yourself there, Edward," Garrett said shifting in his chair and starting the buzz of the iron again. "I think she gotcha."

"Not even," Edward grumped as Alice did a little wicked dance toward the door.

"Okay, okay," Emmett chuckled, shaking his head.

Alice caught his eye and did a subtle backward nod with her head, sliding off the concrete step onto the sidewalk, just as the florist from down the street walked by. "I'll be back in a few." Pumping her eyebrows at Emmett, she left the door to swing shut as she took off down the street after the florist at a faux, leisurely pace.

He shook his head again as he watched her go. She'd already explained to all of them her theory that the flower girl was closeted. Not gay, like lesbian-gay, but that she had tattoos that she hid. Lately, though, she'd been really quiet on that front.

She had a running list of neighborhood characters that she'd tagged as likely next customers. She gave regular updates on each of them:

"I think Mrs. Cope will be in within the week to get her eyebrows inked."

"That Tyler kid has been casing the shop again. He's got the itch."

But there'd been nothing about the florist since Alice followed her down the street the previous week.

Emmett acknowledged Alice's uncanny ability to ferret out closet cases and newbies, but he remained unconvinced about the florist. Sure, she had that pinup look. And he had many regular clients that ran in that scene; girls whose bright tattoos he himself had set down in the most strategic of places. But, as far as he could tell, that was the point with most of them. They tattooed and dressed themselves in order to be seen. In fact, he was pretty sure that some of them tattooed themselves in order to be seen by him as he tattooed them; no matter how clearly he broadcast his sorry, not interested, signal.

From the little that Emmett had noted of the florist around the neighborhood—mostly when she was walking back and forth to the Cullen's market several evenings a week—she looked like a girl that enjoyed the fashion, but she didn't dress to be seen. She wore her clothes like armor. And he doubted she was marked.

Alice insisted that if she wasn't, she was going to be.

-:-

No appointments were scheduled during lunch or dinner time. This was Emmett's hard and fast rule. Sustenance was important. A hungry artist might get shaky hands. Even a short session could wear on them, leaving them scratching by the end. Emmett expected no less than 100 percent out of the people that tattooed at Miss Pixie's. When he said eat, they ate.

So, when Alice returned with the subs and drinks the shop was already clear of clients. She flipped the "Back in 30" sign in the window and dropped her messenger bag on the reception desk.

"Shit. I forgot the Cheetos."

"Don't worry yourself, girl," Garrett said, deftly spinning his wheelchair around her legs and managing to wag a finger in her face at the same time. "The dyes in those things can't be good for you."

"You don't see any irony in that?" she asked, with a sassy wink, sweeping her hand down the black and white ink of his full sleeve. Garrett tilted his head and made a series of facial expressions that said, Maybe. He grabbed his spicy Italian and ginger ale and smacked her butt before rolling to settle in next to the reception couch and eat his dinner.

"Edward! Did you know that Esme's got a..." Alice stopped short when both Garrett and Emmett shot her searing, hot looks that told her to, Shut the fuck up.

Edward strolled in from his station, grabbing his veggie sub from her. "Got what?"

"Got a... a shipment of Duke's Mayonnaise in?"

Edward raised an eyebrow and appraised the innocent look that Alice had plastered onto her face. "You are one weird chick." He dropped his sub on the desk and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the drawer, raising his eyebrow at her again.

"Yeah. Well. You love it."

"I do," he said, striding toward the door for his requisite pre-meal smoke. "I do."

Wide-eyed and facing away from Edward, Alice handed Emmett his veggie sub. He shook his head minutely and grabbed his Vitaminwater. Once the door closed both he and Garrett sighed openly.

"What?" Alice fumed.

"The tattoo right?" Emmett said, lowly. "That's what you were about to say?"

"Yeah, Esme showed me." Emmett eyed her skeptically.

"She showed you, Alice?" Garrett said, wheeling closer.

"Well... I just... well..."

"Mmmhmmm," Emmett said, unwrapping his sandwich. "You guessed it, right? You pulled your little hocus pocus on her. Didn't you?" He took a bite of sandwich, staring Alice down. "Frankly, I'm surprised you sniffed that one out. Esme's way on the D.L."

Alice shrugged. "I just felt it... I was talking to Rosalie about if she had any and…" She dropped into the couch looking totally deflated. "Well, I was showing off."

"Rosalie?" Garrett asked.

"Right, 'The Florist.' She shops at Cullen's. I ran into her. She saw Esme's ink, too."

"Ahhh," Garrett crooned. "So 'The Florist' has a name."

Emmett held up his hand. "Look, no time for details now," he said glancing out at Edward, who was restlessly smoking his cigarette. "Just... don't talk to Edward about that. Alistair."

"But why? You... you gotta give me that at least."

"Alistair..." Emmett exhaled. "Alistair was his dad. Is. Was."

"His dad? But I thought Carlisle... What?"

"No." Emmett hissed, slicing his fingers sharply across his chest as Edward pushed his way back into the shop. "Not now," he mouthed.

Edward stopped to spray himself down with Febreze, sighing dramatically.

"Don't give me that shit, Edward," Emmett barked. "You're not ever bringing your stinky ass in here after sucking down one of those things."

"Ooooo," Alice howled, recovering nicely from the tension. "That's what HE said!"

Emmett threw his hands up, while the rest of them laughed. Children. Nothing but overgrown children. He really wasn't that much older than them, but sometimes they made him feel like a crotchety, old man. Ignoring the residual chuckles, he took another bite of his veggie sub.

He didn't even turn when the bell on the door rang, announcing the arrival of someone in the shop.

"Read. The. Sign. Thirty minutes for dinner makes for better tattoos," he all but growled through a mouthful of sandwich.

"Oh. Okay," a soft-tenored voice said as an abbreviated jingle sounded at the door again.

"No, no, no-no," Alice said in desperation, jumping up and pushing past him. "I invited her."

Emmett turned, and for the first time saw "The Florist" up close.

Alice could barely contain her glee as she announced, "Everyone. This is Rosalie."

Until that moment Emmett hadn't realized how much all of them wiggled, peaked and raised their eyebrows at each other. Alice's face was the mirror of classic Magnum P.I. opening credits as she pulled Rosalie back into the shop. And both Edward and Garrett had contorted their foreheads into expressions that he had no hope of decoding.

Emmett felt an eyebrow dictionary might be in order. What were the looks on these three faces trying to convey? Those, in addition to Rosalie, whose brows were both raised in what he could only interpret as surprised horror?

"Uhhh... I'm sorry," he said, putting down his dinner and wiping his hands on his jeans. He swallowed the last bit of sandwich and it slid, hard and painful down his throat. Stepping forward he extended his large hand, his face contrite and ashamed. "Sorry. Really. Emmett McCarty."

After a beat, she looked up, directly into his eyes and slipped her slender, band-aid covered fingers into his. "Rosalie Hale."

If Emmett could whistle in his head that was certainly what he was doing. What color are those eyes? Like the exact color of Periwinkle ink, or something? Yep. It definitely would be inappropriate to do it out loud. Of course, he'd seen her around, but only from a distance. And she was all of those things he'd notice from afar. The clothes. Nice underwear—he could see now—for sure. Up close, though, he could see that she was… real. Startlingly real.

She was a pin up girl. But a classic. Not Technicolor or a costume. Just easy, in her wide-legged pants and trim button down shirt. Tall, even in her flat canvas shoes. Her hair pulled back in a perfect ponytail, with a... what? A leaf stuck in it? A platinum Lauren Bacall.

He could see all this now, standing three feet from her, holding her hand as she nipped daintily at the inside of her upper lip. But up until this moment she was nothing more than "The Florist." A fellow merchant whose real estate he envied.

He'd always admired her shop. The architectural details. The big windows. The fresh white paint that was a fantastic backdrop for the flowers she displayed. It was all meticulously put together. Curated. Like a gallery, or a movie set.

He, on the other hand, had spent the last five years pulling Miss Pixie's together with eBay purchases and refurbished thrift store furniture. He'd found the couch that Garrett was sitting next to discarded in an alley down the block. It was only recently that the shop had been able to turn enough of a profit that he could afford to purchase new reclining hydraulic chairs for the customers and ergonomic stools for himself and Edward. Bad ergonomics could end a career. Repetitive motion injuries and poor posture had retired more people that he personally knew than he cared to think about.

All that left little over for investment in "decor", but that's where being art school grads came in handy. That and Edward's misspent youth writing graffiti. The result was a stripped down industrial space with bare concrete floors, raw brick and sick burners on the floor and walls. It was still what he thought she might consider a hole in the wall, but it was all him. And as much as he might appreciate original moldings and southern sun exposure, he liked what he'd built for himself from pretty much nothing.

Rosalie quietly cleared her throat, bringing Emmett back into the moment. "Wait, so 'Hale's?'" he said, still grasping her hand. Idiot, he thought. Staring at her like a stoned circus bear. "It's been you the whole time then? I noticed when the name changed, right after we opened up. But I thought you took over from someone else. Guess not?"

"No. I did." Her eyes slipped quickly down to her shoes and back up again. "From my parents. Six years ago."

"Ahhh, so..." But it was Emmett's turn to take heed of Alice's silent communication. She stiffened and her face opened up like she was waiting for something horrible to happen. Shutupshutupshutup, it said. "Ahhhh," he finished.

Awkward silence. The look on Rosalie's face shifted from pain, to one of confusion and maybe concern in a matter of seconds. And somehow she managed to wedge a minute, uncomfortable smile in the middle of all of that. It made Emmett feel like shit. What was that about, girl? I'm sorry. He looked desperately to Alice and then loosened his grip on Rosalie's hand, pulling his fingers into the nest of her palm and squeezing lightly before letting go.

"I did change the name to Floriography," she said, lifting her chin, her lips settling into a perfect close-lipped smile.

"Yeah. Cool name," Edward mumbled through a mouthful of sub. "The language of flowers. We use that shi... I mean stuff, too. More Japanese than Victorian, though."

Emmett watched, bemused, while Edward spoke, crumbs flying out of his mouth. "What?" he finally snapped when no one else jumped in. "It's important. Nothing worse than tattooing a flower combo on your back that says you're an asshole."

More silence before Rosalie spoke. "True enough," she said with a smirk. "True. Enough."

Each of them successively broke into peals of laughter. Alice in near tears. Emmett stood incredulously admiring the florist. He could feel those damn dimples deepening.

Rosalie Hale, he thought. Shit. I'm in trouble.

Well? What did you think of that? Next update we'll learn what Rosalie did.

So, some things have changed in the last week. I know I said I'd post once a week on Wednesdays. I was new and starry eyed. Forgive me. Let's make it every 10 days, or so. I'm not as far along with chapter three as I'd like and I've got a busy seven days ahead of me.

Also, I said that reviews would be awesome, but I wouldn't hold my breath. I lied. I'm holding my breath. Turning blue as I type this. Please show InkEmm some love!