Page 51 of Every Rose

“Because it’s too complicated. Too claustrophobic. Too sticky. I thought you felt the same way.”

“Not really. Especially not the sticky part. Makes me sound like fly paper.”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment. How to say goodbye? After a bout of sex so incredible it was starting to feel like a fantasy, was she going to kiss him on the cheek? Pat him on the back?

He took the decision away from her, leaning in and kissing her swiftly on the lips. As he pulled away she was aware of a sudden and crazy urge to cling, to wrap her arms around him and pull him closer.

But before the crazy idea had made it from her brain to her lips, he was looking for his truck keys.

“Thanks for a great night,” he said, “I’ll call you.”

And he was gone.

She wandered slowly back into her kitchen feeling suddenly like she’d been rude. She could have offered him breakfast. But he’d get the wrong idea. She had to be careful with this one.

The white rose sat on the counter where they’d left it last night, along with the wine bottle she’d taken out of her wine fridge.

She returned the wine to the fridge. Then she moved the rosebud to her coffee table. The tightly furled bud was already beginning to open.

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