"Time together is just never quite enough
When you and I are alone, I've never felt so at home
What will it take to make or break this hint of love?
Only time
Only time"
- "Saltwater Room", Owl City

The first time he walked into the small book cafe, he'd been sweaty from being out in the summer sun. He'd obviously been working and was still wearing paint spattered work clothes. Still, she could tell he was handsome in a rough, exotic way. His arms were tanned and muscular. His face was rugged and his dark brown hair tussled like he'd just gotten out of bed. He'd smiled at her, a sparkle in his bright green eyes, and gestured to the menu behind her.

"I'll take one mango smoothie, please." His voice was low and melodic, with the distinctive lilt of a Spanish accent.

"Will that be all, sir?"

He nodded, his warm smile never quite leaving his face. She prepared his drink and tried not to wrinkle her nose when he laid out his somewhat grimy change. She smiled politely and told him to have a nice day.

"You too," he winked, which she ignored, and he walked back out into the summer heat. She expected that to be the last time she saw him.

The next day, however, he returned. This time he was dressed in clean clothes, a simple t-shirt and distressed jeans, though his dark, shaggy hair remained an untamed mess on his head. He smiled when he saw her and ordered the same smoothie.

"I didn't get to tell you yesterday, Señorita, but you have a lovely voice." It wasn't the first time she'd had customers flirt with her and this probably wouldn't be the last. Besides, she'd always disliked her voice. It was low and thick, curtesy of her Germanic heritage. Still, he sounded sincere and there was something about his sunny smile and melodic voice, so that, rather than giving her usual cordial acknowledgment, she allowed herself a genuine smile and thanked him.

He leaned forward and propped his chin on his elbow on the counter as she prepared his drink. "What books would you recommend, Señorita? I've been trying to work on my English, you see."

She almost laughed out loud. His English seemed flawless to her. "What kind of books are you looking for?"

She slid the finished drink in front of him, but he didn't move from his position.

"Romance." Something mischievous sparked in his green, cat-like eyes which never left hers.

She raised an eyebrow, hiding a smirk. "But romance is in nearly every genre."

"Hmm. Then something classic. But not too long. My attention span is not very good." She thought the intensity of his eyes said otherwise.

"Most classics are quite lengthy. How about "The Princess Bride"?"

"Oh that's no fun, I've already seen the movie." He frowned slightly. She thought about arguing the cleverness and originality of the book, but decided against it.

"It's only English practice." She shrugged, wiping the counter absentmindedly to avoid those green eyes. They were warm and kind, but, like the sun, burned when looked at too long.

"I want to know what books you like."

Recommending books was one thing, sharing them was another matter entirely. It was like giving away a piece of your heart.

"If you really want a classic romance, try 'Pride and Prejudice'." She said it as a dismissal rather than a suggestion. He was much too intense, too open, too easy to fall in love with. But he grinned and thanked her and finally moved to the book section. She released a deep breath that she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

.

He continued to come throughout the summer. He became a part of her afternoon routine. He'd show up with his messy dark hair, sun-kissed skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, and warm grin. He'd order his mango smoothie and watch her with his emerald green eyes. He'd flirt with her and she gradually allowed herself to playfully respond back. He'd ask for a book recommendation and sit at the table closest to the counter. He'd eagerly show her his favorite passages and read out loud the best quotes. She told herself that this was a summer fling. A game of flirting they played that could be stopped anytime and neither of them would mind.

In the fall she went back to school and only went to work on the weekends. But after weeks of constantly being under his constant sunshine, she felt a cold that didn't come from the crisp, chilly pockets of autumn wind. It wasn't love though. It was just a lack of something that she had grown accustomed to. Like a coffee withdrawal or a slight change in routine. The first Saturday after school began, she found him waiting. He looked a little lost sitting at a wooden table near the door and he drummed out a rhythm with his long, weathered fingers on the tabletop. He'd ordered tea. When she pushed through the door, however, he glanced up and his green eyes burned into hers. He leaped up, startling the other customers, but quickly eased back into his chair sheepishly.

"They said you were coming in today," he smiled. She thought his cheeks were flushed, but it was difficult to tell because of his tanned skin.

"Why aren't you sitting in your normal spot?" She laughed lightly, brushing aside the tiny seed of happiness that attempted to take root in her heart.

"Ah that," he ducked his head bashfully. "Every time I glanced up I kept seeing the nice bearded Señor over there instead of your pretty face and he was starting to look a bit uncomfortable, so…" She laughed for real this time and he looked pleased with himself. Then he tilted his head playfully, "Do you have my book recommendation?"

Unwittingly she gave away another piece of her heart.

Autumn turned to winter, but he never lost his summer warmth. While she was bundled up in thick scarves, fleece coats, and boots he managed to make do with a thick cardigan and the occasional muffler. She was almost certain that if he touched the November snow it would melt beneath his fingertips. His green eyes still left their scorch marks on her heart every time they met, but she promised herself that it wasn't love. In her mind, he was still a summer fling.

.

So her summer continued throughout the peppermint winter months. He still read to her with his new favorite, dark mocha hot chocolate, and he still complimented her with the same genuine smile and burning eyes. Her hair was fine, spun gold. Her eyes the deep green blue of the sea. Her smile a ray of sunshine. Her laugh that of an angel. He told her these things so often she almost believed them. But not quite. Men don't say those things anymore.

.

For Christmas she lent him her favorite book of all time. It would be a lie if she said it wasn't her favorite partly because she shared the same name as the protagonist. When he came, she couldn't help smile a little at how his warm, balmy appearance contrasted against the deep reds and greens of the Christmas decorations. He asked for her recommendation and she pushed her own copy of Emma to him. Its cover was worn, the pages yellowed, and sticky notes peeked out like little flowers, guarding her favorite passages. He took it reverently, his eyes softening to a gentle sea green.

"Merry Christmas," she smiled, feeling a little embarrassed all of a sudden.

"I didn't get you a present though," he frowned slightly, looking back at her.

She shrugged. "That's okay. I'm lending that by the way," she added quickly. "I've had that copy for ages."

He grinned. "Of course. I'll take good care of it." And she believed him.

They chatted for a while, exchanging their usual flirtatious banter. When he left though, her book tucked safely in his arms, he took a piece of her with him.

When they reopened, he returned the book and they discussed the book avidly. He said he'd be her Mr. Knightley. She snorted and told him he couldn't if he tried.

This year, she decorated the book cafe with enthusiasm. She carefully cut the pale pink and deep red hearts and taped them at random throughout the store. She strung up beautiful, lace streamers from the ceiling. She left love quotes in the pages of the books she knew so well. She wrote the menu chalkboard in careful, sloped cursive, dotting the t's and j's with hearts. Valentine's Day was just around the corner.

.

They called her in the day before the holiday because they were a little extra busy. When he walked in though, she stared in surprise, then she inwardly scolded herself. What was to stop him from coming on the days she wasn't there? Surely it didn't matter. Still, she couldn't help but feel oddly betrayed. He seemed taken aback to see her too, but he grinned and waved at her as he approached the counter.

"Hey." His low, melodic voice strummed her heartstrings and she wished the thing would stop sending her confusing messages.

"Hi," she smiled though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"So," he leaned on the counter and her breath caught. "Which chocolates would you recommend for Valentine's Day?"

She looked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then the first winter chill of the season finally pierced her right through to her bones.

"The Ghirardelli chocolates are always popular." She avoided his scorching green eyes.

"I want to know what you recommend."

Her mind said no, but he had already chipped away another splinter of her heart. "Godiva."

He grinned, purchased the heart-shaped box and asked to have it wrapped. As she folded each corner of the rose pink paper, she locked away every memory of summer. He told her it was for a girl he was going to confess to. She wished him good luck. He promising to come again tomorrow as he turned to go, and she wished he hadn't.. She was cold for the rest of the night.

The next day he was burning brighter than before. His hair had miraculously been combed down somewhat and he was wearing a navy blazer over a rumpled collared shirt with slacks. His eyes blazed with a fire she hadn't seen before.

"Here." Was all he said when he passed the wrapped heart-shaped box to her. She stared at it for a moment, a part of her wondering if this was all some sort of joke. Then she saw the note taped to the box. It was written haphazardly, sloping awkwardly to the side in a cursive barely legible. It read "She is loveliness itself - Emma" but 'she is' was crossed out and replaced by 'you are'. Oh how stupid she'd been. She couldn't even take her own advice. She'd shared her heart with him, piece by piece. Now here he was offering his own. He grinned at her lopsidedly and his gaze had simmered down to the gentle, open calm of the sea.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Emma."

A/U: Yay I managed to squeeze in a Valentine's Day fic this year! I was planning on posting a Kikuwan Valentine's Day fic, but it felt too forced so the idea for this came up:) I would've liked to spend a little more time expanding Belgium's character. This is basically a drabble and not as well planned out and edited as my previous fics, but I felt like sharing it anyway ^^

I actually didn't realize I didn't directly mention their names anywhere in the fanfic when I was editing this, but Spain's name is the same as always and I chose 'Emma' for Belgium because I thought it suited her.

Hope you enjoyed reading and post a review to let me know what you think!