Hello, my lovelies!

So I saw a random Tumblr writing prompt on Pinterest that stated something along the lines of "Imagine your OTP in a tattoo shop owner/florist AU...you probably already know who best fits which...NOW SWITCH THAT"

So I thought that was ABSOLUTELY FREAKING PERFECT for Bethyl. I mean, who would expect Daryl Dixon to work in a flower shop?! Anyway, this is messy and random and I just wanted to have fun with it. It's kind of boring, honestly. I'm still stuck, mentally. Writing little things like this help, though.

Thanks for reading! Much love!

XOXO,

OceansAria :)

Business was slower on Mondays.

Then again, business was always slow at Dixon's Flower Shop. Located on the Main Street of Fayetteville, Georgia, the only thing really keeping the doors open were the few loyal customers or the (few) weddings and (more often than not) funerals.

Daryl Dixon stood alert behind the counter, fingers tapping mindlessly against the Formica. He was stuck here from 8 to 4 every day, six out of the seven days a week since his aunt's (whom hadn't known existed until four months ago) health wasn't up to handling working the shopfront anymore.

He hated working there.

Every morning, every noon, every evening—he told himself not much longer. As soon as he had the shop sold, he would be out on the road again with his older brother, Merle. They had been called back to this tiny Georgia town when Aunt Maye had her first stroke; Merle had refused, but Daryl being the "pussy" brother, agreed to come and take care of the shop until its imminent end . . . or Aunt Maye's. She was family after all and the money wasn't half bad.

Nothing really interesting happened in the shop or in the town. Main Street was slowly and painfully crumbling into dust—especially since the Walmart had gone up down the highway. All the mom-and-pop stores were taking a major hit. The younger generation flocked to brighter and better while the older generation stuck to what they knew, though they as a whole were stingy with their retirement funds.

Nothing really interesting had happened in the four months since the Dixon brothers had rolled into town. Every day was a blur of elderly faces, a few sales, and the same conversations with the nurseries that supplied the shop with inventory. Every day was a colorless mesh of breakfast, work, lunch hour, work, dinner, sleep. While Daryl worked, his brother was out spending every dime they made on heroin, booze, or women. It was an exhausting and vicious cycle.

Nothing interesting at all happened that particular day until one o'clock when the door opened, the bell tinkling out a welcome, and she walked in.

She was young, that was the first thing Daryl noted. Like, young young. She had to be barely twenty, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Her hair was a pale blond, wispy and long and a little curly here and there. Delicate hair to match her delicate features. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, her skin somewhat porcelain as if she had seen some sun, and her mouth pink and pursed in thought as she glanced around at the selections.

She was pretty, that was the second thing Daryl noted. Very pretty.

He watched, hoping he didn't appear as a lurker, as she floated about the shop. Her sundress was a spring green and sleeveless, showcasing the tattoos on her right arm. To top off the altogether quaint and charming hometown girl facade, she wore worn cowboy boots.

"How much are the peonies?"

Daryl didn't realize how hard he'd been staring until this image of angelic perfection and daintiness spoke.

She spoke and her voice did things to him, to that throbbing appendage in his chest. She spoke and he felt he couldn't.

She didn't seem to think him strange for it, however. She simply stood, patiently waiting for the shop owner to gather up the mess of his mind that had fallen to the floor in pieces. She stood, smiled a little, and held out the bouquet of baby pink peonies bound at the stems with rubber bands, awaiting a reply.

Maybe she's used to getting ogled by old guys, Daryl thought self-depreciatingly. Or maybe she just knows she's so freakin' pretty.

"Uh—um, they're ten for the bundle," he managed to shove out of his mouth with extreme effort. His tongue tumbled helplessly like a dying animal and he hated himself for stammering.

She nodded, scrutinizing the bouquet. "Pricey. But they're awfully pretty."

Yes, you are.

"Sure you couldn't cut me a deal?" She was smiling more now, her lips curling up towards her eyes. There was a teasing edge to her voice. "All us shop owners help each other out around here. What, with the economy gone belly up."

Daryl frowned. "You own a shop?"

She laughed and he wanted to bottle it up and save it—like children wished to keep the fireflies they caught in jars on warm summer nights.

"Well, yeah. The tattoo parlor next door." She hooked her thumb westwards.

"Really now?"

"Yeah. That's my place."

Daryl recalled the sign he'd seen every day on his walk to work for the past several months. Greene Ink. After first thinking the name was stupid, he'd figured it was the owner's surname and continued on.

Eyebrows stitched together, he pointed at her, thinking out loud:

"So you're . . . "

"I'm Beth," she stuck out her free hand. "Beth Greene."

Listening to the voice at the back of his mind pushing him to be normal, Daryl shook her offered hand gently for fear of breaking her. Her grip was strong and slightly callused—which both surprised and aroused him, oddly enough. He studied the ink on her skin as she broke the connection of their palms. The artwork began at her shoulder with green vines and pastel pink roses, fading into music notes and sparrows by her forearm and wrist. He wondered if she had done it herself.

"Daryl Dixon."

Beth's eye lit up with interest. She inquired, "So you're related to Ms. Maye, then?"

"She's my aunt."

"Oh! I didn't know she had any living family left."

"Yeah," Daryl chewed his lower lip. "We didn't either."

Beth nodded, growing quiet. It wasn't a pitying quiet, just the accepting kind. "It's good she has you around," she admonished, touching his arm like they were old comrades. "How's she doing?"

He shrugged. A blush was burning its way up the back of his neck like an enduring forest fire. "Okay, I guess. Don't think she'll last much longer, though."

A glance of genuine sorrow crossed Beth's face. "Oh. Oh my God. I'm so sorry."

Confusion left another tangled disaster of thoughts in its wake. No one had ever said this to him. Well, they had, when his mom died. But no one had ever said it and meant it. He wished to comfort Beth; she was more upset than him about Aunt Maye's soon-to-come passing than he was. He was the old lady's blood kin for God's sake and he didn't give a rip.

"Don't be. I barely know the broad."

Why did he always do that? Why did he always have to make himself look hard-hearted and hateful?

It didn't work on Beth the way it worked on other people because again, she nodded, accepting, and swiftly, smoothly, changed the subject. She sidled up to the counter and set down the bouquet to reach into the small leather bag hanging from her wrist.

"I'll take these," she said, her blue eyes remaining on him as he slipped back behind the counter to ring her up. "They're for my sister. She just had her first baby."

"Congrats," he mumbled, hoping it sounded as genuine as her concerned pleas had moments earlier. "Boy or girl?"

Beth beamed. "Boy. I haven't seen him yet, but I know he's gorgeous. He's half Asian. My brother-in-law is Korean. I just know he'll have Glenn's silky black hair and my sister's green eyes."

Daryl snorted yet said nothing. He punched a few buttons on the register and asked if she would like the bouquet wrapped in foil, in a vase, or tied up with a pretty ribbon, as per protocol. Beth waved off the offer and handed him a twenty dollar bill, enough to cover the fee and the sales tax plus more.

Daryl protested, "Though you wanted me to cut you a deal—"

Beth shook her head, her ponytail of sunlight dancing around her bare shoulders. "No. Keep the change. I'm sure that the healthcare bills are enormous for your aunt. Ms. Maye's a special lady; she deserves the best." She settled the bouquet in the crook of her arm, turning to go. "Feel free to stop by my shop anytime." She reached out to touch the permanent demon on the inside of his bicep. Casual touches, just like before. Casual and easy as if they were friends. Casual and easy touches that made his heart leap into his throat and his lips mute.

"Your tat looks faded," she commented, concentrating on the lines underneath her fingertip. "It's a nice piece. I'd be happy to touch it up for you. Walk-ins welcome."

With a final smile, a final blow to this heart, Beth Greene walked away and pushed open the door, sending the bell above her head into a frenzy.

"Come by tomorrow and we'll set up an appointment for you. See you later, Daryl."

"See ya," he found himself saying subconsciously. The twenty dollar bill was still in his fist; someone had doodled roses on the edges in blue ink.

No, nothing much interesting happened in Fayetteville, Georgia.

But something just had.