#Camden Florist

[floristusa]

Camden NJ Florist | Flower Delivery in Camden NJ by Creations by Jenn

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[moonshotsx]

BESTIES !

my birthday is coming up this wednesday, and like last year, i would like to post two long(er) prompts to celebrate y’all sticking with me and making my year on this site much better 💞

for which au and ship would y’all like them to be?

feel free to comment under this post or send me asks, i’ll reblog this post every couple of hours so that people from all timezones get a chance to say their pick 💜

[flowersbymendezandjackel]

Camden Valentines Flowers

[zablife]

Seemingly Incurable Sadness

Alfie Solomons x female reader

Summary: (Modern AU) You’re weeks away from your wedding to Tommy, but you’ve run away to Camden to think about your future. When you stumble into a random pub for a drink, you meet a handsome bartender who changes everything.

Author’s Note: This was requested by the lovely @solomons-finest-rum who asked me to write a modern Alfie fic where he owns his own bar. I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: drinking, language, unwanted advances

You’d just arrived in Camden feeling tired and ready for a drink. Unable to go any further, you settled for the first pub you saw, a run down little place called The Rum House. Although it was late afternoon, the sun disappeared as soon as you crossed the threshold. The interior was dark and it smelled of damp as though you had entered a cave. Your boots stuck to the sticky floorboards giving you the feeling it hadn’t been mopped properly in ages. 

If you’d had any concern for your comfort, you would have chosen literally anywhere else to rest. However, you were too tired to care. Dropping your exhausted body onto a stool, you looked around noting the lack of patrons. A few old men sat huddled in a corner arguing about a football match, while another man kept to himself at the end of the bar.

Usually when you came to London you enjoyed fine dining in elegant restaurants accompanied by expensive bottles of wine. You didn’t spend much time in places like these because your fiancé would never have allowed it. He liked the best life had to offer, exhibiting his wealth and influence via material possessions and you were no exception. At times you felt you were just another box to be ticked, a possession to be acquired in a month when you would be wed in front of 500 guests. Most of those people you barely even knew, businessman and politicians more important to your fiancé than you were. 

Feeling overwhelmed by the demands of wedding planning and the life that awaited you as the wife of an MP, you’d taken an unannounced trip to escape. Though you knew this was a childish way of handling your feelings, you also knew how futile it was to voice your concerns. Your friends and family all thought you were lucky to be marrying a handsome, successful man. They said you were ungrateful if you complained about him being cold and distant at times, explaining he had other responsibilities besides tending to your every whim. 

As you sat at the bar, your phone began to ring. You reached for it noticing yet another call from the florist and let it go to voicemail. No sooner had you done that, a text message appeared from your mother and then from your sister. The tone of the messages were the same, wondering how you could be so irresponsible as to disappear this close to your wedding date. Suddenly the stress was seeping back into your body, making you tense all over. You switched your phone off for a much needed respite from the barrage of communication, then cradled your head in your hands as a gruff voice called out to you, “Gonna order somethin?”

“Could I have a minute, please? And then I’ll order,” you said on a shaky breath without looking up. 

“Course, dove,” he said more gently, leaving you to your thoughts.

Ten minutes later he returned, placing a ringed hand on the bar to announce his presence without startling you. He stood before you, clearing his throat softly and you were grateful for the delicate approach. Looking up, you noticed his furrowed brow, as he stared at you with concern. “You alright? Can I get you anything?” he asked.

You nodded before answering politely, “Gin neat, please.” The bartender turned to face the shelf and began to pull a bottle of Shelby Co. Limited gin from the top before you shouted, “No, not that one!”

The man looked over his shoulder at you with a puzzled look. “It’s too sweet,” you attempted to explain quickly, affecting a softer, more controlled tone of voice. 

“Right, can’t blame you there, love," he said, an affable grin warming his handsome features. He attempted a bit of humor to make you feel at ease. "Marketing for it’s a bit soppy as well, innit?” He began reciting the label from memory dramatically gesturing with one large hand, “For the eradication of seemingly incurable sadness!” 

As he pulled another bottle from the shelf, he let out an amused chuckle from deep within his chest, “What self-absorbed twat thought that up, eh?” 

You scoffed as you replied, “Someone who makes a lot of money making promises of happiness without having to fulfill them."

The man snickered for a moment, placing your drink in front of you. “Is that why you’re here then?” he asked, intense green eyes studying you carefully. 

“Why do you ask?” you inquired, turning your gaze down toward your drink.

“If you had ordered whisky, I’d know you was here for business," he said matter of factly. Continuing with a bit of hesitation he added, "Had it been rum...Well, rum’s for fun and fuckin’, innit?" he said, a blush creeping into his cheeks. "So if you ain’t here to do either of those, what are you here for, treacle?” 

“Just a quick drink,” you said, gesturing toward your glass with a tight smile. You could tell by the way he leaned onto his elbows that he wasn’t finished. He was still observing you with those piercing eyes.

“Well the problem with gin, right, is that it leads to the melancholy. Ain’t gonna solve your problems with that stuff, but maybe you already knew that,” he observed, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Pointing a finger in your direction he said, “You’re a clever woman to see through the Shelby bullshit.”

You jerked your head up to look at him, wondering how he knew. “What did you say? Do you know the Shelby family?”

“Course I do, love. Tommy and his animal brothers too, don’t I?" he said narrowing his eyes. "Their gin business is doing far better than my rum ever did. Nothing but bees and honey like you said, off people’s troubles and what not.” Trying to affect an air of nonchalance, he picked up a rag and began cleaning the top of the bar. You breathed a heavy sigh realizing he was discussing business now, oblivious to any personal ties you might have with the family.

“You’re Alfie Solomons,” you stated, making the connection between the man behind the bar and the discontinued rum label that had gone out of business five years ago. Tommy had a hand in ending this man's career with his usual tactics. You called them unethical, while Tommy preferred unorthodox. Since that time no one knew what had become of the rum distiller whose spirits had once earned numerous awards. All kinds of rumors swirled around London, but no one knew where he had vanished to after the collapse of his company or if he was even alive.

“That’s right,” he said with a quick nod. His phone began to ring and he reached into his back pocket to fish it out. He excused himself to the back room to take the call as you traced the top of your glass absently.

Lost in thought about the day’s events, you hadn’t noticed the man at the end of the bar creep closer to you until his voice was ringing in your ear suddenly asking, “Want some company?”

“You’re alright,” you said without making eye contact. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all by herself?” he continued. The sweat and whisky poured off him in equal measure and you leaned back to avoid the stench as much as possible. That only enticed him more though so you decided to make a verbal statement of your disgust. 

“I’m trying to enjoy my drink in peace. Leave me alone,” you said forcefully.

Despite your tone, he didn’t seem deterred, venturing a hand to your shoulder next. You brushed him off quickly, standing to put distance between you. “Don’t touch me!” you shouted loud enough to get the attention of the old men in the corner. However, they only watched with mild interest, none of them coming to your aid. 

“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” he slurred at you, grabbing for you arm. At that moment, Alfie came back to witness the scene and instantly sprang into action, dodging a sloppy punch as a bullmastiff came to join him growling viciously by his side. He had the man's arm in a painful looking hold before he could utter another word, leaning over to growl in his ear, “The lady told you to leave her alone, mate. That means she’s off the fucking menu for you. So how come you’re still thievin’ my oxygen?”

The man mumbled some incoherent response before trying to escape the hold. Alfie was much faster though, hauling him off toward the exit. “Good boy, trot on. Down there is Bonny Street,” he said shoving the man out the door. 

When Alfie returned you offered your thanks for his help.

“S no trouble. Don’t like ladies in my establishment bein harassed. Besides if I didn’t, you might  never come back. Couldn’t have that now could I?” he asked with a grin, scratching his dog behind the ears.

You gave him a watery smile in return, feeling how kind he was being. He wasn’t hitting on you. He was offering protection and for that you were grateful. You hadn’t felt genuine warmth from someone in a long time. You were so tired from keeping your guard up all the time. It was nice to have someone look after you, even if it was only keeping the bar flys away. 

“If you say you don’t want to be disturbed, than you won’t be,” he said, ready to return to his station behind the bar.

“Wait,” you called out. “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to you?"

“You mean Solomons Rum?” Alfie said leaning against the bar. 

“Yes, you just disappeared. Why?” you said curious to know how someone could lose everything and still keep their sanity.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, pet. Life is so much easier to deal with when you are dead,” he proclaimed.

You had to laugh at his assertion. “So that’s the secret, eh? Abandoning all responsibility?” you asked, voice turning serious all of a sudden. Alfie picked up on your tone right away.

“Now I didn’t say that. Didn’t run off and join the circus, did I?” he said gesturing around his bar. “Just took a step back and become a respectable member of the community’s all. Stopped troubling myself with shit that don't matter.” He scratched his beard before venturing a query of his own. “Where did you run away from, dove?”  

“Birmingham,” you revealed, although it shocked you as soon as the answer left your lips. “I’m trying to make a decision about my future,” you said continuing your confession. It must have been the gin lowering your inhibitions, normally you would have never divulged that kind of information to a stranger. Alfie seemed different though. He was offering to listen and you weren’t used to that. It felt like an indulgence you had to take advantage of just this once. You wondered if he might be able to help you make sense of things. 

Just when you opened your mouth to speak again, Alfie stood, interrupting your train of thought. You shut your mouth quickly, feeling foolish. Perhaps he didn’t want to hear your troubles after all. In one swift movement, he wordlessly swept your glass from the table, leaving you in utter confusion.

“What are doing with my drink?” you asked watching him discard it behind the bar. You noticed him pour an amber colored liquid into a double old fashioned. When he brought the new drink back to you with a flourish he explained,  “Whereas rum incites violence, it also allows you to be liberated from your self-doubt.” He pushed the spirit toward you with two fingers, staring at you intently. “I believe you’re more in need of the old rum right now than gin,” he said with a wink. Sitting back on a stool and crossing his arms over his chest he declared, “Now, tell us your plan.”

Over the course of the next two hours you spoke to Alfie candidly about your troubles and he listened as the last of his patrons filtered out of the bar until it was just the two of you sat at the bar discussing your life. You explained how badly you wanted a life of your own away from the pressure of living under your fiancé's shadow. You told him how desperately you wanted to stop taking orders and how you dreamed of having a real partner in life and in love.

Somewhere along the way you had decided you couldn't go through with your marriage to Tommy and you knew you would have to tell him sooner rather than later. It must have been when you'd gotten lost in Alfie's thoughtful feedback or the way he held your gaze as he absorbed every new piece of information with care. He even made you laugh despite the painful things you divulged. Whatever it was, you were falling under his spell.

The rum had warmed you pleasantly and you had forgotten about the sadness which consumed you when you arrived. After a brief lull in the conversation, you felt yourself lean into Alfie, knees brushing against his. Your hands came to rest on his thighs, steadying you as you gazed into his captivating eyes.   You waited midway between you with eyes closed and felt his calloused palm graze your cheek, followed by the sensation of his soft lips on yours. You melted into his touch and synchronized your movement with his, wishing you never had to part from him.

As you eventually pulled away for air, you came to your senses and realized you needed to get back to the real world. “Alfie, I’m sorry, but I need to check in with my family. They’ll be worried,” you said.

“Say no more,” he reassured you, leaning back to give you space.

As you turned your phone back on, it immediately lit up with an incoming call. Tommy’s face popped up on the screen and Alfie’s face flashed with recognition, suddenly realizing who you had been discussing these last two hours. “I need to take this,” you said grabbing the phone off the table and standing quickly to answer the call.

“Well this is going to be fucking biblical,” Alfie said with a smirk. 

Cont. reading Part 2

---------------------------------

Tag list: @solomons-finest-rum

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@tommydoesntpayforsuits

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@wandawiccan60   

@easilyobessedbutflighty

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@peakyrogers

@christinasyellowflowers

@retromafia

@notyour-valentine

@theshelbyclan

@runnning-outof-time

@potter-solomons

[abbottflorist08012]

Florist near Camden County, NJ

[buttercupsandboys]

Sunshine & Rainbows — an Alfie Solomons x original character story — Chapter 3

18+ NSFW - minors don’t interact 🙅🏻‍♀️

MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

CHAPTER 3: a very welcome surprise

Word count: 2043

TW: language typical of Peaky Blinders, implied sexual assault and violence, smut

Livy and Alfie get better acquainted, and yet another surprise visitor comes to Camden Town.

Livy has had her life turned upside down so many times that she feels like a fucking acrobat. 

But if there’s one thing she learned from her father, it’s that you can’t let it get you down. Good things happen, bad shite happens, and most of the time you can’t control any of it. At the end of the day, all you can do is make the most of what you’ve got. 

Nothing is guaranteed in this world—well, except for death—and she understands this better than most people ever will. Which is why she wakes up every day and looks for the sunshine. 

Just keep your eyes on the horizon and you’ll eventually find the sun. 

It’s a mantra that has served her well, and it’s how she ended up in Camden Town. After a … let’s call it a complication with her previous employer, she needed to keep a low profile for a bit. But being discreet isn’t exactly her strong suit. 

Early this morning she’d been at the market, browsing a cart of shiny red apples, when she realised that she was being followed. He was a nasty little man, with a nasty little moustache, and he would have taken her if it wasn’t for the florist, Mr Doyle. 

Now, that man has awful teeth and greasy hair, but he’s a dreadful flirt. (She always found it odd that such a vile individual sold the most beautiful flowers.) But anyway, it was easy enough to sneak into his delivery van and hide behind a large floral arrangement. When the florist eventually discovered her, she convinced him to drop her near the Jewish side of town and, well, there you go. 

It was all very abrupt and unpleasant, but fortunately, she had Alfie’s letters in her bag. And now look–here she is, in the company of a handsome man with what appears to be an endless supply of rum! 

See? When you look for sunshine, you always find it. (And sure, after light comes the darkness, but she tries not to think about that too much.) Instead, whenever her confidence starts to slip, she takes a deep breath and remembers exactly who she is and what she’s been through. 

It’s what she’s doing right now, as she sits on Alfie’s desk and stares down into his warm hazel eyes. 

Now, this man has been a very welcome surprise. During the meeting with his boring gypsy friend, she was delighted to discover his quick wit—and incidentally, his large cock, which accidentally brushed against her more than a few times. Both are shockingly hard to find these days, so to meet one man with both attributes is rare indeed. 

The thought cheers her up, so she shakes off any lingering doubt and flashes a brilliant smile in his direction. 

“What do you want to know, Alfie? I’m an open book, darling.” 

“Fucking hell, where do we begin?” His voice is gruff but she can see the concern in his eyes, along with something else she can’t quite identify. “Why don’t you tell me again why you’re here. What kind of trouble are you in, love?”

“You’re not trying to get rid of me already, are you Alfie?” she teases gently, with a hand to her chest, feigning shock. 

“Nah, love. Didn’t I promise I’d take care of you? So why don’t you tell me what’s got you worried, pet. Then we can talk about fucking camels or whatever else is in that pretty little head of yours.”

She laughs out loud and begins to swing her legs over the edge of the desk like a small child. 

“Alright, darling. Well, let’s see, where to begin?” She taps the corner of her lip before answering her own question. “Right, with the club, I think. I was working at this beautiful place on the other side of town—oh, you would love it! So very lavish, Alfie. It’s where all the beautiful people go, you know. You’d fit right in.” 

“Right, right, the beautiful people. I’m flattered, love, really I am. But you need to get to the fucking point soon, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Patience, Alfie!” She reaches out and smacks his arm playfully. “Tsk, tsk. That’s no way to talk to a lady, you know. Anyway, back to the club. I was working as a dancer, and usually, there’s not much trouble.”

“But…?” He prompts, waving his hand expectantly. 

Her legs go still. She looks away for a moment, the mood suddenly somber, before continuing in a voice barely above a whisper. “Well some men, they’re just animals, aren’t they? They do bad things, with no respect for the rules.”

Anger flashes across Alfie’s face, and his fist clenches so tightly that his knuckles have gone white. “Just tell me who to kill, pet.”

“I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that, darling.” She leans forward and pats him on the hand absentmindedly. “I’m fine, been ‘round men long enough to handle myself, love. But my Ellie … Oh, Alfie. She was so young, with these big brown eyes—just like a puppy! The men loved her, of course. But she just didn’t belong in a place like that. And this man, he-he just …” 

She trails off, lost in a memory, and there’s pain etched across her beautiful face. Alfie slides his chair closer and reaches out to comfort her, but she shakes her head. He watches with surprise as she visibly pulls herself back from the darkness, carefully rearranging her features before continuing with a fresh smile on her face. 

“I’m not sure what Daddy told you, Alfie, so this might be surprising to hear, but my temper can be a touch fiery at times.” She demonstrates by pinching her thumb and forefinger together, leaving a tiny gap for emphasis. A small giggle escapes her, and she shoots Alfie a sheepish look. “I wasn’t very happy about what happened, and when I get mad I… I sometimes throw knives. At people.”

Alfie snorts, before shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Alfie!” She admonishes, misinterpreting his reaction. “I must say that’s a bit unexpected after the gun you pulled on that drab man earlier today!”

He chokes at her description of Thomas Shelby, before quickly putting up his hands in apology. “It’s not that, love. It’s just a story your father once told me … I didn’t quite believe him until now.”

“Are you calling Daddy a liar?” She demands accusingly. 

“No, of course not, love. It’s just men, we talk shite, yeah? But you know I have nothing but respect for your father—“

Livy cuts him off by pressing a slender finger against his full lips. Her eyes flash with amusement and she tries to keep the smirk off her face but fails miserably.

Alfie cocks an eyebrow. “You little minx”, he accuses, before tilting his head and taking a quick nibble of her finger as punishment. 

She squeals and tries to pull her hand away, but he only growls and bites down harder! Fucking cheeky man. They’re all like dogs, even the handsome ones. 

Livy hops down from the desk, landing gracefully between his legs, before lifting her skirt just slightly with her free hand. With the restrictive fabric out of the way, she raises her knee and places it on Alfie’s thick thigh. Then using his shoulder for leverage, she pulls herself up until she’s kneeling on his lap. 

Her finger is still firmly trapped between his teeth, and he looks entirely too pleased with himself. 

“Alfie Solomons”, she scolds playfully. “Are you looking for trouble, darling?”

She doesn’t give him a chance to reply before taking his chin in her left hand and giving it a tight squeeze. His jaw slackens just enough for her to remove the digit from his mouth, but instead of pulling back, she pushes forward. 

Alfie jerks in surprise but allows her to continue. She’s firm yet gentle as she explores his warm, wet mouth; her eyes never leaving his as she strokes his tongue with her fingertip.

“Mm-hmm, I bet this pretty mouth leads to all sorts of mischief.” She whispers softly. 

His eyes flash, and he responds by grabbing her roughly at the hips, yanking her forward until she’s pressed against him. He wraps his hand around her right wrist, pinning her in place as he starts sucking on her finger, making loud, obscene noises with his mouth. 

As Livy imagines wrapping her thighs around his face and hearing those same delicious sounds from between her legs, she starts to realise that her little power play may have just backfired. But she doesn’t fucking care. 

She moans his name as her hips start bucking in small, involuntary movements against him. He releases her finger and grunts in response, burying his face in her neck and leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses. 

A hand slips down her back, cupping her bottom and pulling her tight against his crotch. She can feel his erection, hot and pulsing between her thighs, and the last threads of her self-control start to unravel. 

She pushes back slightly, creating just enough space for her hands as she makes her way down his chest, admiring the hard, flat muscles flexing under his well-worn shirt. She reaches his waistband and makes quick work of his belt before deftly releasing the button and finally setting him free. 

Livy purrs in delight as she wraps her hand around his large throbbing cock. She considers herself a bit of a connoisseur of the male anatomy—and fuck if this isn’t one fine specimen. He is absolutely glorious and so thick. She gives him another stroke in appreciation before continuing to explore, gently running her thumb through his slit, spreading the wetness she finds in slow circles around his head. 

“Fuck, love.” Alfie’s voice is desperate and needy as he chokes back a groan. His hips jerk as she continues with firm, confident strokes. “You can’t keep doing that.”

“Or what, Alfie?” She teases as she slides off his lap and settles between his legs. 

He opens his mouth to reply, but then her warm breath ghosts over his cock and all he can do is moan her name. 

She licks her lips and leans forward, so close she can practically taste him, her tongue darting out of her mouth—when bang! She hears the door fly wide fucking open. 

Alfie shoves her none too gently under the desk as he roars, “FUCK OFF!” Livy can’t see much from her awkward position, but when she twists her neck, she can just make out the veins throbbing at his temple. She thinks about the gun in his desk and wonders who’s about to die. 

“It’s Sabini, S-sir!” She can hear Ollie stuttering with horror. “He’s here with men, and he says you have something that belongs to him.”

“Fucking hell.” Alfie slams his fist on the desk (a bit inconsiderate considering her position) before tucking himself back in his pants. Then he pushes his chair back and offers his hand, his movements more gentle this time. 

Livy stands and gives Ollie a little wave. “Hello again!” she calls out cheerfully. 

She hears a sputtering sound but misses his reaction as Alfie spins her around to face him. He’s standing now, with his hands on her shoulders, crouching slightly to look her in the eyes. 

“Listen, love, it’s time to finish your story and I need you to be quick, yeah?”

“Right, right, of course, darling.” She replies while nodding reassuringly. “Well, you know Alfie, I have very good aim. And usually, I can take care of myself in times like this, but it turns out the man has important friends. Wops, I think you call them.”

“Wops…” Alfie echos disbelievingly, while dragging out the word and making a ‘pop’ sound for emphasis. 

“Yes, darling, I’m afraid so. The management at the club wasn’t very pleased with me, so I had to make myself scarce for a bit. And it was all going just swimmingly until this morning when a little moustache man spotted me at the market. And well, that’s how I ended up here.”

And for the second time today, Alfie Solomons is absolutely fucking speechless. 

A/N: Sabini is clearly the owner of Livy’s club (more about this in the next chapter) but for the sake of the story, we’re going to assume Livy doesn't know. She knows the club management is Italian, but she doesn’t know Sabini by name.

[thecollectionsof]

Gi you can't keep entertaining just me with the Camine content 🌸

you're right, we can't keep a secret admirer au hiding away, it's too cute for that.

imagine this: jasmine goes to her first day of senior year hearing rumors of an exchange student from england. she’s passively interested, thinking that maybe she’ll try and become her friend, despite the looming time crunch of college in the not-so-distant future, until she sees camden in person. she’s blown away—camden has this grace about her, her face lights up whenever she smiles, and jasmine can’t think whenever she hears that accent or her laugh when she’s passing her in the hallway. 

but she still wants to reach out, she’s just nervous. she tries to hype herself up to just go up and talk to her, tries to ask her a question about a problem in math, but every time she’s in front of camden she freezes up, unable to get her words out. 

and then, a month into the school year, she overhears camden tell someone that she likes flowers. as the daughter of a florist (and a part time worker at her family’s flower shop), she gets an idea.

the next day, camden finds a singular yellow chrysanthemum in her locker, along with a note.

Hi Camden,

As soon as I saw you, I knew that I would have a hard time talking to you. Your beautiful smile, the way you try to help everyone in class, the way you move so gracefully through the halls, even looking at you makes me feel like I’m walking on air. 

I hope your day is as good as you are <3

[artificialqueens]

In Bloom (Camgeria) - Athena2

Summary: Angeria walks into Camden's flower shop, and Camden falls for her.

A/N: Hi everyone! I am ridiculously soft for these two and wanted to write a little one shot! I really hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback if you'd like! Flower meaning info is from All Florists and Pollen Nation.

Winter might still be hanging on with the cold winds outside, but it’s spring inside Camden’s flower shop, and she lets herself bask in all the color and happiness as she shoves her heavy coat behind the counter. The shop is her favorite place to be, surrounded by the explosion of flowers, just like the garden outside her childhood home, where each petal greeted her like a friend after a rough day at school. They greet her the same way now, petunias and violets and hydrangeas all in view from her spot at the counter, trying to soak up any weak stream of sunlight that passes by. The shop is bright and exciting yet still warm and comforting, and there’s nowhere she’d rather be.

Especially when her first customer of the day walks in.

She’s possibly the most beautiful woman Camden’s ever seen, with wavy brown hair and big brown eyes that shine. Camden is so busy staring at her that she forgets the usual welcome she gives her customers and just manages to squeak out a hello.

“Hi there,” the woman says. If she thinks Camden is acting weird, she doesn’t let it show, and it makes Camden like her even more.

Camden clears her throat. “Can I, um, help you with anything?”

“Well, I just got a new apartment, and I always wanted to have flowers in my kitchen, you know?” The woman has a sweet voice, one that Camden gets lost in, and she has to force herself back into the conversation.

“I get it. I like having flowers too. Used to pick them all the time when I was little.” The woman smiles, and Camden smiles back as she comes out from behind the counter, leading the woman into the rows and rows of flowers. “What kind do you like?”

“I don’t really know much about flowers,” the woman says sheepishly. “I know roses and daisies and sunflowers and that’s about it. I was just gonna pick the ones in pretty colors.”

“That’s the best way to pick them,” Camden says. “What colors do you like?”

“Red is my favorite. Then orange. Ooh, and yellow. That’s probably a lot.” She laughs, a booming laugh that makes her eyes shine even more.

Camden laughs too. “Don’t worry, I can’t pick a favorite color either.” She turns down a row of flowers and grabs some red tulips, then orange zinnias and yellow lilies. They’re bright and cheerful, sure to make the woman’s new apartment special. She adds a bunch of daisies on the way back to the counter. They’re meant to symbolize a new beginning, so she figures they’ll be nice for a new apartment. Camden prepares the bouquet and slips into her zone, where the world is just her hands and the flowers in front of her, where she feels the silky petals beneath her fingers and smells the sweetness of each flower. She carefully ties it up with a red ribbon and hands the bouquet over. Their hands brush, soft and smooth and warm, and Camden would hold on and squeeze it if she could.

The woman stares at it in awe. “Wow. You’re like a flower magician.”

Camden laughs and heat creeps into her cheeks. “Thank you.”

“I’m Angeria, by the way.”

“Camden.”

Angeria smiles, and Camden can’t help but return it.

“Well, Miss Camden, I think I might come back and get me some more flowers soon.”

“I can’t wait.”

—

Angeria comes back a week later, and the next week after that, getting a small bouquet to brighten up her kitchen while brightening up Camden’s shop even more than the flowers. Talking to her becomes a routine, and Camden loves hearing about Angeria’s job, about her family and friends, each story made better by her lively voice. She makes it easy for Camden to talk too, giving her encouraging nods and listening intently. She never gets tired of hearing Camden talk about her day or about different flowers, and she never tells her to speak up more, like other people do.

It’s the third week when Camden starts slipping meanings into the flower bouquets.

It’s not intentional, not the first time; Angeria comes in even cheerier than normal, laughing and surprising Camden with a blueberry muffin. When she asks for her bouquet, Camden subconsciously goes to the sunny yellow dandelions, remembering later that they symbolize happiness. A perfect flower for Angeria and how happy she is, how happy she makes Camden in the moments they spend together.

From then on she puts a little more care into her selections, even if Angeria doesn’t know the meanings. When Angeria has a rough week at work, Camden wraps a cheery yellow ribbon around blue stars and white angelica blossoms, for encouragement and stress relief. When Angeria wears a flowy red dress, she leaves with a bouquet of pink hibiscus, for beauty. When Camden wants to wish her good luck with a new work project, she gives her bright pink peonies and delicate orchids. No bouquet is ever the same, and she loves seeing Angeria’s smile at the bright colors and intricate petals, working to make each bouquet more special than the last, to give Angeria this little gift of flowers.

It’s pointless, sure, to create bouquets with meanings that will go unknown and unanswered, but it’s easier to do it this way. To let out her feelings, her crush—if she’ll go so far to call it a crush—without Angeria knowing. A whisper of affection that carries no chance of getting hurt. Just a carefully prepared bouquet and the promise of seeing Angeria in a week.

After a few months of the routine, Camden gives her a bouquet of yellow acacia.

For secret love.

—

Camden tries not to look at the clock, tries not to wonder if Angeria isn’t coming in today. She usually comes in the morning, and it’s past noon, but maybe she’s just late. It’s ridiculous to worry, but she does all the same, and finds her heart soar in relief when the door opens to reveal Angeria, in a shirt covered in tiny flowers. She waves to Camden and comes right over to the counter, biting her lip before talking.

“My friend was telling me that flowers have meanings. That people can send messages with them.” Angeria looks at her hopefully, and Camden’s heart skips a beat, because her secret is out; Angeria knows she’s been putting hidden meanings in the bouquet, knows about the crush. She’s about to confess when Angeria speaks again. “So I was wondering…are there any flowers that mean you want to ask someone on a date?”

“I–I don’t think so,” Camden stammers, trying not to hope. Angeria could be asking because she wants to give someone else flowers for a date. It doesn’t mean anything.

Angeria nods to herself, then moves in closer. “I guess I just have to ask you on a date myself, then.”

It should be a happy moment, but Camden’s heart is pounding in her ears, because can Angeria really mean it? Can she really want to go out with her? “You want to go on a date with me?” She asks in disbelief.

“You sound surprised.” Something in Angeria’s eyes seems sad.

Camden shrugs, twirling hair around her finger and avoiding Angeria’s gaze. “I just…I didn’t think you’d like me that way. The way—the way I like you.” She lowers her shaking hands, looking for a ribbon or something she can twirl without nearly tearing her hair out, only for Angeria to grab Camden’s hands and steady them with her own.

“I do,” she says softly. “And I’d love to go on a date with you. If you want to.”

“I really want to.” Camden lets herself squeeze Angeria’s hand, running her thumb over her smooth skin as delicately as she would stroke a flower petal.

“We just need flowers, then.” Angeria grins. “And I think you got that covered.”

“I definitely do.”

[its-alfred-innit]

Evergreen

Chapter 3

TW: Racially-charged incidents and prejudice.

-------------

Frankie marched along the cobblestone of inner-Camden, through the bustling streets and crisp, smoky air. People kept their heads down as they walked to work, draft horses pulling carts of goods behind them. Frankie loved the city. It was always full of life and adventure; something her family had always sheltered her from as she grew up. She hummed to herself in happiness as she walked, her black pencil skirt rustling between her legs as she stepped.

“Good morning, Francesca.”

Frankie turned to her right, Nikola striding along next to her. He was a Russian artist who had traveled to London in hopes of conveying the rise of communism within his country through impressionist artwork. When his paintings didn’t sell the way he’d planned, he moved to Camden to test the market. Frankie would say that he’s ‘in the process’ of becoming an artist. Nikola would hastily disagree.

“Nikola.” Frankie slowed her pace and smiled at the tall, lanky man beside her. His pants were always an inch too short for his legs, and his brunette hair was always tousled and unkempt. His usual ensemble consisted of a tan blazer and a white dress shirt underneath with a neatly trimmed, thin line of a mustache across his upper lip. “What are you up to this morning?”

“Well, I saw this orchid at the florist’s and just knew it would look perfect perched upon that beautiful ear of yours.” Nikola held out a white orchid, the top of its petals a soft pink. Frankie smiled and gingerly took the flower, sniffing its pure fragrance with adoration. 

“Thank you, Niko,” she gushed, “I love orchids.”

“I know.” Nikola grinned proudly. “I saw you eyeing them a few days ago and thought it would be a perfect gift on your first day.” The two stopped just in front of the bakery, Frankie turning the stem of the flower between her dainty fingers.

“Well, I very much appreciate it.” Francesca leaned on her toes and placed a quick kiss on Nikola’s cheek, her soft lips catching on the stubble of his jaw.

Just as Francesca was about to walk into the building, Alfie strode past her, Cyril in tow. He looked at her up and down, then the flower, then Nikola, then her again. He averted his eyes back to the ground and shuffled his way into the bakery without a word. Francesca quickly bid Nikola goodbye and scurried in after her new employer.

He was stood at the counter in the bakery, his overcoat on the hanger just inside the doorway. His dress shirt fit him well; his biceps swelled with each movement he made, and his buttons were undone just enough to see the golden chains of his necklaces and a few tattoos beneath them. Frankie stopped in her tracks as she closed the door, watching him mold a mound of dough into two separate bun shapes. Alfie glanced up at Frankie, her dark skin glowing in the golden, early-hour sunlight. She stood patiently, watching his every movements, a roaring fire in the oven behind him and Cyril asleep at his feet. 

After a strained few minutes of silence, Francesca strode across the room to fill up a pitcher with water. She carefully set the orchid on a window sill, watching as it happily sat in the sunlight. Exhaling with happiness, Frankie spun on her heel to face Alfie. 

“Good morning, Alfr-”

“Talk to Ollie.”

Francesca bit her lip as she stared in disbelief at Alfie. He continued kneading the dough with his hands, sleeves pushed up his forearms and eyebrows knit together with concentration. Frankie felt her temper spike with his response. She forced a kind smile and turned, trotting up the small staircase into the distillery portion of the bakery. Her heels tapped with authority on the brick floor, the sound echoing as the greased and sweaty men stopped to look at her. Barrels of gin sloshed about as production ceased; each step demanding a new set of eyes. 

“Ollie,” Francesca smiled at the pale boy who was stood next to two men hunched over a barrel. Both of whom, were staring intently at Frankie. Ollie was dutifully flipping through papers on a clipboard as Francesca approached him, his eyes shooting up at the call of his name.

“Francesca --,” he paused, “that is your name, right?” Ollie held out his hand, shaking it with hers as she merely laughed and nodded. “Well, good to meet you. Alfie has a rather busy day today. This is a schedule of his meetings,” Ollie handed a piece of paper to her, “that states who it is with, when it is, and where it is.” He pointed out each section with pertinence. Fishing a pocket watch from his coat and checking the time, Ollie inhaled through his teeth. “His first meeting is in ten minutes. You need to let him know and get him up to his office. Immediately.” He turned away from Frankie and marched down the corridor, furiously searching through more papers. 

Francesca folded the paper neatly and turned back around, heading the same way from which she came. She carefully stepped down into the bakery where Alfie was sat reading the morning paper. 

“Alfie.”

“Hmph,” he grumbled. 

“Alfie, you have a meeting with,” she checked the paper and a small clock that hung on the wall beside her, “Aberama Gold in eight minutes exactly.”

“Tell the bloke to bring his sorry ass down here.” Alfie turned a page in the newspaper, never turning to make eye contact with Frankie. 

“Ollie specifically said-”

“I don’t recall Ollie being the fucking boss around here, right? My fucking schedule, my fucking rules. Gold comes right here when he arrives. I’ve got to watch these fucking loaves.” Alfie gestured to the simmering oven behind him, as he sighed and turned the page of his paper.

Francesca sighed in impatience. “Is there something wrong? You seem awfully aggravated this morning.”

“What did you just ask me?” Alfie turned to her in disbelief at her inquiry.

“I said, is there something wrong?” Francesca crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for his answer.

Alfie raised his eyes from the newspaper, staring holes into Frankie’s eyes.

“It’s your first day, right?” Frankie nodded. “Well, I believe we have yet to go over the rules with you then, eh?” Alfie closed the newspaper in his one hand, now giving her his full attention. “Rule number one, love. Feelings don’t matter here, and as far as I’m concerned, neither do you or any of my employees. I don’t need you to come in here with your feminine emotions and crap and try to decipher every problem of the working man.” Alfie rolled his eyes at the woman in front of her and reopened the paper, beginning to read again. “So fuck off and get me a cup of tea, right?” 

Behind Frankie, who was still staring at Alfie indisbelief, a man cleared his throat. 

“Alfie, I wish I had known you were in a bad mood today. Any sensible man would have known to sedate the beast with whiskey before entering the cave.” Aberama Gold removed his hat, stepping out from behind Frankie. “I apologize for interrupting. Who might this brave soul be?” Aberama smiled softly at Frankie. 

“I am-,” Frankie glanced at Alfie to see that he was glaring at her, “on my way to fetch Mr. Solomons tea. Would you care for anything?” 

Aberama chuckled and walked over to the counter, taking a seat at a chair on the opposite side of the table as Alfie’s. “If it does not inconvenience you, a bottle of whiskey would do just fine, as well.” Frankie nodded and turned on her heel, going up the stairs to fetch the drinks. When she took that first step onto the distillery platform, she felt her chest gush open, her lungs begging for air. She quickly tucked her curls behind her ears and straightened her skirt. 

“Well?” Ollie strode towards her from behind one of the pyramids of barrels. Frankie’s head snapped towards him, hoping he didn’t see how flustered she’d been.

“He refused to go upstairs to his office, but somehow that gentleman found his way to Alfie.” She glanced back towards the staircase leading to the bakery, and shrugged her shoulders.

Ollie sighed. “At least everyone’s on schedule.” He flicked through the papers on his clipboard again, this time retrieving a new list for Frankie. “I came up with this list of things I need help with today. Do you think you can handle it?”

Francesca took the paper, glancing over her duties. “I’m sure I can manage.”

Ollie gave her a quick smile, and turned on his heel to head back down the corridor of barrels and men. Frankie tucked the paper into the pocket of her skirt and continued towards Alfie’s office where his drinks were kept.

As she poured Alfie his tea and collected Aberama’s bottle of whiskey, she heard footsteps come into the room from behind her.

“I wouldn’t have a problem with Mr. Solomons hiring a woman, you know.” The voice was raspy, like they’d already smoked one pack of cigarettes this morning. Frankie turned around to find a drunk-looking man standing in the door way. His clothes hung off his body, pulling down on his shoulders, wrinkled and disheveled. His skin was rough and calloused, and he had a severe five o’clock shadow. “But a darkie? That’s a completely different story.” Frankie’s eyes widened as the man slipped his belt from his pants, holding it looped together in his right hand. He blocked the door with his wide stance, eyeing Francesca with shining hatred in his crisp blue eyes. He started towards her, taking large strides, his belt held above his head. Frankie threw the dish of drinks at the man, running away from his attack and crouching behind Alfie’s desk. 

The man stumbled as the dish hit him, drunkenly staring down at it and mumbling slurred insults at the inanimate thing. Frankie hastily opened and closed the drawers in the desk, desperately sweeping around with her hand to find any kind of weapon she could. In the top left drawer, she discovered a small pistol, armed with only a single bullet. Frankie stood from behind the desk, aiming the firearm at the drunken man, who was already smiling at her with a sickly grin. 

“Leave now, or I shoot you in the shoulder.” She tried to slow her breaths, gently squeezing on the trigger. Tommy and Arthur had both taken on the responsibility of educating you and Ada about self-defense when you were younger. Being a Shelby, it was surely helpful. Being a black Shelby, it was a necessity. 

“What in the fuckin’ hell is going on here?” A loud voice boomed from the doorway of the office, and both you and the man snapped your gazes to its source. Alfie, with Ollie standing shyly beside him, was burning holes into the man’s head. He marched towards the man with the belt, sniffing the air around him. “Drunk as a bitch.” Alfie snatched the belt from his hand, and within a heartbeat, smacked the man in the face with it. He screamed and fell to the floor as Alfie continued to beat him, Frankie turning her face away from the scene. Tears pricked at her big, brown eyes, and she deeply inhaled, trying to calm her frantic heart. “Ollie, make sure you get his name before he’s killed.”

Ollie nods, walking over to the man and pulling him up by the elbow. His face had red slashes that covered it from forehead to chin, and his eyes were swollen. He glared at Frankie as Ollie dragged him out of the office. 

Alfie turned to you, noticing the pistol you held tightly in your hand. “Let me see that.” Alfie started towards her, but Frankie hurriedly stepped back and raised the gun to point at him. He stopped dead in his tracks, looking at Frankie’s face, watching a tear make its way down her cheek. She didn’t even blink as she held the gun to his head, biting the insides of her cheeks. “I know, love. I know. Let’s just breathe.” Frankie shook her head, another tear finding its way down her face.

“You will never understand, Alfie.” Frankie switched the safety on and tossed the gun onto his desk. “I will see you tomorrow.” Alfie only nodded, looking at her sorrowfully. She was right, he would never quite understand. With that, he swore he’d always protect her. No matter what.

--------

Hey everybody! Thanks so much for reading. This chapter was a pretty long one, but I hope you like it. If you take issue with anything, please provide some feedback and ways that I can improve! See you in the next chapter. 

- G

[floristusa]

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[flowersbymendezandjackel]

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I Knew I Loved You ~ Chapter 8

So... I misnumbered my chapters and so I thought I had done more than I actually did when really I just fucked up... *shrug*

Chapter 8: Arsinoe

~Camden, Australia~

Jules was in freakout mode by mid-October. Despite still having another month before her wedding, she had insisted that Arsinoe come home to help her. Which led to Arsinoe sitting on Jules and Emilia’s couch as the two rapidly debated what type of card they wanted for the table placements. Arsinoe couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she looked at the clock on the wall, only to see that it was lunch time and that the two had been debating for a full hour. She pulled out her phone and checked through Instagram.

She mindlessly looked through until she saw a photo of Jules and Emilia’s wedding invitation posted by Michael Percy. She liked the photo and spoke to Jules.

“So, Michael Percy is coming to your wedding?” Jules thought for a second before frowning.

“I thought you two were friends?” Arsinoe shrugged.

“I’m friends with Tommy. Michael and I had a breakup so bad that we went down in our yearbook as the worst fight of the year. I’m just curious as to why you invited him?” Jules cringed, baring her teeth slightly.

“Emilia invited him. I’m still friends with him. I’m sorry. Will it be awkward?” Jules explained. Arsinoe took a breath and reminded herself not to be so selfish.

“I’m pretty sure he came out a few years back and I have my own man, so no, it should be fine,” she paused  and checked the time again, “I’m going to get food. You want anything?” Both shook their heads and Arsinoe grabbed the keys to the truck she had given Jules when she moved away. Arsinoe clicked her tongue at the dog that had been sitting at her feet. Braddock bounded to his feet and to the door, excited to go out with her again. She pets his head and opens the door.

“Oh, and Arsinoe?” Jules calls after her. “When you get back, I want to call this soulmate of yours so I can grill the shit out of him,” Arsinoe laughs and nods at her best friend.

~

The cemetery was quiet at this time of a Monday afternoon. Even after so long, the little old lady who ran the florist on the grounds recognised her and nearly cried when Arsinoe pulled the money she owed out of her pocket. Mrs. Patrick had seen her there a lot as a teenager without a job and drowned in grief and it was time to pay her back.

She sat down at the grass in front of the two headstones. Arsinoe had organised it so that there was a plot between them so that eventually she could join them and she sat there now, laying the flowers on her sister’s grave. Forget-me-nots for Mirabella and roses for Katharine. She took a moment to trace the words on the headstones. They were not the same as each other, as her sisters had been different.

Mirabella’s read a quote from one of her favourite books and Kat’s read a quote from a poem. Arsinoe smiled at them and began speaking. She could never forget how they sounded in her head which made their conversation easier, if you could call it that.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I got a new tattoo. I miss you both,  more than you could even fathom. Jules and Em are getting married which is wild. I know you guys probably know all of this because you see all now but sometimes I like to pretend I’m your only source of gossip. Maybe that’s stupid, but it works.”

Only silence responded. Arsinoe smiled softly.

“You can’t tell anyone but I got another job. A local art gallery wants my paintings to display,” she squealed softly, trying not to disturb anyone else who might be around. “I haven’t told anyone that yet but I was so excited and I wanted you guys to be the first to know. I’m moving up in art and life and it’s exciting,” her smile droops a little, “I just wish you both were here to see it all... It’s never gonna get easier to live without you guys, is it?”

Silence again. She sighed and stood, touching her fingers to the headstones one last time.

“There is one more person I have to visit. Until I see you again, ladies,” she took the final bouquet she had bought and climbed the hill of the cemetery until she saw a small stone headstone.

“Hi, Joseph,” she lays the flowers down, crouching on the grass. “How have you been? Good I guess. You and the girls are probably all up there happy. At least, that’s what I think. Jules is getting married. And I know you two didn’t end things great but I just thought you should know. Emilia’s really great for Jules too. I know you asked me to look after her but… I don’t think she needs me as much as she used to. But just know that I’ve got her back, always,” on this headstone, she kisses her hand and presses it to the stone. “Bye, Joseph.”

When she leaves the cemetery, she tries to leave the sadness too. Unfortunately, she has always been particularly bad at that.

~

It was tradition for Emilia and Arsinoe to have one round in a boxing ring together every time Arsinoe came back home. This time was no different except that they were pulling their punches. Bruises don’t look good with fancy dresses, after all. Emilia was quick and strong but Arsinoe was fast and smart. They had punched it out on 6 occasions and it was a tie every time. As it was this time.

The two were sitting silently against the ropes in the empty boxing gym when Emilia spoke.

“I’m quitting the army,” Arsinoe turned to look at her and she returned the look. “I haven’t told Jules yet and I don’t want you to but… ever since I got back home I keep thinking how much I don’t want to leave her again.”

“I get it. By the time I got back home I couldn’t go again either. And if you’re not sure about going back then it’s not worth it. Can I ask if getting married has something to do with it?” Arsinoe's voice was gentle and serious.

“Jules and I were thinking of starting a family. Adopting, y’know? I can’t leave a kid to go do what I do. I don’t need any more blood on my hands.” Arsinoe smiled.

“That’s really great Em. What will you do once you’re out?” Emilia shrugged.

“Probably personal security, maybe I’ll become a personal trainer. Or I’ll just quit work and be a stay-at-home mother,” Arsinoe laughed near hysterically.

“If there is one thing I don’t think you could do it’s be a stay-at-home anything. But I’m proud of you,” she nudged Emilia’s shoulder with her own.

“What’s it like? Getting out?” Arsinoe shrugged.

“It depends what you see when you’re out there and what you internalise. I’m fine sleeping but jolt out of bed at 5 am on the dot even if I don’t set an alarm. Sometimes I pull a fork from my kitchen drawer and it sounds exactly like the grenade right before it blew us all up. It takes time. But it gets better and besides, you’ll have Braddock and he’s great in civilian crowds,” Emilia smiled and stood, pulling Arsinoe to her feet and hugging her. Arsinoe coughed in surprise.

“Thank you,” Emilia whispers.

“For telling you what it’s like to be out of the army?” Arsinoe says, confusion evident.

“For being Jules’ person. There have been times when I couldn’t for the life of me understand why Jules and you were so close but I’m glad that she has you in her life. So thank you for looking after her,” Arsinoe pats Emilia’s shoulder.

“Thanks, but I think she looked after me more than I looked after her.”

[tnwhiskeyhq]

alright, folks, welcome to our first round of acceptances! all accepted apps can be found below the cut. we ask that you have your account sent in within the next 24 hours, but if you need an extension please feel free to let us know and we’ll work with you! please check out our post-acceptance checklist and, once you send in your account, we’ll get you a link to the ooc discord!

( calum hood, bisexual, he/him ) hey, is that NOAH RAYEN? i’ve seen them around bay river a lot lately - did you know they’ve been here for EIGHT YEARS? the TWENTY-TWO year old CIS MALE is originally from LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK. HE can be found around town working as a FIREFIGHTER. from what i’ve heard, they’re known to be COMPASSIONATE, but can also be STUBBORN. maybe it balances them out, huh?

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( harry styles, pansexual, he/him ) hey, is that PHOENIX DENNISON? i’ve seen them around bay river a lot lately - did you know they’ve been here for EIGHTEEN YEARS? the TWENTY-SIX year old CIS MALE is originally from CAMDEN, TENNESSEE. HE can be found around town working as a BOOK STORE CLERK. from what i’ve heard, they’re known to be CURIOUS, but can also be DELUSIONAL. maybe it balances them out, huh?

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( lucy hale, heterosexual, she/her ) hey, is that WINONA “WINNIE” JAMES? i’ve seen them around bay river a lot lately - did you know they’ve been here for FIVE YEARS? the TWENTY-SEVEN year old CIS FEMALE is originally from PHOENIX, ARIZONA. SHE can be found around town working as a HAIR STYLIST. from what i’ve heard, they’re known to be GENUINE, but can also be IMPULSIVE. maybe it balances them out, huh?

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[boogiewrites]

The past doesn't matter. All that matters now is the future.

Alfie Solomons One Shot

Word Count: 12,400+

Summary:  A one shot about a woman named Rachel and the infamous Alfie Solomons. Angsty and romantic, happy ending.. Rachel finds herself unhappy with her life, despite making the clear choice to choose it and live it. With yearly reminders of her mistake coming in the form of flowers from the man she left, all her regret comes to a head and she reaches out to him, the man she truly loves, to help him (and her) escape the dark hand of her husband. Some lessons are only learned the hard way.

Warnings/Tags: Language. FLUFF. ANGST. Cheating on your awful husband. Revenge. Mild violence. Explicit Sexual Content: Making Love. Long lost lovers. Regret. Lover’s reunited. Confessions of love.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

From an outsiders point of view, your life was a picturesque little portrait of a wholesome family with a hard-working husband, a baby, and a dutiful wife. Although in most meanings of the words, that would be correct, but behind closed doors, after dark and beneath the surface, it was anything but. Years of built up lies, neglect and bitterness were the names of the pillars that held your life together. With a strong foundation that was built entirely on regret.

You woke up in your bed alone as you do most mornings, your husband, an inspector for the London police got up early every morning to phone his contacts and read the papers. Frequently his work had him get in at all hours. He would casually ready himself for bed, switching lights on and making no attempt at being quiet despite the fact you had a baby in the adjacent room. This would often leave you to have to go care for her as the commotion would wake her and it always seemed to happen just as you had fallen asleep. He would come in and leave you to hush the crying child. He had not once offered to comfort her himself.

He hadn’t touched you since you’d become pregnant and the baby was almost a year old now, he was always working, always tired and caring more about numbers and his arrests than his own family. You had had trouble getting pregnant and it was all Harold would act upon or talk about when you were first married. You assumed this meant he would be an involved father and be thankful towards the woman who gave him such a gift. But you had the child and now you didn’t know if you preferred the hollow sexual attention of before to the utter indifference towards you now. There were never sweet words or apologies for this neglectful and selfish behavior and you were left angry and bitter. You couldn’t believe you’d actually chosen this life for yourself. You had thought this life would be easier and more secure but you’d never felt more alone or worked as hard as you had keeping a home and raising a child practically alone.

It had been alone except for Harold's existence, until very recently when you’d gotten a maid to come and help a few nights a week. You’d begged for assistance as you were so exhausted you had slept through the baby crying one afternoon and Harold came home and did everything but hit you in retaliation to your so-called neglect. He only agreed to hire help at that point because of your incompetence with raising his child. It had taken you so long to become with child, he said he should’ve taken it as a sign you weren’t fit for motherhood. Since then you’d been so low, so depressed with near constant red and puffy eyes from crying for a life you could’ve had. A life with passion in it. A life with a man, however miraculously flawed he was, loved you wholly and truly. But you had made your bed and you had to lie in it now.

This constant haze of exhaustion and sadness was probably the reason you hadn’t recalled what day it was. You’re feeding your little Elizabeth, she’s content, the only in the house to be so as she suckles away at you as you make tea in the kitchen.

There’s a knock at the door and you think nothing of it, it could be a messenger, a coworker of Harold’s so you don’t acknowledge it and continued focusing on the task so you don’t mess up the brew and get a passive aggressive response to it.

“Again with these bloody fucking flowers!” He yells after you hear the door slam. He sits the large bouquet on the kitchen table and crosses his arms. “How many years in a row now? What the fuck is with this? These must be a mistake.” He says rubbing his chin.

“Please Harold watch your language around the baby.” you ask softly.

“She can't bloody understand me.” He says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You turn and sigh. Your heart sinking to your stomach as you look at the flowers. You gulp and readjust the baby in your arms. You knew who the unmarked flowers were from. You knew why they were sent and each year, as your life became more and more hopeless and overwhelming they made you more and more depressed knowing what they signified.

Today marked the anniversary of the day you had left Alfie Solomons. A man you had known since before the war. After returning, you ran into each other by chance, you had thought, and something was different that time. That difference, unknown to you at that juncture had been him acting on a promise to himself to find you and tell you how he felt if he made it out of the war alive. A romance quickly bloomed. Something passionate and burning hot, long nights together that made your days apart feel eternal. He was trying to make something of himself, you’d known that. What you hadn't expected was for him to be so bloody good at being bad. His work became more and more intense, with more violence and danger and it had scared you. You didn’t want a life where you had to worry about your husband constantly and worry about your own safety because of things he did. It all frightened you and you had made the life-altering, world-crushing and heartbreaking decision to leave him for something safer.

You thought life with Harold would be common and simple but you soon found it to be anything but. The social ladder of his workmates and their wives held nothing for you. You were born and raised poor and lacked the certain air of arrogance and affluence that they did. It was as if they could smell the coal in your pores from your youth and knew you weren’t like them. There was nothing save sweet Elizabeth, an innocent in all this to soothe you now.

The flowers this year hit you particularly hard as your disappointment with your decisions weighed heavily on your chest. You rocked the sleeping baby and stared at them. Flowers you’d picked together when you were young in fields on picnics where you’d make love in the tall grass in the summer. Tears well up in your eyes, your heart literally aching for what you’d lost in him. He was a stubborn man, and it seemed even after you’d left he’d kept a spot for you in his heart. If these flowers were any indication. Every year, a large bouquet of flowers sent in the morning in a porcelain vase. Harold has tried to find who they came from but as was his way, Alfie had paid off the florist well and your secret was safe.

If Harold were to ever find out about it, it would surely be Alfie's downfall. Harold handled the crime in Camden where you resided, and of course, Alfie was more than well known. You had to hear your husband say the name of the man you truly loved every so often and it’d make your stomach turn with every syllable.

But you were far from an innocent bystander in all this. You would eavesdrop on your husband's conversations. For the first year you were married you forced Alfie out of your mind and tried to be a good law keepers wife. Something it soon became apparent you were never meant to be. But after the flowers were sent the first time, it awoke something in you and you became a deviant yourself. It hadn’t taken you long to catch on that Harold’s affections were hollow. He was a man who cared about his image and nothing much else. He held no loyalty to you truly in his heart, you were merely a box to be checked on a long list of things that were expected of him.

Alfie had always been loyal to you. He was far from perfect but he always took you into consideration. Harold never did that. That day a loyalty of your own was awoken and you became the person behind the anonymous tips leaked to Alfie of threats from the police. You paid the rough youngsters in the market to deliver the letters to his home and tell him nothing of who sent them. You’d saved him from certain demise and arrest countless times now. You liked to think the flowers were a thank you for your services that put you in harm's way if you were found out. Luckily, with the criminal activity you’d witnessed while with Alfie, and your questionable upbringing, you used those things to your advantage to not get caught.

The weeks pass and the flowers wilt. You dry them and press them into your journal as you always do. Just another secret kept from your husband. Despite the maid being with the baby in her room, you find yourself awake and wandering the halls. You see the door to your husband's office opened, which was rare. It was usually locked. He had come up to bed and gone into a deep snoring sleep quickly, not even stirring as you got out of bed. You move into the small office, a mess except for a small area on his desk. You see his work diary and your nose twitches. You take a deep breath, looking out of the room as your fingers trace the edges of the leather ledger. You could hear the faint snoring and knew you were in the clear from him at least. You flip through to find names and dates and arrests. Times of surveillance and names of places surveyed. They weren’t all about Alfie, but most were, you could tell from the Jewish names used. You flip to the most recent, a heavy sigh escaping you as a black star rests on tomorrow. You take in the scribbled notes. A warrant had been issued for the search of an office in Solomons' name. from what you could tell tomorrow night there would be a raid. You try to figure the timetable in your head. By the time he was out of the house tomorrow, you could make it to the market, but you couldn’t guarantee the message would get to him in time. Usually, your husband would’ve bragged about something like this. So you assume by the almost code like jotted notes this might have been something secret or something they thought would be fruitful to them. It was underlined and stared, and Harold wasn’t known for his flourishes so you assume this must be big.

You shut the book and leave everything as you found it. You switch off the light and shut the door, assuming he hadn’t meant to leave it open and shutting it would’ve been a perfectly reasonable thing for a wife to do. You cross your arms and chew your lip, walking slowly down the hallway. You feel a pit of worry deep in your chest and stomach grow.

If Alfie went down and you could’ve done something to prevent it you would never forgive yourself. But short of telling him yourself you didn’t know how to do it. You didn’t have his phone number, you couldn’t call. A telegram wouldn’t get there in time and sending it anonymously would be very difficult if not impossible, and you didn’t have money to pay off anyone.

You make a decision. One that would turn out to be one of the most important of your life and wasn't it suited it would involve Alfie. You go up to Elizabeth’s room and tell the maid you’ve heard from a friend and will be heading out, as she requires your emotional support. You ask her not to tell Harold unless he asks. She asks who the friend is and you tell her to relay that in your haste, you didn’t tell her. You will be back tomorrow certainly and she was to stay with the baby and she’d be compensated for her time. You go to your room and retrieve a dress and clothing suitable for the night chill.

With your coat tight around you, you walk the few streets to Alfie's Home. You silently prayed he would be there and would allow you to come in. You kept repeating the information you’d read to yourself on the way, your feet quick and your head covered with a scarf to hide your appearance so no one would recognize you.

With your breathing now fast and heavy, small puffs of steam from your lungs as you stand in front of his door. Your face is flushed and your skin tight from the cold and exertion. Your hand stops before making contact with the door. Were you really doing this? This was something you didn’t come back from. This was a line crossed and you hadn’t spoken to the man in years, hid from him in public when you’d see him in town, so you weren’t sure if he’s even seen you in that span of time.

You close your eyes and force a knock of your knuckles to the metal surface and wait with bated breath. There is a light inside, you can see it, but it could be from a maid or a guard. If he wasn’t there you weren’t sure what you’d do. You hadn’t planned that far ahead.

With no answer after what felt like forever you knock again. You hear a old familiar voice grumbling and swearing and your jaw tenses. You realize you’re about to come face to face with him and you feel a bit nauseous.

“Who in the fuck is it?” You hear him shout from the other side of the door and you find your voice gone. Your throat right and your breathing stuttering. “I ain’t openin' the fucking door unless you tell me.” he states obviously.

You take a deep breath and swallow. “It’s... It’s Rachel.” You force out. Eyes already wide and nervous.

There’s silence from the other side of the door for a moment. He knew that voice. He could never forget it. He didn’t have to ask Rachel who. He stares at the door a bit befuddled, brow low and face twisted in thought, eyes shifting as if he could see through the door. His hand hovered over the handle and he lets out a noisy breath. In all of these years, why would you be here tonight?

“Alfie?” He hears your say and it’s like a knife ripping open his chest. That voice calling his name haunted him in his sleep for years. The last time he’d heard it called so sweet it had had the same effect on him as you’d told him goodbye.

He opens the door, jaw tight and half expecting a shotgun blast to the chest for his stupidity to open his door to the wife of the man who was out to get him. But that was a big part of what made him open it as well. It had to be something of dire consequences for you to reach out to him. He takes his chances. Pulling back the door, squaring his shoulders and putting up a front of indifference as he was used to, he slowly reveals you standing with your hands clutches to the lapels of your coat, large hazel eyes batting at him on a face that looked fearful and concerned.

Neither of you says anything for a moment. He sees your lips trembling and your knuckles white with tension. You finally break under the hard stare of his piercing blue eyes.

“May I come in?” You ask softly, casting your eyes downward.

“Why are you here?” He asks, his voice now even and calm unlike the shouts earlier.

You open your mouth only to shut it and breathe out forcefully. “I came to tell you something.” Your voice meek and losing any confidence the longer he made you stand outside.

“And it couldn’t wait for a normal time when most people would call upon another person?” He still had his sarcasm down, that was clear and he sees your face stay sad and guarded, not bending to his tone and giving him any hint of annoyance or amusement.

“Please? It’s important. I’m risking a lot to be here right now.” Your eyes still aren’t meeting his, your brow low and your posture slumping. He was making you feel bad, perhaps hurting your feelings and that wasn’t his intention whether that’s what he should want to do or not.

“Come in, love” he eventually says, opening the door and showing you in. He watches you shiver and take the scarf from your head showing the same waves of dark auburn, similar to his.

“Thank you.” You say meekly. You were a shadow of what he recalled. You had been so full of life and self-assured last he’d laid eyes on you so closely. Now your eyes were more sunken, the only color in your face from the cold nipping at your nose.

“What...” he shakes his head and blinks in confusion. “Why are you here Rachel?” Saying your name aloud, having it hit his ears felt strange.

“There are some things I need to tell you, Alfie.” You begin, unbuttoning your jacket. “May we sit? This might...take a moment.” You say with a flinch in your face as if he might strike you for asking. What sort of life had you been living without him? He expected you to be fat and bubbly and a kept woman with Harold. But he found you acting more like a dog that had been kicked one too many times.

He nods, “Here love, let me take that.” he says softly, moving towards you slowly and the way your shoulders tense when he takes your coat from your shoulders makes him have to hide his sadness in his face. His poor little lost love, what had your decisions brought you to?

As you feel the warmth from his hands you want to shudder, not having been touched in so long by anyone for any reason it felt foreign to you. When he lightly touches your upper back you jump slightly as it catches you off guard and you’re ashamed of your nervous behavior.

“You okay? Are you hurt?” He asks as you walk to the living room where the fire roared and piles of books sat around a clearly worn armchair.

“Sorry I’m... no I’m not. Just nervous.” you stutter out.

“You have nothing to fear from me. I stand by my words I last said. I won’t hurt you love, no matter what you’ve come here for.”

“Thank you” is the only reply you can manage. You sit on the couch and he leans over and touches your shoulder, finding you cold and far less plump than he expected for having a baby.

“Would you like tea? I'm getting you tea, you’re cold.” He says and you can hear the worry in his voice for you. You’d missed hearing that from someone.

He strides into the kitchen and brings back two cups, and the taste takes you back to your time with him in an instant. It warms you in a way you didn’t expect as you sip away at it, trying not to appear too eager and stare into the fire as he studies you from his seat next to you.

“You still drink this?” You ask eventually, your face not turning towards him but your eyes look his way.

“I’m a creature of habit ain’t I?” He says with a lighter tone. “I find something I like and I keep to it.” His words sting like a slap to the face and you close your eyes for a moment. Who was this fragile little bird in his home? She certainly wasn’t the girl he once knew.

“I wish I could say the same.” You say quietly, sniffing then clearing your throat.

“Are you okay love?” He asks again, setting his cup and leaning towards you. “Are you in some sort of trouble?” He tries to get something out of you to ease his own nerves.

“Not...exactly no.Not yet anyway. I could be for coming here but...” you let out a sigh and finally turn his way, your back hunched as you leaned towards his crouching frame. “I had to.”

“You’ve got to start speaking in more facts and fewer riddles, sweetheart.”

“The police are going to go after your offices tomorrow. They have warrants and there’s a plan in place.” You say without eye contact as your purse your lips tightly.

“Wh-Why are you here telling me this?” His eyes narrowed and hiding his worry for you and the information's sudden appearance.

“Because if I sat by and let something happen to you, that I could have stopped...I couldn’t live with myself.” you admit, and your shining eyes finally turned to meet his that hadn’t left your pale face.

The words hit him hard. “This...” he clears his throat and thumbs his nose, his weight in his elbows on his knees as he leaned in close and spoke softly in his disbelief he was hearing such a thing from you. “This is Harold’s doin’?” He asks, not being able to bring it upon himself to call the man your husband.

“I saw it in his diary just tonight by chance. I knew my usual way wouldn’t reach you in time.” Your words seem to be coming easier now despite the closeness of him. You could smell the rum from the distillery on him.

“What you mean usual way?” He speaks slowly and his head tilts as your eyes go wide. He was far too clever to speak to when you were nervous. You were far too scrambled in his presence to keep cool and hide your secrets.

You hadn’t meant to word it like that. “I-uh..” you stutter and he sees your breathing pick up, the rising and falling of your chest, the only thing that looked healthy on you caught his attention. He knew you’d had a baby and that must be the reason for it, for the rest of you was slight in your modest dress.

“Rachel.” He says, reaching out and taking your hand and he feels you shake at the contact. “Love stop shakin’.” he says taking both your hands into his. “Now take a breath. You’re safe here.” You look into his eyes and you believe him without so much as a second guess. Those eyes were the same, a bit saddened perhaps but still full of love for you. As you took his advice and took a few slow deep breaths you look down to your hands clasped together.

“I’ve been giving you information.” You whisper as if barely saying it might make the offense not as bad.

“I haven’t spoken to you in years love and seen you almost the same, what do you mean?”

“Your anonymous source. The ones that come from the children and are delivered to you.”

The tension in his mouth leaves, just wide eyes glancing over your face to see if you were lying. “How do you know about that?”

“Because I’ve been paying them to do it.“

“They weren’t in your handwriting I’d recognize it anywhere.”

The confusion you both feel sitting heavy in your chests. “I wrote it with my other hand.” You admit. “So you wouldn’t be able to tell.”

He rapidly blinks before turning his face back to yours. “You’re serious?”

“Why would I lie about it? I’ve been risking being discovered doing it.”

“I’ve been gettin' those for years Rachel... this whole time...?”

“The first year you sent me the flowers.” You whisper swallowing noisily and his face softens. You had gotten them. You had remembered. The realization hits him hard and his heart starts to thump harder. “I started after that.”

“So you have gotten them.” He whispers, his grip on your hands tightening.

“Yes. Every year.” you look at each other and you feel the raised pulses in your gripping hands.

“You knew it was me?”

“How could I not?” The flash of a thought of a smile crosses your eyes.

“You remembered?” his voice makes his disbelief apparent.

“How could I forget Alfie?” Your voice was stronger and more certain. He knew you were speaking from inside now, the fear falling away to honesty.

“You haven’t said a word in years, I thought you’d forgotten me entirely to be honest.” he admits.

You pout and shake your head. “You don’t forget someone when you love them the way I did you.” You say almost offended

“And you’ve been givin' me information this whole time? Taking it from the police and tellin' me?” His voice tells you he doesn’t even know how to believe the statement. The woman he loved, that he thought had long forgotten him had been looking out for him for years.

“Yes. I couldn’t stand having to hear them talk about taking you down. Anytime I got wind of something I tried to tell you.”

“You did that...for me?” He asks with eyes that show more vulnerability.

“Yes.”

“Riskin' being found out by giving me info and coming here tonight to warn me?”

“Yes.” You say stronger.

“But why love?” His face showing his confusion. Why risk everything for a man you willingly left? “You could’ve really gotten yourself in trouble.”

“I know that.” You say more defiantly. “I have my reasons.”

“And you’ll share classified information with me but you won’t share the reasons why you do it?” his voice more demanding.

You feel the words build up in your throat and they burn. They want to be released. “What do you want me to say, Alfie?” You say with a harsher tone, tears appearing in your eyes.

“The truth would be nice, don’t you think?” He states obviously. Pulling your hands back towards him as you try to pull them away. “No Rachel.” He shakes his head and “I let you get away without the fight I should have. I’m not letting you leave here without answers this time.”

“Alfie please,” you rasp out. The tears burning in your eyes. You knew he deserved the truth. He had kept his distance and let you live your life, he could’ve tried to ruin your marriage, even kill your husband but he hadn’t. He loved you and he let you go. With which is something you had never been able to do. “I cant.” you whimper.

“But you can feed me information and worry about me? Put yourself in danger by coming here and doing so?”

“I can’t let anything happen to you. I couldn’t bear it.” your voice cracks and the tears start to fall.

“And why? Why would you leave me and marry another man and birth him a child and still do this?”

“You want to fucking know?” You finally break. A deep breath and a bold stare into his searching eyes make a fire light inside you both. There was his little Rachel. This was the raw and emotional woman he’d been in love with since even before the war. “You want me to admit that I failed? That I made the worst decision of my life leaving you?” The words escape you violently and he holds your hands tightly, his jaw clenched as the things he’s long wondered poured out of you in a display of honesty and vulnerability few ever see. “That the only thing that brings me any inkling of joy is my baby and she exhausts me to the point of forced unconsciousness because I’m left alone all the time? That my marriage is purely performative? I’m stuck without love or touch or even common decency and have been for years? Is THAT what you want to know so badly?” you choke out.

“Of course I don’t want you to have that sort of life love,” he says with a feverish retort “I want to know why you still care if I live or die?” He begs with his eyes.

“Because I... I fucking love you, Alfie. At no point have I stopped! And I hate myself for it and what I’ve done! What should’ve been the best years of my youth are now the darkest and cold I’ve ever known. I loved you but I was frightened! I didn’t want to die but now I see that life without love isn’t worth living for me and it’s all I can do to make amends. All that’s within my power to do is try to make sure you don’t die by the hand of my husband because if that came to pass I would kill myself, do you understand?!” Your breathing is ragged and fast tears fall down your face and you feel so alive. Things you’d never thought would ever admit were now shouted in the face of the man you had known, up until a few minutes ago, would never hear them. You laid your soul bare for him and you did owe him that much for making such a mess of things.

His eyes look at you like they had all those years ago. The same love rested within them that you’d seen even after you broke his heart. And though the face around them was older and more worn now, the eyes remained the same.

“My love...” he whispers, a hand traveling to the side of your face to make you meet his loving gaze but you shut them tightly and whimper. “Look at me Rachel, please.” He speaks with such softness and tenderness you don’t deserve.

“It hurts too much Alfie. Everything hurts so much.” You begin to sob.

“Shhhh, there, there my lovely girl .” He coos, bringing your head to his shoulder, the feel of warmth against you is too much for your weak constitutions. He strokes your hair and you sob, the affection too much to bear. You give in. He knew the truth now, what else was there to hide? You let yourself lean into him, a and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I’m so sorry” You whine.

“No, no, pet I am.” He rubs your back now, feeling his mouth ear your ear. “I should’ve seen you were just scared. I should’ve fought to keep you.”

“I’ve never loved him, Alfie.” You choke out and it felt so good to say.

His chest burns with your confessions. It’s everything he wanted to hear and nothing he wanted at the same time. He thought you were happy. He never wanted you unhappy, and if he’d known...it didn’t matter now though. You had both made your decisions and now you're left with what to do next now that the truth was out.

“I thought maybe I could forget you if I fell into my place. Did my wifely duties and acted proper. But I never did. I should’ve left when I couldn’t get pregnant. It should’ve been an obvious sign.”

“Shhh shhhh” he says wrapping his arms around your body.

“I could've died having her.” You say as your body stills and you feel him tense beneath you. You lean back to see his face and it was just as scared as yours. “ I Laid there alone, bleeding and terrified and all I thought about was how I wished you were there. That I could see you one last time.”

“Rachel..” his face, voice are pained, hand moving to touch your cheek and brush your hair back, looking over the gut-wrenching heartache across your face.

The confessions keep coming and you can’t stop them now. Not with him within a breaths distance of you. “God how I wished she was yours.” You look to his lips, just as soft as they had been as your fingertips trace over them. “I had hoped we had an affair I’d forgotten.” You huff out a noise that was almost a laugh.”That somehow she had been brought into the world with love. That she could be put into her father’s arms first instead of a stranger. You would’ve been there when she was born. You wouldn’t have left me alone. She could’ve been held by someone who would look at her like I do, like she’s the reason for living.” You see the tears in his eyes and you adore their existence, it meant perhaps there was hope, somewhere, somehow for love to exist. “I’m so sorry Alfie.” your voice begs.

“What I wouldn’t give to have given you that.” He whispers, looking over your pained and striking face.

“My God Alfie what have we done?”

“It doesn’t matter what we’ve done. What do we do now?” he holds your face firmly.

You stare at each other in silence. Neither having the answer. How would you begin to remedy this? Was there a remedy at all? You look over the face that sent love and lust through you so easily as a younger woman and it was still having the same effect on you. “Alfie?”

“Yes, love?” He whispers, brushing his nose against yours affectionately.

“Do you still love me?” You ask weakly.

“More than anything,” he says with a low brow.

“Then do what I know you truly want to right now. I see it in your eyes the same as I ever did.”

“Rachel...” He whispers hesitantly.

You lean into his lips and close your eyes. “It has been so long Alfie.” You beg. “So long since I’ve felt wanted and loved as I do right now in your arms. Show me that you love me. Make love to me Alfie. I feel I will live to have more regret than I do already if we do not.” There’s was no going back now. Even if you stayed apart and lived double lives, lied about how you felt to everyone else but each other, things were different now. They couldn’t truly go back to the way they were, not in your hearts.

“Are you sure?”

“Only about you my love.”

And with that, he gives in to you, as if he ever stood a chance. At first, the kiss was chaste. Hard exhales escape you both with pained expressions that gave away the hurt that resides inside you both. A whine escapes you unintentionally as you press against him. Your mouths show quickly the hunger that lives within you both. As his hand moved down your back, clutching at you before taking the back of your head to hold you fast to him, you hear him moan. A sound you never thought you’d hear again. You give it back in full, hands moving to his already messy hair and your lips work fiercely against each other. They part for tongues and moans, lapping against each other with no thought of shame for the needful sounds coming from you both.

He pulls back to your surprise, panting and holding your face. “No way I’m making love to you on this couch. We’re going to bed where I can do it proper like you deserve.” he says forcefully and you follow him without question, hand in hand up the stairs. The room is dark and cold and neither of you care.

You reach to unbutton his shirt as you kiss him, he undoes your dress to your waist where the buttons ceased. You take turns, steps toward the bed as you removed your clothes limb by limb.

You are down to your slip and nothing else, him with undone trousers hanging loosely on his hips. “Get under the covers love, I’ll not have you getting cold." He says, peeling the last layer off.

Watching your body now changed, hip bones more prominent, your bum more round and your arms lean and strong from the baby. He matches you in nakedness, and then in the bed.

Losing no time he pulls you against his chest, hands down your back to grab your bum. You hold yourself against him as closely as possible. You hadn’t felt skin against yours in so long, you hadn’t felt alive since the last time you’d been with him. It all comes flooding back, pieces of memories from your time together. At night in the garden in the rain, in the low light of dawn in a tiny bed barely big enough for you both, in his office on the settee, all different and all bringing you over the edge with sweet words and skilled hips. You’d missed him even more than you thought you had as you let yourself drown willingly in the memories.

You were softer than he recalled. Smaller but softer. He kisses you thoroughly, hand moving from sensual space to space, taking in every new scar and mark that he hadn’t been around for. You clutch tightly to his back and neck, almost fearing he might come to his senses and stop.

He moves you beneath him a swift motion, nothing had changed when it came to the two of you reading each other bodies, anticipating what the other wanted. Only after he has met his fill of your mouth on his do the kisses start to wander to your neck. You melt into the bed, hands holding around his back as you exhale noisily and whimper at the softness of his lips as they work against your neck and chest.

“My god, how have I lived without this?” You whine out, hands moving to his hair first before moving to his face and pulling him back to you. “How have I lived without you?” You whisper before meeting him in a feverish kiss, his hands traveling to your hip and thighs, pulling and squeezing, wrapping your legs around him.

“I have not lived without you, my angel. Let me feel you love, wrap yourself around me, I need to feel you.” he groans between sloppy kisses.

You obey without question. His mouth back to your neck as you hold your hand in his hair, remember the softness and finding it longer now. “Alfie I need you.” You moan without shame. “Please, love.” You whisper into his ear and he takes hold of your hip.

“Do we need protection?” He asks, his head lifting up, having totally forgotten about such a thing up to this point.

“No, darling, it took me years to get pregnant, we’re fine.” You say with a more focused voice as you faded in and out of your responsible selves for a moment. He grunts in response, settling his knees into the bed and reaching between your legs to prepare you as you seemed rather starved for it. There was no judgment in this observation as he was the same, knowing he was hard and leaking already at the thought of coming back home to your body. Your body enthused the same as he found your thighs slick with proof of your honesty behind your words of needing him.

“Rachel, you have never been so wet for me.” He whispers against your lips, finger frictionless between your lips.

“It’s been so long, Alfie, so long. Years.” you whine and he pushes his fingers into you to find you taut and hot.

He watches your face barely visible in the moonlight dancing through the curtains. a flutter of lashes before your eyes roll back. Your mouth trembling open and a lustful moan rising out of it just for him. Your sounds were deeper now, slower and building, rawer than he recalls. He moves his fingers in you, finding their place naturally as ever as he finds you still grasp his shoulders when her circles your clit, some things never change.

“Please Alfie.” A breathy and soft moan in his ear. “I need your cock. I’m more than ready, darling.” You cry and he grasps himself, gliding between your thick soft lips to cover himself in your wetness. “My god...” you whisper, feeling the heat and hardness against you. You had given up on feeling it ever again. You recall the first time you had sex with Alfie. How surprised you were by everything about him. An almost femininely beautiful face, shaven back then. A harsh voice and rough hands from work, same as now, and the thick stretch of him that made you gasp for air just as it was tonight.

“Alright love?” He asks with a tender kiss to your temple as your mouth lies open and mewls as he pushes into you.

“More.” You request, hand snaking to the back of his neck, pressing his lips against yours and keeping a tight grip on him as he buried himself inside you. The lack of hesitancy you had for him was intoxicating. He hadn't felt so full since you’d left, filling you and filling himself simultaneously.

Your grip on each other is almost bruising, his hands traveling the width of your ribs as his lips press soft kisses to your breasts with every slow pump inside you. He handles with you care, like you are as physically fragile as you are emotionally while in his arms. He licks across your nipples, bringing kisses into the heavy weight of them and groaning as his face rests between them as you press them together for him.

“Your body is heavenly my love.” He rasps in your ear, returning from your chest to press his soft lips to your neck again.

“You feel so good, Alfie. Better than I can ever remember.” You whine out before a moan takes away the eye contact you were holding, your head falling back to the pillow. This was what making love was, you think to yourself. He moves slowly but purposely inside you, the slight weight and hang in his stomach you both have from getting older and having a child press against the other, seeing your bodies together completely, finishing it with the meeting of your mouths as he his body moves against yours, giving you the extra touch your body needed. Alfie's touch lit your skin on fire and told yours what it needed before it knew itself. The roaming of his hands, grasping at you with desperation, the other by your head in your hair to keep your face in sight, his insistence to watch your face told you he wanted you, and with his moans, his body told you it needed yours.

His thumb traces over your panting mouth, watching every expression your face made and committing it to memory. “I have missed you more than words can express.” He says softly, your eyes rolling back to meet his.

“More than anything.” You whisper back. You take a quick inhale, rising to touch his face again, to feel the beard under your fingers, the pulse on your palm. “I love you.” You say with a pained express born from the same emotion and pleasure

“And I you. Always.” His face shares your same expression of downturned brows, your eyes continued to tell of the emptiness you felt without the other.

He didn’t know what would become of the two of you, but he knew he wouldn’t make the mistake of this miracle happening between the two of you tonight being taken for granted. This could be the last time he gets you like this, he wasn’t letting a single nuanced flinch of your face go unnoticed.

He hears the sequence of breathing he recalls as he hums with contentment at the sound. He knows what that sound meant. Your thighs pull tight against him, and he holds your hip to keep you in place. He pushes into you harder, a dull slap of skin to skin your toes start to curl.

“Alfie.” You moan and gasp, the same calling of his name he heard in his dreams.

“That’s it my love,” he whispers into your ear. “Let me hear you, please.” He asks with eyes screwed shut for a moment, the pain in his chest from the fear of thinking he’d never hear you again settles.

“Oh Alfie.” you mewl, your skin beginning to tingle, letting your thoughts come through as he wished.

“Yes, love, yes.” He says against your cheek, pressing his face to yours.

“Oh my god.” You gasp, your breathing fast and quick as he hit into you.”Oh my god yes.” he feels your thighs tense and start to shake.

“Come for me Rachel, my love, my god let me feel you again.” As he speaks it overtakes you. Your eyes are now permanently housed, rolled back and fluttering as your back arches and your whole body convulses against his. It comes wave after delicious wave, you’re sure you moan and cry out but you can’t focus on anything but how impossibly good it feels. This was life with Alfie, not only love and care but a deeper satisfaction being met by both body and mind.

Your body remembers before you do of the feel of his hand suddenly tight and still against you. His forehead to yours as it has done hundreds of times before, you hear the shouted wordless cries as his back hunches and you know by the deep home he’s made in you that he’s found his end as well.

You come down together with much noise. Moans continuing as you pant and groan as your muscles shift, the small convulsions of aftershocks that make you both shake. He stays inside you for a while, and neither of you says anything.

You both know you have to go in the sobering air after an orgasm. You kiss softly, hands to faces, eyes spilling out apologies for so many things.

You tell him you’ll figure something out. He kisses you after he helps shield you from the cold in your coat, buttoning it for you. You tell him you meant everything you said. To take care of the warning for tomorrow and you would try to take care of things on your end. He nods and kisses you one last night, truly and honestly believing it would be the last time.

You walk home quickly, only a few hours have passed and the sun is nowhere near up. You could get lucky and return unnoticed.

You’re still thinking about what to do as you’re sipping tea in your kitchen the next day, surprised it seemed you’d gotten away with it. Harold had still been asleep and you paid the maid extra just for not telling him you’d left. What was another secret added to the life-changing night you’d had, after all?

The day passes and Harold comes home defeated and you silently rejoice in your love having bested him yet again. But your celebrating wouldn’t last too long.

Almost two months pass and you stand in your bathroom, wiping the vomit from your face and dress. As you stare at your reflection. You knew this meant a few different things. One, you were most certainly pregnant as Elizabeth had made her announcement of conception in the same way. Two, that it was not your husbands, but Alfies. And three, that the problem with conceiving had never been you as you’d been berated into thinking, it’d been Harold’s.

A twisted sense of revenge is filled within you. There had been nothing wrong with you. And you had proof. You had the child of the man you truly loved growing inside you, just as you’d pretended with Elizabeth from time to time. You only had a certain window to act now, and perhaps it was for the better. Now you couldn’t idle. You just had to come up with a plan.

But both lucky and unlucky for both you and Alfie, fate intervened.

You answer the door not even a week after realizing you were pregnant. A young boy, bent over and gasping for breath and trying to speak stands before you.

“Take a breath dear, breathe.” You say, with the motherly tone you had fallen into speaking with as you only really talked to Elizabeth.

“Mr. Solomons sent me miss.” He gets out and your eyes go wide.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Fear sits fat in your throat at the rushed words.

“He has me run here when the coppers showed up at his house. They were takin' him away when I was running to you.”

“He was arrested? Why for?”

“I heard them saying he was a suspect in a murder case.”

“Oh fucking hell.” you mumble.

“Yeah.” the boy says nodding, standing back up straight now.

“He said to come find you to let you know.”

“And you don’t know anything else?”

“Fraid not.” He says with an apologetic glance. His voice breaks your rushing minds thoughts. “Are you gonna help him miss? If he gets put in jail I don’t know what’ll happen to my family. We live off what he pays me to be his eyes and ears right now

“I’m going to do everything I can to get him out of there.” You say, moving to grab a few pounds from your purse and giving them to him. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you, Miss.” He says with a nod as he hops off the stairs and scurries away.

You phone the maid and tell her to come over, you dress and feed the baby and wait by the door.

Within a few hours, you’re in the police station acting calm and asking questions. Lying and saying you heard your husband caught someone big and you were here to congratulate him. People started talking without any inquisition. With an open file you’re told on the night of the murder he was seen. You ask which night, as you frequently took late night strolls and wanted to know when might be safer to do so. The night in question is the night you were at his home with him. This made you his alibi. This meant your confession was the only thing keeping Alfie Solomons from getting convicted of murder. Multiple witnesses were given, and that seemed awfully suspicious for a crime at night in an abandoned part of town. The whole thing read set up. Perhaps the black star wasn’t for Alfie in the ledger, but for the night when murder would be committed to frame him for. You weren’t sure if it was the influx of pregnancy hormones or the risk of losing him to a false claim but you dismiss yourself politely and go up the stairs to find your soon to be ex-husband.

You find Harold floating and looking very surprised as you walk around the corner.

“Rachel? What on earth are you doing here? Is their an emergency? You should have just called.” He begins.

“I heard you brought in Solomons finally.” You say flatly and he perks up.

“Oh yes come to congratulate the newest town hero have we?”

“May I speak with you for a moment? I’d like to hear what happened from you.”

“Oh, she lives for a bit of gossip.” He teases you and laughs with the other men.

You take him to a hallway to talk. And it would seem happenstance was all about you today as you chose the door to the room Alfie was in to talk in front of. He hears Harold blabbing on again, thinking he’s about to come in to gloat again.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you Harold.” You say flatly.

Alfie recognizes your voice immediately and he perks up.

“What’s that?” Harold asks

“He didn’t do it.” You respond in the same tone.

“What shite are you on about woman? Of course, he did it.”

“No, he didn’t. What are the chances of there being three eyewitnesses in an abandoned part of town in the middle of the night? The whole thing is a setup.”

“What do you know Rachel? Leave the police work to the men alright sweetie?” he spits out defensively, giving himself away.

“He has an alibi.” You say with more anger in your voice.

Alfie's eyes go wide as he stares at the door.

“What another child, another slag they’ve paid off to lie on his behalf?”

“No. A very reliable source.”

“And where are they? Why are you here and sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? You should be at home minding your own bloody business and taking care of the baby.” he says with cold accusation.

Alfie was fuming at how he was speaking to you. Any bit of guilt he thought he might’ve had for sleeping with another man’s wife was gone.

“They’re here. And I’m not going to let you send an innocent man to jail.”

“INNOCENT?” He laughs in your face loudly. “Sweetie you don’t know Solomons from a hole in the ground and you want to speak on a known criminals innocence? Christ Rachel, are you affected in the head?”

“I do know Alfie.”

“On a first name basis are we?” He rolls his eyes and lets out a condescending groan. “What’d he do? Pay for your food at the market one day? Help you jump over a puddle and now you’re gonna claim he’s a good man? He kills people Rachel. He’s an evil and manipulative man who uses people to get what he wants.”

“And so are you.” You spit out

Alfie's brow shoots up and a smile appears on his face.

“Fucking WHAT did you say to me?” He hisses and Alfie hears you make a pained sound and growls.

“You kill people. You’ve done nothing but use me and you're incapable of love. I call that evil.” you angrily whisper.

“You’re as mad as a fucking hatter Rachel, my god. We’re going to call the doctor and see if we can get something to calm you down.”

“No. WE aren’t doing anything. YOU are going to release him because he wasn’t at the docks that night.”

“And what proof do you have?”

“My word.?

“And how would you know?”

“Because I was with him.” You say with such malice in your voice Alfie can feel it. His heart races for fear of what Harold might do and also from being proud and surprised.

“Don’t be daft you were in bed with me all night.”

“Was I? You never do so much as touch me so how would you even know?”

“Get the fuck in here.” he says roughly pulling you in the room Alfie was in. “Do you know this woman?” He asks him, holding you by the arm.

“I do.” He says calmly.

“And how do you know her?”

“Intimately.” He says with such gall it sends a fearful thrill up your spine. “We used to be sweethearts.” He adds.

“You used to fucking what?” He hisses, moving to hold your face tight by the chin.”Is this fucking true? And you better not lie to me because I’ll know!”

“I’m finished lying to you, Harold. Alfie and I were together for a very long time before I, unfortunately, decided to marry you.” you sass back.

“Watch your bloody mouth.” He leans in close.

“Or fuckin' what eh? You lay a hand on her and you’ll have more than framing me for murder to worry about.” Alfie says territorially from across the table, his arms shifting in the cuffs.

“You were with him the night the murder happened? Where were you?”

“At his house.”

“Why?” He says angrily and louder.

“To warn him about you coming after him.”

“You did what now?”

“I told him I thought you planned on coming for him soon.”

“And why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.” You say sternly. You take a deep breath and yank his hand off your face.

“The time frame on the murder is a few hours, you can’t cover all of that.”

Alfie lets out a deep chuckle from across the table. “You wanna bet?” He smirks.

Harold moves fast and strikes him across the face, grabbing him by the collar and shaking him.

“Stop it you brute! He didn’t do anything! I did” You hit Harold on the back.

“So’kay love, just love taps, this one has a temper innit he?” he spits out blood into the floor.

“Shut up!” He says slamming him into the chair and quickly turning to you.

“Harold I demand a divorce.” you say with a boldness Alfie recalls from your youth.

“You fuckin' what? YOU want to divorce me? After all I’ve done for you?”

“What the fuck have you done for me?!” your voice rises.

“A roof over your head, food on the table and a child for starters!”

“The baby was your idea if you recall! I never asked for it! And not like you were much help in making her with how long it took you to get me pregnant! You’re hardly a man at all!” You shout back and shove him and he slaps you across the face.

Alfie is on his feet in an instant but Harold pulls his gun on him.

“If you take one more step I will fucking shoot you and blame her.” He says glaring at you but speaking to Alfie as he stands still but doesn’t sit. “You’ve never been anything but a little bloody beggar girl have you? Cockney trash. Your mum was a slag your father was a criminal And you’re just the same aren’t you?”

“Better than being like you.” you spit out, rubbing your face.

“You were at his house for hours that night?”

“Yes.”

He takes a deep breath before he speaks “And what were you doing?”

“You already know the answer don’t you?” You say quietly. “Just cockney trash coming together how it should be eh?” You say with your accent coming through.

“You fucking didn’t.”

“I did before I met you and I did that night and I’ll do it again. I want a divorce Harold. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you. I tried. And I couldn’t. Do you know how bad that makes You? That not even I, with my criminal family and my storied past couldn’t manage to see the good in you?”

“And I suppose you think you love him instead?”

“I know I do.” You say getting in his face and Alfie has never been more proud. Or shocked for that matter. You kept your word. You figured something out. "So now you're left with a choice, Harold. You let him go, and no one finds out your wife was fucking a criminal while you slept, or you try to charge him and I'll scream the truth about how this is all a setup and how you're just a crooked as he is." you hiss.

He moves to Alfie and unlocks the cuffs “Get the fuck out of here.” he sighs. No one moves for a weighted moment. “ARE YOU FUCKING DEAF?!” He screams and Alfie takes you by the hand and leaves without looking back. ------ A man was already waiting outside for him, and he pulls you into the car with him, which under normal circumstances would've been fine. But as his man pulls away fast and the motion triggers your nausea and your head starts to spin.

"Oh god I think I'm going to be sick." you groan, trying to steady yourself in the car and grabbing Alfie's knee.

"And rightfully so, love, you should'nt've had to even witness that let alone be handled in such a way." his hand rubs across your back to comfort you. You continue to breathe your nose and out your mouth, eyes shut and hands still tight against him. "Oh you mean actually sick?" he says with realization. "Oh hell, breathe love you're fine." he leans forward, pushing your hair out of your face. "I shouldn't have jostled you so, my apologies." he says softly, his hand still rubbing against your back.

In these few moments, you realize what he was doing was more than Harold had done to ease you during the entirety of your marriage. "Elizabeth. We need to go get the baby." you say as you flutter open your eyes.

"Drive on to her house, eh?" is all he has to say to the driver, and it hits you not only he, but this man who worked for him knew where you live. It said so much about how he'd spent your time apart.

You pull up and give no explanation, having him stay in the car as to not arouse suspicion. You gather a suitcase of your things, heirlooms and clothing, following with Elizabeth's, only bringing the things that couldn't be replaced, as you knew Alfie would have someone purchase the necessities for you. It all happens in a rush and being the well-tempered child, despite whos she was, Elizabeth doesn't pay much mind to the ruckus around her. You have your trunk put into the back of the car, Alfie taking the case of the baby's and placing it in the floor as he helps you into the car, sliding in quickly behind you. And like that, in a span of mere minutes, you'd left your husband, taken your baby and had everything important to you in your life within a close radius.

"'Ello little one." Alfie says, reaching out a finger to the wide eyed bundle in your lap.

She takes him in for a moment, a tilt of her head and prompt bubbling of spit from her lips that you chuckle and wipe away. She coos and lifts a hand out to grab his beard and give it a tug.

"Ah. Yes. Not used to one of those eh?" he asks, nose twitching as she tugs rapidly. You let out a chuckle, and how long had it been since you'd let yourself make that noise? As she brings her hands to his face, patting away at his cheeks as she explores the friendly stranger, you lean forward and kiss his temple. "What's the for love?" he asks, one eye shut so the baby doesn't blind him as he turns to you.

"For you," you say with a soft smile. "Is this alright Alfie? Me and the baby I mean? I'm coming to you with an awful lot of attachments." you say apologetically.

"And we'll handle them all." he says obviously. "I love you. Fully. You don't love parts of a person, darling. And it's not as if being with me is some walk in the park." he grins.

"I'll take all of you as well. Happily." you lean in to share a brief kiss and Elizabeth lets out a squeal and you both laugh before you pull away.

"She seems to approve." he says, wiggling his fingers as he explores his rings with her tiny hands.

"She's never seen me kiss a man before," you explain. "She seems to approve as much as I." another subtle upturning of your lips as you watch your baby chew away at his fingertips.

"Oh, my darling..." he says with a heavy sigh, making you turn to face him at the sadness of the tone. "What sort of loveless prison were you in my love?" he holds the side of your face and kisses you again, but this time the baby is distracted by the shiny rings. "I would have taken you from it if I had known." another chaste kiss. "Never again, Rachel." he whispers. "You'll be kissed every day and I'll make it a point she knows her mum is loved. Just the same as her."

"You really don't mind that she isn't yours?" you force out.

"She is yours. And that's all that matters to me. You." he says with a firm nod. ------ The night, Alfie comes back home, having things to settle and not wanting you to have to lift a finger. His maid helps you unpack, setting up space for you in his room and overtaking a guest room across the hall for the baby. His men bring in a bassinette and pram for you, the food you'd listed that she liked to eat and even a few dolls for good measure. You're breastfeeding a rather cheery baby, being very vocal as she smacks away at you while you softly tell her about the day you'd had.

"And that's why we're going to be living with Alfie now. Your mum is very happy about this and you should be too. I'm sure a happy mum will be much more pleasant to deal with compared to have I've acted as of late little one, and I am sorry for that." you sigh, brushing back the curls on her head.

"Certainly even on your worst days you were lovely." he announces his arrival from the doorway, now in hanging braces and only his loose shirt, untucked and billowing out from his trousers. "I got back as soon as I could love." he says quietly to not disturb the baby. He leans in as you tilt your head up to speak, and gives you a kiss. Something you weren't certain you'd ever get used to. "Did everyone take care of you this evening?" he asks, bending at the waist at your side, a warm and comforting hand on your back.

"They were all wonderful. Thank you, Alfie. Really. I can't say it enough to you."

"You don't have to say it at all." he smiles, a light tap to your chin after he cups the side of your face. You sit in silence as you watch Elizabeth suckle away, gurgling and happy, you wondered if she could feel the difference in the air, the calm and the care. "She's a rather good babe innit she? She's not been fussy a'tall." he muses.

"She is a good baby. Somehow quiet despite the environment she's been in up to this point. But she seems rather giggly today." you smile.

"Good," he states with a nod. "And what of you dear?" he asks, the back of his hand brushing against your forehead. "Ida said you were sick today. Or has the excitement of it all gotten to you?"

"It did but..." you shake your head, a lump rising in your throat. "I have been upset by a few things. Mostly from Harold." you frown.

"Wasn't it you that called him barely a man? You mustn't worry about a thing like him any longer." he shakes his head.

"Well I called him that for a reason..." you begin softly, Alfie can see the change in your face.

"Do go on, love." he says, pulling a stationary chair up to your rocking one, taking your hand to listen. Your stomach flutters, and even though it was too soon for such a thing, it was as if the second little one knew it was home.

"He'd said terrible things of me, accused me of nasty things while we were trying to conceive. And I was always told I was the problem. That it was my fault." You feel his grip tighten on your hand, likely from anger. "But I've come to find that I was never the problem." you say with a shaky breath, turning to look at him, your eyes bright in the dim light of the room as he tilts his head at you in question.

“And how’s that, darling?" he asks, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Because you and I slept together only once and I got pregnant.” you rasp out.

His eyes go wide and he looks at you and your puppy eyes, large with worry. “You...what now?” he rapidly blinks.

“I’m pregnant.” You say clearly.

He sits up straight. “Are you Bloody serious?” he whispers, eyes shifting from your stomach to your face. His other hand moves to wrap around your one, leaning in closer to you as if a further inspection of your honest face might give him more answers.

“Entirely.” you swallow noisily.

“And you're sure its-“ his chin lowers.

“Yours. Yes. Couldn’t be anyone else’s." you shake your head slowly.

He lets out a heavy sigh and furrows his brow. He releases your hand with one of his, moving it place it on your stomach that wasn't covered by the baby in your lap. “We decided to make up for lost time dinnit we?” He says, his eyes moving back up to yours.

“Apparently so." you watch his face, looking for anything negative, but you don't find it. "Although I can't bring myself to mind it.” you whisper, leaning in closer to him.

“Neither can I, love.” He shakes his head. "More than a bit of a shock though innit?" he huffs out an amused sound before taking a moment to look at your face. He leans in and kisses you, you feel the heat of his hand through your dress to your stomach, fingers moving ever so slightly as if he might feel something. “I do love you." he whispers, forehead against yours.

"And I you." you smile back, eyes shut and letting yourself be emersed in the feeling of affection.

"And I'll love this little one here." he pats your stomach. "And I'll love this little one here." he nods to the baby in your arms, he promises. "So may I ask you, in the spirit of making us a family, of making you and them mine... would you have any interest in pushing forward this rather unconventional romance?” he asks, a smirk falling across his face.

"Nothing about us has ever been traditional." you grin. "So why start now?" you shrug.

“It would seem proper, with there being a new little one coming into the world because 'a me 'n all...would you like to get married? As soon as your divorce is final?”

“You...really?" you ask, and the surprise in your face almost breaks his heart, why wouldn't he want to keep you forever?

“Yes. How could I not be? I can’t lose you again.” He says more serious.

"I'm not leaving you again." you shake your head and your lashes flutter with emotion, you reach out to cup his cheek. "I spent all my time worrying about you when I was somewhere else. Despite leaving you because I didn't want to worry." you huff out a soft laugh. "I'd rather worry and be with you than be anywhere else, Alfie. I'm sorry I had to learn that lesson the hard way." you whisper, an apologetic smile tugs at your lips.

"The past doesn't matter anymore, love." he shakes his head, holding your soft palm to his rough cheek. "All that matters now is the future," he states with more certainty than you feel. "And I'd love that future to be one where we're together. We'll make yours and mine one, Rachel. You can finally be my little missus like I used to tease you about bein' when we was younger, yeah? My little Rachel Solomons. My wife. Mother of my children."

"Love of your life." you whisper back the sweet words he used to promise you years ago. After you'd make love in your tiny flat, on your uncomfortable bed, he'd twist your ring finger and tell you how one day he'd be able to buy you a ring, he'd tell you everything you wanted to hear from a man and you'd taken it for granted then. But you didn't plan on ever doing that again.

"Always. I meant it when we's young and I mean it more now knowing what the world is like." his eyes don't hold that whimsy they had the last time he'd said these things to you, but that made it more reassuring to you, more honest. "I love you. Let me be with you so I can take care of you, darling. You deserve that and more. Let me be the one to give that to you." he asks, kissing the palm of your hand as your fingers gently stroked his face.

"I love you, Alfie. Of course, I'll marry you." you say with a smile.

"I will go and get the ring come morning then." he says before leaning in to kiss you again.

Elizabeth interrupts you with a tiny snore from your breast to let you know she's fallen asleep as you laugh against Alfie's lips while he kisses you. You chuckle and pull away. "Let me put her to bed." you whisper and kiss his cheek, placing her in the new crib with her favorite blanket and toy you'd brought with you.

"She looks just like you, love." Alfie says, standing behind you, arms slowly wrapping around your waist and head resting on your shoulder. "And if we're lucky this one will too." he chuckles, kissing the side of your head, hands splayed across your stomach. "Are you ready for bed love? You must be exhausted after the day you've had on top of caring for her and cookin' up my little one, yeah? I've been told by my mother the Solomons babies will exhaust you long before they're born, I'm afraid."

"Lucky I've been taking care of one for a good chunk of my life then, hmmm?" you laugh quietly and turn in his arms. He's warmed to his bones at the sound of it and the sight of you without tension on your face, as he'd only seen you with a veil of worry for so many years.

"Oh there she is." a warm smile appears on his face. "There's the funny little girl I fell in love with. Givin' me hell from the start." he laughs as he holds you close and kisses you.

"And you want me to give you hell forever. What does that say about you?" you hum contently.

"That I'm hopelessly in love with you." he answers. "Come now love. Let's get us to bed. We've got a new life to start together come morning."

"And what if all this love talk has made me not want to sleep?" you say with a cheeky smile.

"Then I will give you whatever you want of me, my love. Tonight and the rest of the nights hereafter."

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @wtf-is-wrong-with-this @shine-dont-shadow @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons @aphnxrising @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @anrm1 @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi  

I just tagged everyone who is tagged in my other Alfie fic, Choking On Sapphires. 

[hannahharrington]

CRYING IN EUROPE (postcards from italy)

I struggled with whether or not to post this; I still am, honestly, because it is very raw in every sense. This is something I wrote a year-minus-two-weeks-ago, holed up in an AirBNB in Rome, about losing my good friend Jaymee and the bizarreness of having the best and worst time of your life simultaneously. I did not look at it ever again until a few days ago. It wasn’t written to share with anyone, only because I needed to put thoughts down at the time. Any editing has been very minimal.

The last section I wrote yesterday.  

CRYING IN EUROPE (postcards from italy)

1. The first time is on the first day. I land at Heathrow only to find out the express train isn’t running because of the snowstorm and the tube is beyond fucked. I nearly cry out of frustration and jet lag exhaustion but I don’t. I end up emerging from Shepherd’s Bush Market half a mile from the hotel and have to drag my suitcase through blustery snow that whips me so hard in the face it makes tears leak out of the corners of my eyes.

2. The second time is the next morning, five minutes after I first find out you’re dead. I guess the first five minutes are a mix of me just having woken up, an hour before my alarm, still on New York time as I scroll idly through my phone messages only to see it blowing up with the news; and maybe shock can be used as an excuse, even though we all knew it was coming.

3. Over the Hilton London Kensington breakfast buffet for Hilton Honors Members. I’m telling Barry how I was supposed to see you before it happened. My voice cracks and eyes overflow with tears, and I’m apologizing and Barry is being so kind about it even though I can tell he’s not really sure what to do or say, which is okay because I don’t know either. It occurs to me later that in all the years we’ve known each other, this is the first time I’ve ever cried in front of him.

You said you were terminal, and released to home hospice care, and I told you I would fly to California if you wanted and read you mean celebrity blog comment sections, like how I did for you when you visited me in Brooklyn (I’ll never forget how we laughed until we cried like middle schoolers at a sleepover). I followed your lead in trying to blunt reality with a joke because that’s what you always did. The last thing you posted on any social media was a repost of our Facebook “Friendaversary”, saying how you were due for another one of my dramatic readings. I was going to buy a plane ticket when I got back from this trip. I was supposed to be there.

4. The first cigarette I smoke.

5. And the second, all while thinking about how terrible a person I am for smoking because you hated it and hated having cancer and hated that I would do something that could make me sick. You wanted me to stop, and if this were a movie I’d quit on the spot. But it isn’t and so instead I stand chain-smoking and hating myself.

6. In the shower.

7. We go see the Hamilton matinee hours after we find out, and it’s the cruelest twist of fate, experiencing this thing you loved so deeply and brought into my life and that we shared together. You’re the reason I saw it with everyone else at the matinee Obama attended. I lost the lottery, the lone one of all of us without a way in, and I was feeling a little sorry for myself and about to leave. I went to say goodbye to you, and immediately you pulled your Jaymee magic and got me a ticket at the literal last minute. And it really did feel like magic.

When you first saw it at the Public, I tried the lottery and lost, and I joked for you to go on without me, to die a million happy deaths. You said if I were being mugged and you were the only one who could save me, you’d still make me wait until after the show. I know if I skipped it you’d literally come back to life and kick my ass. But that doesn’t seem like a bad deal. I’d never see Hamilton again, I’d burn all of my playbills, even the one from the off-Broadway run I got signed by the original cast at the stage door. I’d tear the donut bag in half, the one we joked about being good luck, the one I had Lin-Manuel Miranda autograph. I’d do all of that if it gave me five more minutes with you.

I keep my shit together more or less until the second act. When Hamilton pleads to Washington with Why do we have to say goodbye?, I start crying and don’t stop until curtain call.

8. Right before I left on this trip, I threw together a playlist for my phone. The last song I added was Eva Cassidy’s cover of “Fields of Gold”, thinking it’d be pretty background soundtrack for train rides through lush, rolling Italian countryside. A year ago I went down one of my weird little Internet research rabbit holes and read all about Eva, her melanoma, how she died and her last performance, and wondered why there hadn’t been a movie made about that particular beautiful tragedy. After Hamilton I tell Barry I feel better, like it was an emotional release, but then the next afternoon we go to a pastry café and they play a jazz standard cover of “Fields of Gold” over the speakers and my chest seizes.

9. Friday night we’re supposed to meet up with Jen for dinner before she flies back to Philly. I’m sick to my stomach in the cab ride over to her hotel, and when we get to her room I drop my purse and hug her and don’t let go. That thing happens where I’m trying not to cry and it makes me cry harder and I can feel Jen crying too. We sit and Jen and Danielle talk about their travels and the whole time I feel on the verge of throwing up. Finally I say we need to talk about you, about what we’re going to do. Jen says June told her sometimes in Filipino culture they ask for donations for the family instead of flowers, so she’s not sure what’s preferred. I don’t know why I was expecting Jen to have more information, something to make me feel better, but nothing she tells me does. I take one of the Ativans my mom gave me for the plane ride because I can’t calm down. You said they gave you Ativan at the end. You said it helped. It helps me too.

I excuse myself from their room and get lost in the dimly lit maze of their hotel, until finally I find a side exit to the courtyard, and I light a cigarette and text my mom, who happens to be around. I try calling, but this stupid SIM card I got won’t let me connect to the US, so I wait until I’m back at the hotel and Barry is out at his show. The instructions to dial out don’t tell me the overseas rates, but I call my mom anyway, and spend twenty minutes on the phone with her sobbing like a child.

When we check out of the hotel, I’ll find out the call cost me over a hundred pounds, which probably with the obscene exchange rates approximates to three hundred dollars. I rationalize that’s what I would have paid out of pocket for an emergency therapy session anyway.

10. I find your aunt on Facebook and ask her what the family wants done. An hour later she messages me back to say flowers would be lovely. Your mother is beside herself with grief, she says. You were her best friend, she says.

It feels better to be doing something, to feel productive, so I make it my mission to organize the flowers for your memorial. The whole next day between sightseeing at Kensington Palace I’m looking up florists in San Mateo, figuring out who wants to contribute, making sure everyone is included. Bridget agrees to place the order. It’s midnight my time when I run downstairs for a smoke. Bridget and I are trading texts, trying to figure out what to write on the card. I’m not a writer, she says. You should do it, she says. I start crying because I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. When I go to head back into the hotel, a British girl with blue hair sees me wiping at my eyes. She calls me love and asks if I’m okay. I’ve been in New York too long; my own public meltdowns don’t even embarrass me anymore. I’ve forgotten that the rest of the world doesn’t politely ignore you when you’re losing your shit on the sidewalk. I know how I must look, crying messily in my pajamas, walking around like an open wound just bleeding over everything.

I try to stop the tears long enough to assure her I’m fine, really, and when I stumble out the words that a friend of mine just passed away, she grabs me in a hug before the words finish getting out. She’s so nice that it makes me cry even more and I let her convince me to take the free cigarette she offers. She tells me she’s here with her gay husband and I joke through tears that I’m here with mine too. We stand and talk about Camden Market and the magic of New York at Christmastime, and when she’s satisfied I’m not a suicide risk she adds me as a friend on Facebook.

11. Things feel different in Venice. I start to feel like maybe I’ve hit the bottom of this, it’s only up from here, and even as I’m thinking it I know it’s delusional. I had the same feeling when my dad died, and I learned then that grief is not linear. There can be moments where it’s all temporarily bearable, only for a fresh wave of pain to knock you flat on your ass a minute later.

But for most of Venice I feel lighter, like the darkest clouds of the storm have passed. We get lost in the labyrinth of alleyways and eventually I duck into a Murano glass shop. Back in January when I went to Fort Myers, I took an Uber from the airport, and for the first time ever I had a woman driver. During the drive to the beach somehow the subject of this trip came up. I mentioned I’d be in Venice, and she told me how her day job was at an art gallery. They made jewelry from Murano glass, a Venetian technique. She made me promise to seek it out when I went.

The shop has all kinds of figurines, and in the back corner I discover these thimble-sized cows. Cows were your thing. Not just thing—borderline obsession. I still don’t know what it is about them you loved so much, but you did. When I was in Amsterdam I passed by an actual Cow Museum, snapped a photo of the storefront and sent it to you. You couldn’t believe I didn’t go inside. Now I’m here in Venice, looking at these little cows and thinking of you, and of course I have to get them. I scoop four of them into my palm and go to the cashier and whatever part of my heart that’s been healing over gets ripped open raw again. My throat burns too much for me to manage anything more than a cursory grazie as I watch him bundle them delicately in bubble wrap. It almost feels selfish to hurt this much, when there are people in this world who loved you longer and harder and better than I did. But I do.

12. In Florence Barry and I split up for the day. He runs off to the Duomo while I visit the Ambrogio market, the one the owner of our B&B tells me is for locals. I pick up random ingredients for my mother, whose burgeoning interest in the culinary arts still baffles me considering I subsisted on almost nothing but microwave dinners as a child, and two sweaters for myself. 

I’m back at our apartment-sized suite, arranging the packaged pasta and sun-dried tomatoes on the wooden table for an Instagram photo when I click some random button that takes me to my inbox.

There’s only one message in there and I realize it’s from you, from over two years ago. I click to see it’s a video taken in Marie’s Crisis. Some pitch perfect soprano sings bars from an unrecognizable show tune at the piano, and then you turn the camera to yourself, bobbing your head along with a coy smile. I can’t believe it. I click out accidentally and have to Google for instructions on how to find it again. The video is only fifteen seconds but I watch it ten times in a row and then put my head down on the table and cry until it hurts.

13. Bucket list items have a greater sense of urgency now than they used to. At the last minute I find a woman who agrees to take me to a horse farm in Tuscany. She meets me at the Piazza Cavalleggeri behind one of Florence’s countless gorgeous ancient basilicas and takes me to meet her business partner so he can drive. He’s an old guy who speaks zero English, and it becomes evident when he climbs into the driver’s seat that he has Tourette’s. Every ten seconds his tic makes him jerk the steering wheel so the whole car swerves. We lurch our way up narrow roads that wind up huge hills, endless greenery on all sides, the woman chattering happily about vineyards and olive trees as I brace myself in the backseat, positive the guy is going to tic us right into oncoming traffic and certain death. It rains on the way there, and the woman worries it’ll be too wet to ride, but sure enough we arrive and the sky clears up just long enough for me and two other American girls to go for an hour-long trek. It’s been ten years since I’ve been on a horse, and I’m nervous about it, but the second I’m in the saddle everything comes back to me. We ride through steep hills, surrounded by the kind of scenery that’s beyond picturesque. It’s so gorgeous it doesn’t look real, like an oil painting. For the first time in days I feel a weightless kind of happiness. I know as it’s happening that this is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

When the woman drops me back off in Florence, I trip over myself thanking her profusely, holding back tears because I don’t want to explain that that was maybe the most beautiful experience of my life and I’m so grateful that for three hours the Jaymee is dead, Jaymee is dead, Jaymee is dead track stopped spinning in my head.

14. Rome is a welcome change of pace. I like big, bustling, metropolitan cities; they make me feel comfortable. Safe. Even just through glimpses out the taxi window I can see Rome is bursting at the seams, vibrant and colorful and a startling clash of ancient and modern. Our driver asks where we’re from and I say New York. He laughs and tells us he doesn’t like America, but he likes New York.

On a tour of the Vatican museums, our guide shares all the juicy stories of how Raphael and Michelangelo loathed each other, and the illicit love between Antinous and Hadrian, and we marvel at the frescos on every wall and the breathtaking scope of the Sistine Chapel and the inside of St. Peter’s basilica.

I was skeptical as I always am of anything to do with organized religion, but you liked the new Pope. You thought he was progressive, refreshing. You’d joke all the time about your “Jesus problems”, how you struggled to reconcile your Catholicism with your personal politics.

Afterward Barry scurries off to scale the bell tower. I ask our guide if there’s anywhere in the basilica to light candles, like how you can do in St. Patrick’s. She tells me it’s not allowed—it’s too much of a hazard, especially after a crazy man declared himself the second coming of Jesus and attacked Michelangelo’s Pietà with a hammer, chipping off fifteen pieces in the mayhem, including Mary’s nose.

Instead of waiting for Barry outside in the square I retreat back into St. Peter’s, to the closed off chapel. The guard asks me if I will be praying. It forces me to confront what I’m really planning to do, and after a heartbeat of hesitation I stutter out a yes, slip through the parted curtains to the pews. I’ve never prayed in my life; I have no idea how to do it. I look to see how others around me kneel and try to imitate the stance, hands folded in front of me, knees against the padded rest. It all feels clumsy and awkward until suddenly it doesn’t. Suddenly I’m just crying. I watch my thick tears plop onto concrete and absently wonder how many people before me have spilled salt on these floors. Probably a lot.

I don’t know how to pray. In my head I’m just screaming please forgive me, and I don’t know if I’m saying it to God or to you. I guess I know now what Catholic guilt feels like.

I should’ve been there. I should’ve brought Schmackary’s cookies and the good luck donut bag and flown out to California and seen you. Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was? Why did you have to make your yes a joke? (A quip about doctor’s orders, it comes as no surprise you embraced the gallows humor.) Why couldn’t you be earnest? Why couldn’t just say I need you right now, I don’t have much time, please be here? Did you even know? Because I swear I didn’t. I thought I could wait. I thought you had more time. None of it fucking matters because I can’t forgive myself, not ever.

…And that’s it. That’s where I stopped writing. I didn’t cry on European soil again after that. Not because the last cry was cathartic or healing; it wasn’t. The healing would come later, long after my plane touched down again in New York. It happened in ways I can’t explain, slowly, until one day the thought of you didn’t automatically bring me to the brink of tears or knock the wind from me like a sucker punch to the gut, where the tenderness of loving memory ran parallel with the heartbreak rather than being subsumed by it. Eventually the day came where I could think of you and how you were and what we shared, not only of the ways I failed you. A year later and I still think of those too, sometimes. And there are still tears, sometimes.

I feel like I always had this idea that you go through The Worst Thing and life just evens out after that. My Worst Thing happened when I was in my teenage years and I was supposed to be in the clear afterwards. But life doesn’t work that way. There’s no plateau, no neat ever after. And every so often we break in ways where yes, you can scrape the pieces together and carry on, but you’re never made whole again. You’re never the person you used to be. You become a new version of yourself, mismatched and full of jagged lines, and you find a way to forge ahead.

In the immediate soul-crushing wake of the 2016 election, someone created a Subway Therapy project in the tunnel of the 14th Avenue station that stretches from Sixth to Seventh. I went to see it then, a modern day marvel: the long tiled wall papered with thousands of bright post-its, each full of encouragement and commiseration from fellow grief-sick New Yorkers. The sight was a life preserver in the sea of misery I’d floated in that entire week. I was not alone in the feeling, however singularly devastating it felt.

Countless others have been here. I am not the only one to have shed my tears on ancient chapel floors, unable to imagine I would ever feel okay again. Experts painstakingly restored the Pietà after the attack, but if you were to find your way behind the bulletproof glass and touch the Virgin Mary’s cheek, you would still feel hairline traces of their work, a difference of texture; if you were to peer close enough, you would see the faint lines on marble that belie its pristine repair. It was broken once. It could not be remade exactly as it was. It’s no less a masterpiece.

That day in the 14th Street station, I peeled off a blank post-it and wrote out an Abraham Lincoln quote I’d read once: Perfect relief is not possible, except with time. You cannot now realize that you will ever feel better… And yet this is a mistake. You are sure to be happy again.

Time buffers out the rough edges. It is the only thing that does.