The doorbell rings at 6:42 am, just like it has for the past sixteen days. I smile under my pink-striped, flannel blankets. It's so warm and cozy... The doorbell rings again.
"I'm coming," I mumble and fall off my bed. "Oof! That's one way to get up. Or is it down?"
I slip on my fuzzy bathrobe and bunny slippers. Time for my favorite part of the day. I open the door to reveal a single red rose on my snowy doorstep.
"Thank you!" I yell into the wind, hoping whoever delivered it is nearby. I pick up the beautiful flower and put it into a glass vase with sixteen identical roses.
"Aaahh..." I breathe in their sweet scent.
As I go about my daily routine, I wonder who so generously gives me the roses. Do I even want to know? I've never tried to get a glimpse of the person before. I mean, what if he's a disappointment like everyone and everything else in my life? There's only one way to find out, but am I brave enough to face possible disappointment and rejection again? I stare at the roses as if they will give me the answer I long for. The answer I yearn to follow, but am not confident enough to see through. Maybe I should wait for him to make the first move.
"But he has made the first move!" I argue with myself. "He started sending the roses on Valentine's Day, for goodness sake. He wants me to find him! He's begging me to find him!" I better be right.
All of a sudden, I know I can't wait until tomorrow morning. I have to do this now.
I grab my phone. I know exactly who can help me: Siri.
"Where's the nearest flower shop?" I ask.
"OK, here is the nearest bar," Siri replies in her annoying monotone voice.
"What? No! Ugh! I said, 'Where is the nearest flower shop'!"
Finally, Siri finds a little store called Flowers with Flair only twenty minutes away.
After eleven minutes of speeding, I find it. Butterflies turn my stomach into a jumbled mess. I walk in and am immediately calmed by the scent of lavender, frangipani, and, of course, roses.
"Can I help you, miss?" An elderly man asks me.
"Um, well, this might sound strange, but I live on Elm Street, and every day at 6:42 am, a single rose is delivered to my house. Would you happen to know anything about that?"
"Thank goodness. The young man who ordered them told me to deliver them until a beautiful lady asked me about it. Let me tell you, I had to get up a full hour earlier thanks to those roses," he chuckles.
"You're not the only one," I smile. "So, can you tell me who ordered them?"
"I'm afraid not; although, I can give you this," he replies and hands me a letter.
"Thank you very much."
"My pleasure. Have a nice day."
"You too."
I sit in my car and stare at the envelope. "Eliza" is written in flowing cursive. My trembling hands pry open the letter and pull out stationary covered in roses and ten numbers.
••••••••••
"Hello?" a deep voice says. I can't believe his deep voice is coming out of my phone!
"Hi," I squeak out. The butterflies are back but this time in my throat. I swallow. "I got your note."
"Took you long enough."
"Excuse you?"
And just like that, we became best friends--maybe even more. I took a chance, I was brave, and I found what I've always wanted: love.
