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It’d taken me way too long to decide what to wear for the date. My first official date, ever. I wanted to impress… Though, how necessary was it when I’d apparently been dating the guy for a month. It was like a moment right out of a romance novel. In fact… I had an idea for a new book to write.
I’d chosen my favorite navy blue milkmaid dress. It wasn’t really the most ‘Date’ kind of outfit. In movies, people always wore sexy or super fancy dresses. Something they looked “hot” in. Even my friends always dressed up super fancy for dates… But it was Spencer I was going out with. And I knew… He already knew me so well. Maybe better than I knew myself… Maybe that was from him being a profiler and all. He always complimented me when I was wearing things I felt beautiful in… So that’s what I chose for my outfit. Something I felt beautiful in.
Honestly, every time I thought back on it, I realized just how obvious it was that we’d been dating. I just… I hadn’t seen. I didn’t have the experience… But now I was having my first ever real date… I was so excited…
My copper hair was simply put half up, so that it wasn’t falling in my face. And my makeup was simple. While being done up enough to go on a date, I still felt very much like myself.
I was already in my entryway, when the doorbell rang. I answered it, to see him standing there, bouquet in his hands. It had to be right out of a movie. How else could I be lucky enough to date… Him. He was perfect… Or, at least, perfect for me.
“Hey,” I said, awkwardly waving. I was a bit out of my depth, but by the look on his mind, he didn’t mind.
“Hey,” he replied, holding out the bouquet of flowers to me. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I blushed, taking the bouquet. “I… I need to put these in water. Do you want to come in for a moment?”
“Sure,” he replied.
I stepped deeper into my apartment, and he joined me. His first time in my home… Maybe it was because this was an official date that I felt so awkward. I’d never felt awkward around him before. But now we were official and everything… Everything felt more special. More intimate…
The flowers… He’d gotten me flowers. They were beautiful, loosely put together, almost like a bouquet of wildflowers… But they weren’t wildflowers. All yellow, and a stunning sight to see. Perfect… Except…
Except I was a writer who’d gone down a rabbit hole once on the Victorian Language of Flowers. When I had flowers in my books, they all had meaning… When my character was experiencing love for the first time, they were surrounded by lilac. When a character was two faced, lavender kept popping up. When a character was happy again, after a heartbreak, somehow they’d see Lily of the Valley.
I couldn’t expect Spencer to know the meaning of flowers. After all, he knew practically everything else. He had to not know at least one thing… which meant, I could teach him something, if I ever had the heart to tell him… Because the flowers he’d just given me… How did no one tell him? He definitely couldn’t have known what he was saying.
The flowers were all yellow. Marigold, Carnations, Lilies, even Foxglove. With Cypress branches for the greenery. It was hard to believe someone could pick all those completely innocently… Except… Except I knew Spencer. And he wouldn’t… Especially not for our first date.
“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked, when I’d been quiet for too long.
“Nothing,” I said, not wanting him to think I was upset. The flowers were beautiful… They really were. “Did you pick out the flowers yourself, or did a florist?”
I headed into the kitchen to get a vase, knowing he’d follow me. I could feel his gaze on me, as I went about filling up the vase, and adding the flowers to it.
The question was innocent enough. If the florist picked it, they would have known… They’d had to. But if he did… He was hiding a talent for arranging beautiful bouquets, even if they accidentally meant awful things.
“I did,” he explained. “I remember you said once that you had a soft spot for yellow flowers. While you don’t usually like the color yellow, you love it in flowers.”
“Yeah, I do,” I said, smiling at him.
I fluffed out the flowers a little, so they could sit in the vase as beautifully as they had in the bouquet paper. I set the vase on my counter.
The fact that Spencer remembered that… Well, he’d told me once he had an eidetic memory, of course he’d remember. But still, the fact that he’d thought of it… It was so sweet. So… So him.
“Since your birthday is in January, I got the carnations for your birth flower. And apparently Marigold is the flower for October… I wanted the flowers to represent both of us,” he continued his explanation. I watched him with a smile… If I didn’t already love him, I would have fallen in love with him right then and there.
I loved him.. Of course I loved him. He was… He was amazing. And so kind, and caring. And… And…
“I know you like Lilies,” he continued, not noticing my realizations. I loved him. “And while usually lilies wouldn’t be a good idea since they’re poisonous to cats, I know Lexy said she’d kick you out if you ever brought a cat home. And you said when we met for coffee the first time that fox-glove is your favorite poison because it’s just so pretty. You even told me you liked the yellow fox-glove over the pink… And… Well, I was having a hard time with the greenery, but the cypress reminds me of that one time we went to the park, and you let me teach you how to play chess. We chose the chess table under a cypress tree…”
My eyes started to water, and I hugged him. Because it was just so sweet! Every flower picked specifically for me, to tell our story. Not just from some arbitrary language of flowers. Because… Because he listened to me. Because he knew me. Because he… He…
I blinked away the wetness in my eyes, I didn’t want my mascara to run. I didn’t want to ruin my makeup before even getting started on the date.
I threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. A hug he returned.
“Thank you,” I said, in awe. “This is so sweet. I love them.” I love you.
“I’m glad you do,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
I pulled back from the hug, and looked up into his eyes. They were soft, and warm, and… I could get lost just looking into them.
“But?” he asked, his gaze searching my face.
“But what?” I asked, not quite remembering what we were talking about.
“But there is something about the flowers you don’t like,” he pressed.
I had to tell him, even if I didn’t want to. Because he asked, and I couldn’t lie to him. I promised myself the other day that I’d never lie to him.
“I love them, I promise,” I told him. “I will cherish them forever.”
“But?” he pressed again.
“But… Do you know anything about the Victorian Language of Flowers?” I asked.
“No, I don’t,” he answered, honestly. He looked almost… stunned that there was something he didn’t know.
“Well… According to the Language of flowers, this bouquet is… Saying something not that nice,” I admitted, not looking at him. But I knew he was watching me.
“Oh,” he replied, somewhat awkwardly.
“Yeah, oh,” I said.
“What are they saying?” he asked, curiosity obviously peaked.
“Do you really want to know?” I asked, finally looking up at him again. There was a sincerity in his eyes that I loved.
“I do,” he replied.
“Okay,” I said, before pointing to the carnations. “This one, in this color, says you hate me. It means disdain. These two.” I pointed to the marigold and cypress. “Mean despair. Though on their own, the marigold means cruelty, and the cypress means mourning. The fox-glove means insincerity. And with this one.” I pointed to the lily. “You’re calling me a liar. Yellow Lilies mean falsehood.”
Spencer Blanched. “Oh…”
“Yeah,” I replied. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“I didn’t mean it. I promise I didn’t,” Spencer said, looking at me with all sincerity.
“I know you didn’t,” I said, reaching up to touch his face.
“I can take them back,” he offered, looking worried.
I wished I hadn’t told him, even though I didn’t really have a choice. He looked… Horrified.
“Don’t you dare,” I said, with a ferocity. I would treasure them forever, because they were something better than whatever the language of flowers meant. They showed just how much he saw me.
“But they…” he tried to protest, but I put a finger to his lips to stop him.
“They’re even better than whatever those Victorian people thought,” I said, fiercely, relishing the shocked look on his face. “Because you used them to tell our story. This bouquet is about us. And I love it even more than any of those Victorian bouquets to tell someone you love them. Because these flowers mean more. They mean you see me. They mean you…”
I stopped myself cold, because I didn’t know for sure… He hadn’t said the words, and while his actions spoke volumes, maybe that was just how he was. Maybe he didn’t actually…
“They mean I love you,” he said, talking around my finger. His voice quiet, as if he weren’t meaning to speak.
My heart stuttered in my chest, as he said the word. The same words I’d longed to say to him.
“Yes… that’s…” I stammered. How could I recover from such… I must have been dreaming. I must… “That’s why I love them so much. Because they say that… that…”
“That I love you,” he said again, louder, with more determination.
“Spencer,” I said, removing my hand from his mouth.
Only to stand on my tiptoes, and press my lips there instead. Quick, soft. I didn’t really know what I was doing, I just… did it.
“I love you too,” I said, with a breathy laugh, as I drew back.
And then, his hands were cupping my face, as his lips met mine. It was… a rush. And, like I knew what I was doing, I returned his kiss. My heart felt like it was shattering and mending all at once. He pulled back, to rest his forehead against mine.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I got here,” he said, with a breathy laugh.
“Good,” I said, smiling up at him. Just as breathless. “Because I liked you doing that.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he said, and I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. I wondered if his heart was doing the same.
“I’m pretty sure I’m the undeserving one,” I replied.
“Well, that is simply not true,” he said. “And you can trust me, I know practically everything.”
“Except the language of flowers,” I countered, and he laughed. Another breathy beautiful laugh.
“Except the language of flowers,” he replied.
“And, apparently, first date etiquette,” I added, causing him to pull back, and look at me incredulously.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t think it’s proper etiquette to tell someone you love them on the first date,” I teased. “And I’m sure kissing like that is at least a third date sort of thing… Not that I’m complaining, but…”
“I guess not,” he replied. “But, if you want a proper first date, we should get going. I have reservations at a restaurant, we might be late if we stay here much longer… And we’ll miss entirely if you let me kiss you again.”
I weighed my options. “Let’s go get dinner, and then return to the matter of kissing.”
“I can do that,” he said, kissing my forehead.