A/N: So I was just reading Caddy Ever After again, and I noticed the part about Tom's Valentine's Day card for Rose, and I thought it seemed a bit impersonal. And it also didn't seem like Indigo would have to remind Tom to send a card (which I didn't directly address in this story, but it's implied that Tom was already thinking about it). So I wrote this. I may do Rose's perspective, when she receives the card. But maybe not. Do you guys think I should?

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Valentine's Day was coming up, and I was excited.

Not for school (of course).

Not for the many cookie-cutter Hallmark cards I was sure to receive from flocks of giggling girls. (Why do girls do that, anyway? Stand in groups talking until a guy walks by and then break into laughter. It makes us feel stupid.)

And definitely not for our school's Valentine's Day dance. I wasn't even planning to go, but all of the girls asking me had to be let down, and I was tired of all the emotion.

No, I was excited to see what Rose sent me this year. And to think of something to send back.

Every year since I met Rose, she's sent a creative little card to me, always something about roses. And I, dimwitted male that I am, haven't done anything that nice for her.

The first year, I didn't even send her anything. I wasn't sure if she would give me anything, so I didn't give anything to her. And then I felt horrible when I got her card.

It is not a good feeling, knowing you've disappointed a nine-year-old girl on Valentine's Day.

The next year, I couldn't think of anything, so I just got her one of those cookie-cutter cards that I despise. And a CD of songs I thought she'd like. From what I heard from Indigo, Rose loved it. I still felt bad, though, when I saw how much more effort she put into my card.

So this year, I resolved to do something special for Rose: I drew her a card. Scratch that; I tried to draw her a card.

It didn't turn out so well.

It started fine, with hearts all over the place and a rose-like flower in the center. Then I started coloring it.

And things went south.

After an hour of work, I dusted off my hands (smearing paint all over them) and looked at the finished product.

My satisfied smile twisted into a look of abject horror.

The card was rubbish, as Rose would say. Absolute trash.

Colors blended with colors in a horrific mishmash of paint. Shapes had dissolved into smeared blobs, and the flower at the center no longer even slightly resembled a rose. Or a flower either, for that matter.

I sighed. I was rubbish at art. There went Rose's card.

So I went to Hallmark and picked out a card I thought she'd like (silver dragon, like in Le Morte d' Arthur) and wrote a bland little note and picked out a CD from my stacks at home, and was about to send it off when I remembered.

I'm not rubbish at music.

So I flipped through my journal and found my favorite song of the ones written for Rose, and booted up my computer and pulled out my guitar. I recorded her song (it turned out great, much better than the card) and burned it onto the CD and was about to send it off when I was struck by a horrible thought.

What if Indigo listened to the CD?

That would be… awkward, to say the least. Some form of harassment and/or embarrassment was sure to follow.

So I hurriedly wrote out a set of instructions of how to take the final track off the CD and keep it on the computer. Then, before I could think better of it, I scribbled Love, Tom xxx and slipped the paper into the CD case and mailed it off.

I sighed. Finally, I had done something special for Rose.