AllFreeNovel
Share Us
On my way home from the bar several hours later, I walk past a florist. Vibrant flower arrangements are on display in the window and they serve as a reminder of all of the flowers I never sent Charlotte. And Charlotte deserved all of the flowers in the world. Charlottestilldeserves flowers.
I head on inside. The store smells earthy and floral and a kind woman immediately comes to my aid, because it’s clear by my dumbfounded expression that I’m not the kind of guy who usually sends flowers. There are roses, lilies, orchids, daffodils, tulips .?.?. I don’t know where to start.
“What do you recommend?” I ask the florist.
“Well, what’s the occasion?”
“An apology.”
We put together a bouquet of white orchids that I request to be delivered to Charlotte’s apartment in San Jose tomorrow, and the florist hands me a tiny card to write out a note, if I wish. Or she says I can remain anonymous. The choice is mine. I decide to leave a note with the flowers, and I write:Charlotte,I want you to one day find the love I couldn’t give you. You deserve to be happy. Weston.
And I learn that flowers are way more expensive than I expect them to be.
I pay up and head for the door, but a box of giant red roses in the corner catches my eye. I don’t know a damn thing about flowers, but I do know red roses are the most romantic of the bunch. That’s what you’re supposed to send on Valentine’s Day, after all.
I think of Gracie and the conversation we had the night I cooked her dinner.It’s not all about the romantic gestures.Key word beingall. Treating a woman right isn’t exclusively about the romantic gestures, but they play a big part.
Gracie isspecial to me, and I need her to know that.
“Actually,” I say, turning back to the desk, “I’d like to send another arrangement. Red roses, please.”
GRACIE
There’s an inexpensive one-way flight to Thailand the first week of October. I don’t know why I’m even bothering to check, but I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole. I only checked out someone’s blog post on their experiences traveling solo as a young woman, and three hours later, I’ve plotted a route around Southeast Asia and checked out flights. The majority of solo travelers hop from hostel to hostel, but mine and Luca’s budget always included luxury hotels, and if Ididtravel on my own, my safety and comfort would become even more of a priority. I can afford it. I can actually affordmonthsof traveling in style, but my stomach still knots at the thought of doing it alone. My stomach also knots at the thought ofnotdoing it.
What if, thirty years from now, I look back on my life and regret all the experiences I missed out on simply because I was too afraid? That’s way more terrifying than the fear of eating dinner by myself on the island of Ko Lanta.
But still.
I can’t do it.
I close my laptop and set it to the side just as there’s a knock on the door. Elena’s coming by soon, so I race to the door and pull it open, already smiling.
“Oh,” I say.
It’s not Elena. A woman stands outside my door, her head poking around the giant box of red roses in her arms. Her apron bears the logo of a florist downtown.
“Hi! I have a delivery for Gracie Taylor.”
“Oh,” I say again. “That’s me.”
The woman maneuvers the flowers into my arms and I can barely see around the arrangement. She laughs at the surprise on my face, wishes me a good day, and takes off. I stagger into my apartment, balancing the box of roses precariously in my arms as I carry them to my kitchen. I set them down on the counter and stare silently at them.
They’re absolutely gorgeous. Twenty-four vibrant red roses, perfectly handpicked with not one single imperfection. I press my nose to them, inhaling their freshness. There’s a tiny envelope tucked into the arrangement, which I gently pull out. As I slip the card out of the envelope, my pulse races.
These roses have to be from him.
Iwantthese roses to be from him.
The note reads, in scrawly handwriting:Flowers or bear hugs? I’ll always give you both, Gracie Taylor. Love, Weston.
My heart swells. Happiness rips through me, shooting outward from my chest all the way to my fingertips, until it feels like I’m close to bursting. There’s nowhere else for this joy to go. It hurts, feeling like I’m on the verge of exploding. I love this feeling more than anything else in the world.
I move the roses over to the coffee table where they become the centerpiece, and then I sit down on the couch and gaze fondly at them. My head spins with deep thoughts. Weston has sent me roses.Redroses. The most romantic flowers of all. It’s a grand gesture, but maybe that’s exactly what he’s aiming for. A gesture with a meaning so romantically clear-cut, there’s no doubt at all where his head is. You never have to question what red roses mean.
I can’t sit still. I bounce my legs up and down as a giddy squeak erupts from me.
Weston hasn’t sent me expensive roses for the sake of proving that he’s capable of being romantic. He’s sent roses because this is real. He even said it last week:I like you.Somewhere between him cooking me that dinner and now, the lines have become blurred. I may have told Weston I’d show him how to treat the next girl who walks into his life right, but I never for a second thought that girl would ever be me. Maybe it has been fate, after all.
