Page 40 of Black Roses

Picking up a pink one, he says, “Pink have many meaning. Elegance, grace, happiness even.” He puts it down to find the final color among the bunch. “Red rose need no explain. Everyone know red. Now you decide. I have customer over there.” He points to a young couple kissing and showing a little more PDA than would be deemed socially appropriate. “They red no doubt. Yes, red and orange.”

I pluck four flowers from the bunch. Every color but red. Then I hand over a rather large tip as he thanks me profusely.

“Red,” he says, before walking away. “Next time we meet, you choose red. You see. Trudowski know things.”

We watch the man walk away, meandering over to his next potential sale.

Our eyes then meet over the top of the roses I’m holding. I hand them to her one at a time.

I give her the white one first. “You are worthy of this rose. You are worthy of everything and anything this life has to offer. I give this to you because I will be here for you, whether it be seven weeks or seven years. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She takes the rose and her eyes flutter closed as she inhales its scent. “But—”

“I’m not done,” I interrupt. “I have three more to go.” I hold out the yellow one. “For our friendship. You push me to be a better friend, a better person, a better man. And I’ll value that long after the petals fall from this flower.”

She takes it, opening her mouth again to say something. I raise my finger to her lips. “Can you keep those pouty lips quiet for two minutes and let me finish?”

Her mouth closes, sealing it shut before she bites the edge of her bottom lip. The small movement causes me to have to rotate my hips and situate myself so she can’t see what her mindless gesture is doing to me.

I hand her the pink rose. “Mr. T says this one represents elegance and grace—both of which you possess. But I believe it also has other meanings. Promise. Possibility. Admiration. Gratitude. You give my life promise, Piper. For years, I’ve lived for one person and only one person, my daughter. Being with you, I’ll be damned if I’m not seeing the possibility of another future and for that I’m grateful.” I shrug my shoulders. “Well, that and I remember in junior high on Valentine’s Day, people would give pink roses to those they secretly admired. I’ve never done it until now.”

She sighs. I can’t tell if it’s a happy one or a sad one. I’m praying for the former. “Mason—”

“Ah ah ah.” I hold up my hand. “I have one more.”

I hold out the orange rose. “Passion,” I say, punctuating the word with prolonged silence. I point my finger between us. “You can’t deny it exists here. And I’m pretty sure you can’t even deny feeling it all the way back in the airport the first day we met. Am I wrong?”

She raises a brow at me. “Oh, am I allowed to talk now?”

Her sassy, sarcastic voice sends tingles through me. I laugh. “Please.”

“Thank you for the flowers.” She bundles them together and takes the time to appreciate each individual scent.

“I’m sorry he didn’t have black. I know it’s your favorite.”

Her hand absentmindedly comes up to finger the tattoo behind her ear. “Why would you think that?” A crevice forms between her eyes as she questions me.

“It’s kind of written all over you.” I nod to her neck and then I pick up her wrist and fondle the bracelet as she watches.

After a moment, she pulls away. “No, they aren’t my favorite.”

“Then why have them all over your body?”

I know I’m pushing her for information. Information she may not be ready to give yet—or ever, for that matter.

“As a reminder I guess.” She twists the rose charm around the leather straps of her bracelet.

“A reminder of what?” I ask.

She’s standing right in front of me, but her eyes are about as distant as I’ve ever seen them. She looks pained. When she answers me, her voice is brusque, alerting me I may have crossed a line. “As a reminder that I don’t like them—what is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

I laugh to try and lighten the mood. “You are a complicated woman, Ms. Mitchell. You know that, right?”

She shrugs and turns around to view the night sky along with the twinkling lights illuminating the neighboring buildings.

I cage her in my arms again. “You know, Mr. T seems to be an expert on roses. He said that all roses have many meanings. Maybe you just need to find another meaning for yours.”

I brush her hair aside and gently rub my thumb across her tattoo. “Maybe one day you’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me about it.”

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