#(it also did remind me that writing is a Worthwhile Occupation outside of work related nonsense. v good thing to be reminded of)

[lesamis]

Hi! Just wanted to tell that I finally read your Gardener's Tale, and oh it is lovely. I especially enjoyed the epistolary part - I loved the gardener's wonder and appreciation of the new places he visits, and the way "I am mortified to have to tell you that I live among pirates" just hit me totally unexpected - but, really, all of it is very beautiful. Submitting to the curse rather than continuing to deny yourself the precious human connection! That very human connection being the thing that helps break the curse in the end! The poetry of it all! And I loved the names of animals and herbs that don't exist in our world but still are so evocative that it's easy to imagine them. Thank you for this wonderful story 🌼

ohh wow, okay, thank you so much! ;_; for giving the story the time of day to begin with, but it really also means so much to hear you enjoyed it. i remember that, during writing, the epistolary part came easiest to me and was by far the most fun i've had writing anything in a long time. it honestly felt like years of reading pages and pages of romantic-age letters were finally paying off; i can't tell you how happy it makes me to know that it translated! what i had exactly zero experience in was inventing plant names and folklore, so that's wonderfully affirming as well. thank you for reading it so thoughtfully, that's genuinely the biggest compliment you could have paid. 🧡

[emospritelet]

Kiss of Life - chapter 4

In which Belle has a blind date...

AO3 link

#

Her Saturday shift at the hospital had made Belle tired and sore, and she slept later than usual on Sunday, forgoing her usual run in favour of a brisk walk to the diner for a coffee and bear claw.  Mary Margaret and Ruby were chatting at the bar, and Belle slid onto a seat beside them to place her order.

“You look tired,” said Mary Margaret sympathetically.  “Long night, huh?”

“It was hard work,” admitted Belle.  “I’m enjoying it, though. Feels like I’m doing something worthwhile.”

“Any fights break out?” asked Ruby.  “They tend to spill over from the bar sometimes.”

“None that I saw,” said Belle, yawning.  “That Keith guy grabbed my arse, though.”

Mary Margaret and Ruby made the almost identical sounds of cats being stepped on.

“Remind me to kick him in the balls next time I see him,” said Ruby.

“Dr Gold threatened to report him to the Sheriff if he did it again,” said Belle.

“Oh, if Emma finds out he’s up to that kind of thing, she’d kick him in the balls,” said Mary Margaret.

“I don’t think you’ve met Emma,” added Ruby.  “Blonde. Wears a lot of plaid. Married to Regina Mills, the Mayor.”

“The Sheriff married the Mayor?” said Belle.  “That’s kind of sweet.”

“The deputy sheriff’s also a lesbian,” added Mary Margaret.  “Mulan. She’s dating Merida, the redhead who works at the Rabbit Hole.”

“This town is powered by gays,” mused Ruby.

Belle giggled, and Ruby slapped her hands on the bar.

“But never mind about everyone else’s love lives!” she said excitedly.  “It’s your big date tomorrow! You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, I guess,” said Belle.

“Who are you going on a date with?” asked Mary Margaret curiously, and Ruby grinned.

“I told her I’d fix her up with a book lover, right?” she said, and leaned on the bar, eyebrows twitching as she grinned.  “Okay, so his name’s Isaac Heller, he’s a writer, he’s always reading something or tapping away on his laptop when he’s in here—”

“You set her up with Isaac?” said Mary Margaret, in a flat tone, and Ruby spread her hands.

“What?” she protested.  “He’s a writer, a book nerd!  He could be Belle’s soulmate!”

“I’m not sure I believe in soulmates,” said Belle.  “Besides, it’s only a date. A blind one, at that.”

“Well, I told him you’d meet him here,” said Ruby.  “Seven-thirty tomorrow, okay?”

#

Belle tried to recall the last time she had been on a date, remembered that it was almost a year ago, and sighed to herself.  After some deliberation, she had chosen an understated outfit: a flared black skirt with a fitted white shirt and little black cardigan.  The date was at Granny’s, so at least she would be on familiar territory, and Ruby would be there to step in if it turned into a disaster.  She’d had one or two dates like that in the past, after all.

#

Isaac Heller was a nervous-looking man with a long, thin face, dark hair and anxious eyes.  He ordered a bottle of red wine and two glasses, delivered to the table by Ruby, who beamed at him and winked at Belle as she left.  It took about ten minutes for Belle to decide that, whether or not soulmates existed, hers was not currently sitting across from her.  Isaac was polite enough, pulling out her chair when they sat down, but agonised over the menu choices for half an hour before finally ordering the chicken parm, and then spent ten minutes wondering aloud whether the steak would have been better.

She found that she didn’t have to say much; Isaac told her all about his time travelling in New York and Boston and down into Florida, researching for his new book.  He then told her about his agent, who had told him he was the next Hemingway, although whether that was something to be proud of was a matter of opinion, in her eyes.  He then moved onto his publisher, who was being, in his words, unreasonably picky about the progress of his novel. Belle had drunk three glasses of wine by the time their food arrived, and while eating gave her something else to do with her hands, it didn’t distract Isaac from telling her the plot of his novel about a disillusioned but brilliant writer having what sounded to her like a midlife crisis.

“So let me get this straight,” said Belle, when he finally drew breath long enough to put a piece of chicken in his mouth.  “The protagonist has a gorgeous girlfriend who - apparently - caters to his every need, and he’s still not happy?”

“He’s a tortured soul,” said Isaac earnestly, leaning forward.  “Always looking for something better. A perfectionist, you see.  He’s so used to excelling at what he does, he assumes that carries over into all areas of his life.  I can relate to that.”

Belle almost choked on her wine, and her eyes watered as she tried not to splutter in amusement.  She was feeling light-headed, and it was making her lose patience.

“Okay, so Mr Perfect wants the perfect woman by his side while he writes his wish-fulfilment self-insert porn or whatever it is he’s doing—”

“It’s a future New York Times bestseller...” he said indignantly

“Right,” sighed Belle, taking another drink.  “My point is - why was she attracted to him in the first place?”

Isaac blinked.  “What?”

“What does she see in him?” asked Belle.  “Why are they together?”

Isaac stared at her, fingers twitching on his napkin, his mouth open a little.

“Are you saying you don’t believe she could love him?”

“Well, I don’t really know anything about her,” Belle explained, and when he looked confused, added: “I mean, I know what she looks like, that she’s tall - but not as tall as him - and she has the body of a burlesque dancer and a beautiful face—”

“Yes!” said Isaac eagerly, nodding.  “You can see her in your mind, can’t you?”

“Well - kind of,” said Belle slowly.  “I mean she looks at herself naked and describes herself in detail so there’s that.  I can picture her from the description, but I still don’t know anything about her.  Other than that she’s very supportive of him and drinks latte and is oddly aware of her own breasts.”

He looked puzzled, and she sighed.

“What does she do?” she asked.  “What are her interests?  Who are her friends? Does she exist as a character outside her relationship with the protagonist?  Is she a whole person or is she just there to get him laid and provide some manpain when she dies?”

His mouth fell open.

“How did you know she dies?”

She closed her eyes, reaching for her wine again.  Something told her there wouldn’t be a second date.

#

Belle sighed, pressing her palm to the small of her back and stretching.  They had been short-handed the past few days, and she had worked more hours than she had planned.  Her entire body ached from rushing around and carrying supplies in her first week of work, but it was a good sort of ache, the kind that came from hard work that meant something.

She still had three hours left of her shift, but Dorothy had taken one look at her and told her to go get some coffee.  She hadn’t objected, and she rolled stiff shoulders as she made her way to the cafeteria, smiling her thanks and handing over some cash in return for a mug of coffee and a maple pecan Danish.  She turned away, glancing around in vain for a vacant table.  The place was full of hospital staff chatting over coffees and tucking into cake and sandwiches, and there was only one table with a single occupant.  Belle sucked in a breath as she saw that it was Dr Gold.

He was sitting with one elbow on the table, a cup of coffee steaming in front of him and his finger and thumb rubbing at the bridge of his nose, as though his eyes were tired.  She suspected they were; he had been on shift when she had arrived, and would no doubt be there long after she had gone home to crawl into bed and think about how it might feel to kiss him.  Which seemed to be the uppermost thought in her mind every night since she had started working at the hospital.

She made a decision, stepping forward quickly to stand beside his table.

“Dr Gold,” she said, and he looked up, dark eyes heavy.

“Miss French,” he said.  “How are you settling in?”

“Um - okay, I guess,” she said.  “Do you mind if I sit down?  There’s a shortage of free tables.”

“Oh, of course.”  He gestured to the seat opposite.  “Be my guest.  I’ll be leaving soon, anyway.”

She slid into the seat, setting down her coffee and Danish.

“We could split it, if you like,” she said, and he glanced at the pastry with a spark of interest in his eyes, but shook his head.

“Coffee’s all I need.”

She privately thought he could do with eating a few decent meals and working fewer hours, but she said nothing.  She tore off a piece of the pastry, putting it in her mouth and licking sticky glaze from her fingers.  He was eyeing her over the rim of his coffee cup as he sipped at it, and she sucked a few crumbs from her thumb.

“Apologies for my messy eating,” she said.

“That’s quite alright.”  He set down his cup.  “I’ve seen you running around the place, I suspect you could use the energy.”

“Yeah.”

She tore off another piece and popped it in her mouth, making a noise of enjoyment at the rich taste of the buttery pastry and the maple-coated pecans.  Dr Gold took another sip of his coffee.

“How are you enjoying working here?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s been - well, it’s been hard work, and I feel like I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but it’s been fun,” she said, and he gave her a tiny smile.

“Well, the feeling of not knowing what the hell you’re doing never fully goes away, if it’s any comfort,” he said.

“But you’re a doctor,” she said.  “The doctor, from what I hear.  The most experienced in this place.”

“And none of us are infallible,” he said.  “More’s the pity.”

He drained his cup, setting it down with a clunk, and pushed to his feet with the aid of his cane.

“I’ll leave you to your snack,” he said.  “Good evening, Miss French.  And welcome aboard.”

He shook back his hair, nodded to her once, and strode off with his swift, limping stride.  Belle watched him go, sighing to herself.  Her crush on the man was intense, all-consuming, and apparently wholly unrequited.