"Cherry, is that you?"
She loves late-night jogging, and his beach house happens to be on the way. Separated by a six feet tall fence, they both have no idea who the other is. Will their chance encounter grow into something bigger? Or was this biza...
The next time I see a gift duct-taped to the fence, I don't even pretend to act surprised. It appears that once the Man With The Ridiculously Deep Voice sets his mind onto something, he doesn't give up until he reaches the endgame; in this case the endgame being me telling him the name of my favourite plant.
Which is quite hilarious if you think about it, so why not entertain his antics?
"Are you ever going to stop leaving these for me?" Not bothering with the polite greeting—since I know very well that he is always there at this hour—I tear off the tiny violet flower and the accompanying note.
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"See, now that's a lie," I quip before he has the chance to hit me with one of his witty remarks.
"First of all, lovely to see you too Cherry," he drawls in that low tone of his. "Second, what do you mean by a lie? I find this line accurately explains many aspects of our life, more than just the fact that the very flower I'd just left for you could have ended up being run over by my car this morning…. For most it's nothing but a weed, but look, now it ended up in your kind hands."
"How do you know I don't throw these out as soon as I leave?" I lie, since his little gifts do in fact make their way to my home. For some reason, I find myself unable to throw them out, so now they're left drying in the hot summer sun on my patio. A dried flower bouquet composed of randomly coloured flowers that some weirdo leaves for me sounds just like something I'd keep around my house.
"I have more faith in you than that," he sounds so sure of himself that it makes me smile. "I like to think I'm a good judge of a character. Being around all sorts of people taught me how to tell the bad and good guys apart. You seem like someone I can trust with my flowers."
I say nothing in response, not wanting to crush his fairytale view of me. "You shouldn't sign the quotes that aren't yours with your name… Or pseudonym."
"And how would you know it isn't mine?"
"Susan Witting Albert," I tell him, "An Unthymely Death and Other Garden Mysteries. Although this quote has been used many times since then."
"And she's a reader too!" I can hear the obvious excitement and it causes my own heart to swell, since I am just now realising how little I talk of my true passions. With anyone. "You're full of surprises, Cherry. What's your favourite book then?"
"What is it with you wanting to know all my favourite things?"
"I love fascinating people, especially those who hide so much underneath the surface," he admits. "You're somewhat of a mystery to me: a girl who ends up in the same spot every night to run off from… Well, that is the part I still haven't managed to crack. Getting to know you is like chipping off these small bits one by one. I feel like I'd literally need to spread you open like a book to finally get a glimpse into your head."
