Page 48 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

“I’ll just deal with the thorns,” I finally muttered, ripping the gloves off and picking up the shears with much more ease.

Isobel snickered to herself but said nothing. I scowled her way, except she looked so content and at home snipping flowers that all my grouch dissolved. It didn’t even bother me—much—when I pricked my finger again thirty seconds later.

We worked in comfortable silence until the flowers were ready. Then Isobel bundled them together and found a yellow ribbon on her shelves to tie them with.

“Should we leave a note with them?” I asked. “So she knows they’re from him?”

Isobel gazed at the roses a moment before nodding. “Yes. Definitely.”

So we trekked back to the library to find some paper and a pen, where Isobel immediately handed me both. “You write it.”

“No way.” I shoved the paper back at her. “I have awful penmanship.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s probably more male than mine. Mrs. Pan would never believe Lewis wrote the note if we left it in my looping, feminine scrawl.”

“Good point.” I made a face. “Dammit.” Taking the pen and paper from her, I grumbled, “What do I say?”

She shrugged.

I sighed and wiped the back of my hand across my forehead, already feeling too stressed to deal with this task. “Okay, fine. What’s Mrs. Pan’s first name?”

A blush lit her cheeks before she confessed, “I have no idea.”

“Oh, Jesus.” We were doomed. Until an idea hit me. “Ooh, I got it.” I bent to set the note on the table and began to write, “To the best cook and mother I know. Thank you for being you. You make coming to work each day less about income and more about getting to see you. Lewis.”

When I glanced up, eyebrows lifted, to gauge what she thought of that, I caught my breath when I saw the look on her face. She stared at me as if I’d written some of those parts about me and her instead of about Lewis and Mrs. Pan.

The scariest thing was, I had.

I swallowed and straightened before folding the note and extending it her way. We never took our eyes off each other as she slowly received it and brought it to the bundle of roses she was still holding to her chest.

“Thank you,” she murmured as if thanking me for writing those words to her and not for handing her the note.

I nodded, unable to speak.

Another

moment of intense staring continued before we both glanced away.

She cleared her throat. I rubbed the back of my neck.

“Maybe, we should, uh…” I fumbled awkwardly before motioning toward the door. “I mean, do you think it’s a good time to plant the surprise now? She shouldn’t be in the kitchen at this time of day.”

“What?” Isobel’s lips parted as her blue eyes met my brown. Then she blinked rapidly and glanced down at the roses. “Oh…right.” She shook her head from the trance she’d been in. “Yeah…I mean, yes, now’s a good time.”

So we stealthily stole our way to the kitchen. I led the expedition, checking around each corner first before waving her to follow with the roses. The kitchen was indeed empty, though the most lovely baked bread smell floated from the oven where it appeared Mrs. Pan was cooking homemade loaves.

I motioned Isobel into the room. She hurried to me, her eyes wide. I swear I could hear her heartbeat thumping as fast as mine was. We were such nerds, getting this big of a kick out of planting romantic gifts for other people. But hell…it was fun.

“Where?” She whispered the word, glancing around the kitchen for the perfect spot.

I started to shrug, but stopped short when I heard a sound at the back door.

“Shit! Here she comes,” I hissed, probably whispering too loud as I grabbed Isobel’s arm and hauled her out of the kitchen with me. She squeaked out her worry and surprise, tossed the roses on the table, and stumbled after me.

We tripped to a halt just outside the entrance at the same time and stared at each other with wide eyes, silently communicating how glad we were that we hadn’t gotten caught when I realized I was holding her wrist of the scarred hand. The skin was rough against my thumb and I wanted to explore more, shift my finger further along her flesh to investigate all the unique ridges, but she didn’t seem to realize what I was touching, and I didn’t want to bring it to her attention in case it freaked her out. So I held my breath and stayed as still as possible as I watched her face, while she listened to Mrs. Pan’s footsteps move through the kitchen.

We could tell the moment she saw her present. A gasp filled the kitchen and spilled out into the hallway where we were hiding.

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