This was… uh… unexpected to say the, um… least.
Betty gaped at the flowers like she’d never seen a bouquet before. Truth be told, she hadn’t. Not one like this. Maybe it was sad to say, but in her own experience, bouquets were usually plucked out of rchie’s front-garden, and wrapped in twine from his mom’s scrapbooking set. When Betty’s dad bought her mom flowers, yellow for her birthday, pink for Valentine’s Day, and red for anniversaries, they weren’t awfully… IN BLOOM, either. Though, her mother loved them regardless.
These flowers were… they were splendrous, which was a word she rarely used.
Somehow she clamped down on the age-old cliche of, ‘for me?’ because, quite obviously, they were for her. But… WHY? Warily, Betty took them, and was instantly enveloped in the velvet-rich scent of fresh roses and petrichor, the small spray of water the florist had given them sending memories of getting caught in Summer rain swirling around her head.
Something fluttered. Might have been a petal. It might have been her stomach. Maybe both.
“ Wow, I –- thank you. You really didn’t have to –– like, this is… they’re just… ” Lost for words, she finally smiled. “ Thank you, Declan. ”
WINTER SYMBOLS || not accepting
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