He sent me yellow roses after our first date. I couldn't believe it.
There is significance in colors, especially when it comes to roses. Everyone knows a red rose means, “I love you.” Because I once worked in a flower shop, I knew what the yellow ones stood for: Friendship.
This was a good sign. That he wanted to be friends with me, I mean. We had not started out on the best of terms.
We met several years ago, very casually and because each of us was married, there was no reason to file the meeting under any other label but "general acquaintance". Then I heard he got divorced. Then I got divorced. This was followed by accidentally running into each other at a mutual friends party. I think he was just trying to be pleasant but back then I wasn't buying it. I was skeptical and on guard as far as men were concerned. I was polite but distant. I hoped he got the message.
We seemed to be traveling in similar circles because we started running into each other quite a bit. He was unfailingly polite to me, always making a point of asking me how I was doing. I never failed to react to his interest rather than respond. He was just trying to make conversation; I was trying to prove a point: I did not want a man in my life.
The run-ins continued and I gave him a good case of freezer burn on more then one occasion as he persisted in trying to talk to me. I am a little embarrassed about it now, but back then, I was gloating over being so cool and unflappable.
Then, one day we were thrown together by chance and because I was in a rather mellow mood, and we essentially couldn't escape, (we were in a ride share) a conversation was sparked between us that lasted well past the time of release. I realized he was actually a very, very nice man. I don't know what his take on it was, other then being grateful that he got out alive.
After that, I began to look forward to running into him. His smile wasn't quite so threatening to me anymore. His teasing was funny not malicious and I realized he was starting to grow on me. Hmmm, something was melting. Could it really be my heart?
Finally, we did the unthinkable; we went on a date. Yes, with each other. We went to dinner. And we talked. And talked. We talked so long they had to chase us out of the restaurant so they could close it for the night. Still we kept talking. I found myself hanging on his every word. When at last he kissed me, whatever reserve I was holding on to went flying out the window.
I was falling for the guy and falling hard.
So the day after the first date I came home from work and what did I find? A bouquet of yellow roses. Yellow? He wants to be my friend? I was flattered. Being friends sounded nice. Comfortable. Safe. Isn't that what I wanted?
The yellow roses were incredibly lovely. I didn't want to let them out of my sight. I carried them with me from room to room.
But, when I laid in bed that night, breathing in their exquisite fragrance, I couldn't help but wish that if he were to ever send me roses again, he'd choose the red ones.
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