Love Me, Love Me Not

Mack smiled confidently as he hung up the phone. He'd just finished ordering two dozen pink carnations, enclosing an invitation for Rose to meet him at the bookstore instead of another poem. Since he'd walked in on Rose and Ronny's strange conversation about shoes, he'd written Rose two more poems. Now he was planning on revealing himself.

He wondered if she would be happy that it was him who had been romancing her or if she would be disappointed, thinking it had been someone else. Mack was pretty sure she'd be the former, seeing as how she took all four poems around with her in her uniform pocket.

Ronny still told him she had no clue as to who Rose thought her secret admirer was, saying Rose refused to give a name to the 'mysterious' guy. Mack found this frustrating, but all the better to surprise her should she meet him at the café in the bookstore. He knew Rose, and he knew she would come. All he could hope for was that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

Mack allowed himself to imagine exactly what was going to happen when he confessed to sending her the poems. He'd watch her come in and call her name as she passed. She'd smile at him and say she was waiting for someone. He'd tell her he already knew that and then he'd recite one of the stanzas from one of the poems. Rose's brown eyes would sparkle the way they did when she was rereading one of his poems, and then she'd throw herself into his arms and thank him.

He was still fantasizing about this when who should come into the room but Rose, her pretty face buried in that silly romance novel, Letters to Sydney. She didn't say anything by way of greeting, just plopped down and turned a page as she went.

"Nice to see you too, Rose," he commented, subtly scooting closer to her. She didn't look up. "So, what made you change your mind about the Civil War soap opera masquerading as a book?" Mack asked, determined to engage her in conversation.

Rose finally looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. "It's beautifully written, Mack. The clever turns of phrase and the passion of the language might be a 'soap opera' but still, I have to appreciate the words if not the actual story. Perhaps if more guys weren't afraid to pour their hearts out on paper you might understand Tate's position better."

Mack blinked.

--

The following day, Rose was curled up on an orange couch yet again, daydreaming. She was still doing so when Spencer came in with a huge red vase filled with pink carnations. "Delivery, Rose," he announced unnecessarily. "Seems your secret admirer is not going to limit himself to poems." The butler took a tiny envelope out of his pocket. "This came with your flowers. There is most likely a clue to the young man's identity printed somewhere."

"Wow," Rose breathed. "They're beautiful." She took the envelope from Spencer and drew out a tiny pink card. She read it immediately, desperately wanting to discover whether or not Darren was the author of the poems.

Rose,

I'm sure by now you're anxious to discover who I am. So, if you want to see me, I'll be at our favorite bookstore tomorrow around three in the afternoon. Whether you accept me or reject me, I'll always be yours.

P.S. I'll be in red.

She beamed happily. Tomorrow she would see the sweet guy who had romanced her. And, Rose remembered, tomorrow was the day of Darren's book signing. The mystery writer had to be him. She could hardly wait.

--

"OK, Mack, you can do this. You can do this. Even if she doesn't want you, it's still Rose. She'll keep it to herself. You can do this," Mack said to himself as he sipped his coffee. He was still waiting for his pink ranger to show up, but it was only ten til three. She'd come.

And suddenly there she was, dressed simply in a black tank top scattered with pink polka dots and a short black skirt. She looked very nice, serving only to make Mack even more nervous than he already was. "Hey, Rose," Mack called. "Want a free coffee?" He waved the cappuccino he'd bought for Rose in her general direction.

Rose smiled and went to the table he was sitting at. "Thanks Mack," she said, and took a sip. "This is my favorite flavor. Lucky guess?"

"No, I just remember things." He pretended to check his watch. "What are you doing here? More romance novels calling your name?"

Rose laughed, and a slight blush stained her cheeks. "I'm actually waiting for someone. It's kind of silly, but it's sweet and special at the same time. You know those little poems I've been getting? I'm meeting Darren here, the guy who wrote them."

Mack, who had been smiling as Rose went into her explanation, suddenly looked heartbroken. "Rose," he began, "Darren didn't write the poems for you. I did."

"Oh very funny, Mack. Look, you're my friend, so you should be happy that I found Darren. Quit joking with me. It's not amusing."

Mack's face crumpled with hurt. "I'm not joking around with you, Rose. I would never joke about that. I really did write the poems for you." And he proceeded to recite one of the poems in its entirety. Rose stared at him in disbelief.

"I can't believe you would read something that special and private, Mack. I can't believe you would just sit here and mock me because Darren was thoughtful and romantic enough to pour his heart and soul out to me. I can't believe you'd be that shallow and hurt me like this!"

"I would never hurt you Rose. In all honesty I would rather die than hurt you." Mack reached across the table for her hand. She snatched it away. She stood up in a hurry, knocking over her chair in the process. She looked down at him, hurt and anger in her eyes, shook her head and turned on her heel and strode through the store.

She saw a crowd gathered in the back of the store, most of them in line for a table, behind which sat Darren. Darren would fix this, she knew he would. He'd tell the crowd of fans to

leave so he could have some privacy with her, pull her into his arms and kiss her and say everything was all right now.

"Darren, who's this charming lady friend of yours?" called a man who appeared to be a reporter. Rose looked around –she knew the reporter hadn't seen her- and saw for the first time that an attractive brunette was sitting beside Darren, gripping his hand. Rose felt her hackles rise as the brunette giggled and rested her head on Darren's shoulder.

"My fiancée, Amy," answered Darren, and Rose felt her heart break. She turned and ran through the store again, realizing as she went that Darren had been wearing a black shirt and Mack had been wearing red, just as her note had said.