Chapter Text
~one~
The gentle tingle of the entrance bell signaled what should have been the start of a typical Tuesday for Helen.
Mrs. Walters would come in five minutes after opening to pick up a bouquet for her wife, drop off fresh scones, and catch up with Helen before heading off to work. Then Helen would spend the next few hours helping customers put together bouquets, finding the perfect plants for their homes, and chatting with regulars about the books they’d read since last stopping in and any updates in their lives. At noon, Helen would hang a “gone fishing, come back later” sign on the door so she could head to the coffee shop across the street for book club and an earl grey tea. When she reopened at 2 she’d put together any upcoming delivery and pick up orders, water the plants, and put in her weekly order with the local nursery before closing. After triple checking the lock and security system, Helen would walk to the subway station and take the subway back to the Upper West Side apartment her mother had gifted her for college graduation. Once she arrived at home, she’d play with her cat Lilibet until their shared dinner time, reheat her leftovers with a glass of her regular Chardonnay, and pick at them while watching Jeopardy. At 9pm, she’d take a bath with another glass of wine and whatever trashy romance novel her customers had last recommended, and when the water was unbearably lukewarm or Lilibet summoned her to bed she'd change into her “forget love, I’m falling in chocolate” pj set and read in bed until she fell asleep.
The problem with this particular Tuesday was that when she looked up at the ringing bell, it wasn’t Mrs. Walters entering Hel’s Bluebells, it was a frazzled man holding a sparkly leopard print box and looking lost. As he stepped in, Helen arched her brow, trying to figure out why he was tracking glitter into her otherwise clean shop and if she was expecting any deliveries.
Before she could greet him with her regular “Welcome to Hel’s Bluebells!” or ask about the box, he quickly blurted “This isn’t 42 Broadway, is it?”
“Nope, that’s next door,” Helen replied, and she watched him shake his head and run back out onto the Brooklyn street she considered a second home.
Hel’s Bluebells had been funded with the inheritance she received when her great aunt died just after her twenty-fourth birthday as a means to escape her family’s expectations and set upon her own path. She’d lived with Aunt Nellie for a brief period during her time at Columbia, and had found freedom in discussing a life that wasn’t filled with her mother’s list of most eligible bachelors and working day and night at her father’s law firm. She’d always been close to her aunt before their stint as roommates, the duo often referring to themselves as Hel and Nel, and Aunt Nellie had always pushed Helen to think for herself and what she really wanted, not what the Sharp legacy dictated. Helen’s love for flowers came from summers spent at Aunt Nellie’s summer home on the coast of Maine where they’d make centerpieces and bouquets for the tea parties Helen’s mother insisted they throw, and as Helen grew up they’d discussing botany at length, even when summers called for internships instead of seaside frolics. When her Nel had passed during the gap year she’d taken to study for the bar and left Helen everything she owned, Helen had secretly bought the 40 Broadway storefront before her parents could get a word in edgewise. She’d named Hel’s Bluebells after the nickname only Aunt Nellie was allowed to call her and her favorite flower they’d tend to during those coastal summers.
Over the past five years, the neighborhood around the store had stayed mostly constant. There was a cafe across the street that hosted weekly bookclubs, a corner grocery store with the best bagel Helen had ever tried, a family-owned bookstore, and several trinket shops that Helen secretly loved to peruse. The oddity on the lively street had always been 42 Broadway, the storefront immediately to the right of Hel’s Bluebells. About every six months some new business would move in, open up for three months, and then sit empty for another three months when the business venture eventually failed. She’d seen a music store, a cobbler, a clothing boutique and countless other small businesses try and fail to make a permanent home on Broadway. In fact, the building had sat empty for the last year or so after the owners of the lotion shop that had last resided there decided to move back to Connecticut, and Helen had started putting planters out front to try and cheer up the only vacant spot on the street once no one moved in around month six.
As she waited for Mrs. Walters to officially kick off her Tuesday, Helen couldn’t stop thinking about what might be opening up next door, if the man had correctly identified where he was supposed to be taking that monstrosity of a box, and more importantly if she had time to move her planters back over to her side of the property line before the new owner noticed. In fact, she was so lost in thought about it, she didn’t notice Mrs. Walters had arrived until a brown paper bag was dropped in front of her.
“Good morning dear! Elsie made fig scones this week and sends her love.” Helen opened the bag to take out her scone as Mrs. Walters continued, “What’s going on with the boxes out front? New store opening up?”
“I’m not sure,” Helen replied. “I’ll have to check on my way to Lisle’s later.”
“Well, I hope this time it’s something that sticks. As much as I’d love to chat like usual, I do have to get headed toward an appointment.”
Helen took the cue to hurry up, and went to the back to fetch the bouquet she’d put together of fresh peonies, and made sure she’d properly wrapped them so they’d stay fresh until Mrs. Walters could get back home. It wasn’t often Mrs. Walters couldn’t talk, but it wasn’t unusual either, so all-in-all it felt like Helen’s day was going back to normal, aside from the mystery of who was moving in next door.
The rest of Helen’s day proceeded as usual, including a lovely discussion at book club about Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower, until the clock hit 4 and she began to close the shop for the night. As she went to flip her window sign off, she noticed that a baby pink Jeep Wrangler had parked out front in the clearly marked “30 Minute Delivery Parking Only” area in front of her shop and the two shops on either side of it. She wasn’t usually one to nitpick parking, but the Jeep was parked halfway on the sidewalk, dangerously close to hitting the flower pots she’d just hauled out of winter storage, and there was no one around actively unloading or loading anything into it. She figured it belonged to someone in a hurry, and was about to lock up and head home when she noticed a trail of bright pink glitter from the trunk to the entrance of 42 Broadway. She could excuse most things, particularly if it was a one-off faux paus from a customer, but her new neighbor blatantly ignoring the law and littering microplastics all over Helen’s property was just enough to set her off.
Helen stormed over to the doors of 42 Broadway, noting that her planters were still intact for now, and tried to calm herself down before knocking three concise curt knocks. She mumbled to herself “Calm down Hel, it’s not going to help anything if you blow up on them before you’ve even met. Be nice.” as she waited for someone to come to the door, but no one did. She took a moment to look closer inside to see if anyone was in there, but all she saw were several of the atrocious leopard print boxes like the one that had entered her store that morning, half-painted pink walls, and a leopard print couch in the shape of lips. She knocked again, hoping someone would answer so she could berate them on the environmental impacts of glitter and remind them of basic parking decency, but as she stood there no one came.
Frustrated as she was, Helen knew when to call it quits and decided to head home and continue on with her night as planned. Lilibet was particularly snuggly, and she was almost able to forget the events of the day before dozing off around 10.
***
The next morning Helen got up, took the subway back to Brooklyn, stopped for her usual americano, and headed to the store to prepare for the day ahead. As she approached she noticed two things. First, the glitter from the night before had been swept up and was nowhere to be found. Not even a stray speck had interspersed itself with the regular dirt of the sidewalk, and the sidewalk itself looked suspiciously clean, as if someone had powerwashed it overnight, even though city maintenance had yet to fill the evergrowing pothole she’d called about 2 years ago. Second, she noticed that the two planters she’d had outside of 42 Broadway had been moved next to the planters that framed her entryway, and more importantly that a piece of paper seemed to be taped to the front of one. Helen took a moment to give each planter and its contents a once over, and once she had determined they hadn’t taken any damage–in fact they looked better than any time she’d moved them–she picked up the paper and went inside.
After putting her coat and bag in the back office, setting out the discount bouquets that hadn’t sold the day before, and giving the store a quick sweep, she turned the open sign on and got to work at the front counter. She intended to check enrollment for the afternoon’s workshop and to start getting out supply kits for it, but first she wanted to see if whoever had moved her planters had left the paper as a note, or if it was just another piece of litter that happened to land itself in her flowers.
When she picked up the paper from the stack of miscellaneous items on her desk in the back, she caught the slightest whiff of a warm vanilla scent. Upon turning the paper over, she saw that there was a note, written in a flowing and excessively curly cursive.
“Heya! Sorry for the glitter mess, I had Stefan clean it up. I also figured these were yours since the old owner didn't mention anything about planters so I had S move them too! xoxo M”
Helen could only assume that Stefan was the intruder from yesterday and that M was the mysterious new owner of 42 Broadway. The note calmed her fears about “M,” particularly that they were the type of person to leave glitter, Helen’s detested, everywhere and that they weren’t too upset about the planters. The previous owner had been upset to move in to planters outside their door, so this neighborship seemed to be off to a much better start–glitter withstanding.
Fears assuaged, Helen turned back to her laptop to run the report for her pressed flower art workshop and make sure she had enough supplies while she still had time to run to the art store. The event had sold out since she last checked, and there was a five person waitlist so she made note to look for supplies for 25 in case she could offer those on the waitlist a spot. Usually she would’ve stuck around later the day before to prepare for a workshop but the interaction with Stefan and subsequent glitter bombs had momentarily wiped this week’s workshop from her mind. She went into the back room again, this time grabbing the bucket of modge podge, her mason jar of paint brushes, and the frames she’d thrifted over the weekend. Due to the time constraints of the workshop, she’d pre-pressed a wide variety of flowers for her customers to use. While she much preferred getting to teach them the whole process rather than guiding them gently to a finished product, the pretty finished product workshops always seemed to sell better. The workshop wouldn’t begin until 2pm, but Helen liked to have everything out front hours in advance in case of an unexpected rush, or on particularly slow days her affinity to getting lost in a novel.
After she finished organizing the workshop supplies on the craft shelf behind the front counter, she checked her clock and saw it was only 11am. Wednesdays were typically slow days, hence the biweekly afternoon workshops she held, and since it was the middle of March there weren’t any major holidays to boost drop-in customers. She had just settled in with a well-worn copy of Jane Eyre, when she could’ve sworn she heard a faint noise from next door. Some sort of low hum that was making its way through the walls. Helen brushed it off as nothing–now that someone was moving in next door she must be hearing things or if there actually was a noise it was likely just a side effect of moving in. As curious as she was about her new neighbor M, she hoped the move-in process would continue to be as minimally disruptive as possible–if there was one thing Helen disliked more than glitter it was excessive noise. She turned back to her book, and settled in to reacquaint herself with the familiar passages detailing Jane’s arrival at Thornfield, immersing herself once again in a literary world filled with the all-encompassing romance she just couldn’t seem to find.
After about fifteen minutes of reading, Helen started to hear noise from next door again. This time, she could identify that it sounded like music, but couldn’t quite identify the song until she heard a feminine voice scream out “H-O-T-T-O-G-O” in time with what apparently was Chappell Roan’s HOT TO GO. While slightly irked by the sudden presence of uncontrolled noise, Helen recognized that moving without music was quite mundane, and she decided she’d put her folk playlist on to see if that would cover up the noise creeping through the walls. This tactic worked for approximately five minutes before the music next door got turned up loud enough that she could hear the lyrics through the wall. Helen decided to move to the cozy chair she kept in the back room with a perfect view of the front door since business was still slow, but as she sat there trying to read for another 10 minutes still hearing Chappell Roan’s entire discography at full blast she was quickly approaching her limit. She’d need to haul out the old wooden folding tables and finish setting up for the workshop soon, and the impending headache from dance-pop was quickly turning Helen’s Wednesday from average to arduous. She decided to see if moving the tables and doing some more work would help assuage her ire, so she set about finishing up the remaining tasks for the workshop. The problem was, that when Helen finished setting up, the music seemed to have somehow gotten louder, to the point where it was entirely overpowering her preferred gentle folk songs, and felt like the music was coming from Hel’s Bluebells itself. Having had enough, she decided to march over there and have a word with this M figure about appropriate music volumes, particularly during open hours, and finally solve the mystery of who was moving in.
As Helen left, she resolved to try and handle the situation with grace–afterall M seemed perfectly reasonable based on the note from this morning, and surely someone who was conscientious about glitter removal from the streets would be understanding about noise polluting someone else’s business. She calmly walked over to the front door of 42 Broadway and knocked three times, hoping this time someone would actually answer. She could hear the music even louder from the front stoop, and when she peered inside in a manner similar to the night before, she once again saw an entirely empty storefront aside from the boxes. She turned to go back to her store and file a noise complaint with 311, but as she turned around she ran directly into the man from the day before.
“Oh I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed.
“Uh you’re all good. Can I help you with something?” He responded
“Uh yes actually. I was wondering if I could speak with the owner. I’m assuming you’re Stefan based on the note she left me, which is really beside the point. I need the music you have playing turned down–it’s bleeding over into my shop and entirely unbearable.” Helen rambled.
“So sorry, Mad must’ve left it blasting when she ran out for coffee. She’s the owner but she won’t be back for a few hours. So sorry to bother you again, I’ll turn it off pronto.”
With that, Stefan hustled around Helen and quickly entered the store, closing the door sharply behind him. Helen was briefly taken aback at his curtness, but when she heard the music turn off entirely she decided to call a win a win and head back inside to try and finish a few more chapters before workshop guests would begin arriving.
After a quick Lean Cuisine lunch, and a few more chapters of Jane Eyre, Helen settled at the front counter to run inventory and do a final check for the upcoming workshop. She had found enough supplies to admit everyone off the waitlist, and was just sitting around waiting for the early workshop regulars to start arriving around 12:45. Once they arrived, she caught up with them and got them settled before greeting any new customers and helping them start picking out a frame and flowers to modge podge to the glass inside. Everyone had shown up, which for Helen meant she could float around and mingle with everyone rather than try and facilitate a more properly taught workshop as her regulars were more than happy to assist newcomers.
About half an hour into the workshop, while everything was going swimmingly, Helen had almost forgotten about the morning’s music debacle and found herself thinking about the mysterious M, or she guessed Mad based on her brief interaction with Stefan. It was clear that whoever Mad was, she was used to getting her way, which could prove difficult if Mad's way continued to interfere with Helen’s peace. As Helen decided everyone was working well enough that she could start a project of her own, she started hearing an incessant tapping noise on the wall Hel’s Bluebells shared with 42 Broadway. She assumed someone was hanging something next door and foolishly, in hindsight, decided to ignore it just like she had the music earlier. Helen continued to pick out her frame and the flowers she wanted to use, and sat next to a newcomer while the tapping turned into pounding and became more rhythmic with the occasional extra loud thud to the point where Helen was convinced whoever was on the other side was trying to break through the wall.
Aside from her two previous trips to 42 Broadway, Helen considered herself a gracious neighbor, particularly whenever a new neighbor was settling in. This however, was a step too far. How was Helen supposed to lead workshops if her guests couldn’t hear her over the music next door or were constantly being bombarded with repetitive banging sounds? One thing Helen knew was that she needed to get to the bottom of this and meet whoever was responsible, since it clearly wasn’t Stefan, and express her concerns before it got to be unbearable to share a wall, or at least more unbearable than it was quickly becoming.
This time as Helen stormed over to 42 Broadway, she didn’t bother trying to calm herself down or knocking. Clearly her neighbor had no regard for her, so why should she show regard for them. As she angrily marched over and slammed the door open, she could do nothing but freeze when she and looked up to see a stunning blonde waving a hammer around like it was a threat in a baby pink Lululemon workout set leaning over the edge of the ladder, with the faint lines of a tramp stamp peeking over the waistline of her leggings.
“Are you finally here to collect on that kiss?”