Page 34 of Fierce

“Nah. I don’t think that’s it. Or not all of it.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Maybe it’s that you are too big, and too…sort of take-charge. She doesn’t really go for guys like you. You know. Hot guys.”

“Could be,” Hemi said. He looked at me again. “What d’you reckon?”

“Oh, now you’re asking me?” I waved an airy hand. “Go on. Please. Continue exploring your bafflement at my resistance to your animal magnetism.”

“That’s right. The animal metaphors.” He told Karen, “We’ll put it that she feels a power imbalance.” He must have heard the snort I couldn’t suppress, because he smiled. “And that she’s not sure yet whether that’s…what she wants.”

“Oh,” I sighed, and, amazingly, forgot him. Because we’d come to the rose garden, and it was enormous. I hadn’t been here in much too long, and I couldn’t imagine why not.

Long rows of flowers stretched before us to either side, a sea of color even in September, near the end of their season. Pure, creamy whites and sunny, vibrant yellows, the blush and glow of pinks and purples, the sensual promise of deep, strong crimson. All set against the glossy green of the well-tended bushes, the brighter hue of the grassy paths. The warm, humid air was so richly scented with them, I was already almost drunk with it.

So much to see. So much to smell, and I needed to start right now.

I let my hand drop from Hope’s back, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was wandering into the garden, opening her arms as if to embrace the beauty surrounding her. Bending to pull a bloom closer with a gentle hand, breathing its fragrance in before moving on, caught up in color and scent.

I’d been right. This had been a good choice.

“She’s going to be totally oblivious,” Karen informed me. “She loves flowers. Somebody sent her these flowers at work this week, and—” She stopped and laughed. “Oh. Duh. That was you.”

“Yeh.” I kept my eyes on Hope, because I couldn’t have looked away. “It was me. Did she bring them home, then?”

“Oh,yeah. Taking up about the whole kitchen table, and that smell’s powerful.”

“And that’s not good?”

She shrugged. “It’s OK. Sometimes I don’t feel great in the morning, that’s all.”

“Oh? Why not? Don’t like school?”

“No. Nothing. I’m going to go sit down in the shade and do my homework. I mean, assuming you don’t want the chaperone thing anymore. I still don’t get why I had to come.”

“Because I scare your sister a bit. I’ll do my best not to, though, so we can leave you out of it.”

“See?” she said. “That, what you just said. Why would you be scary? Hope’s so weird sometimes. Probably because she feels responsible for me and everything. It’s like she’s fifty. Anyway. I’m going to go wait for you guys.”

She was looking a bit white. Maybe just the heat. But she headed over to a bench beneath an arbor and pulled a thick textbook out of her backpack, so she probably did just need shade.

I set out to catch up with Hope. She was still stopping, bending, then moving on, though, not looking at me, or looking for me, either, so I left her alone for a bit and did my own wandering about. Finally, when she was headed slowly back my way again, I went to join her.

“Smell this one,” she said, fingering a deep yellow flower, and I bent my head and obliged. Spicy. “So pretty, too, isn’t it?” she said. “So sunny. And this one.” She was holding a deep red rose now, and I smelled that one, too. Rich and heady.

We moved on, and she pointed out her favorites and bent to smell them again, and invited me to do the same. And it wasn’t so bad at all. Watching a woman experience pleasure was one of my favorite things. And if I liked it best if I were giving her that pleasure…well, I was, in a way, wasn’t I?

“Got a favorite?” I asked her when we’d reached the end of the row.

“Yes. This one.” She took me around to the next row as if it she’d forgotten to be wary, and I walked with her, enjoying looking down at the pale-blonde head. I knew I couldn’t really smell her, not amidst so many competing aromas, but I fancied I could.

She stopped in front of a bush and pulled a bloom toward her with a reverent hand, closed her eyes, and inhaled the perfume as if it were the only scent in the world. “I think…this one. This is the one I came back to twice already. Those are the best things, you know? The ones you can’t help but come back to.”

“Yeh. They are.” I glanced down at the neatly printed green sign. Nuage. Tinted the palest lavender, the inner petals nearly white, folded tightly, preserving their secrets. The outer petals a pinkish purple, delicately ruffled at the edges, offering up their gift of feminine sensuality.

“Smell,” she said, and I bent and inhaled. A bit spicy, a bit sweet. Exactly right. Exactly Hope.

“Mm,” I said. “That’s you. Did you know that flowers have a language as well? Meanings?”

“I’ve heard that, but I don’t know anything about it. Except that roses are for love, or whatever. They have to be, don’t they, since they’re the most beautiful thing there is. And rosemary’s for remembrance.” She smiled. “Hamlet. That’s about it for my knowledge. Do you know anything more than that?”

---