It was late Sunday night, and Martin was once again sitting at his consulting desk, paper strewn out in front of him, pen in hand.
He had tossed and turned all night, his fight with Louisa and his conversation with Joan running through his head. Joan was right though, he needed to use the advice from the research he had done and apply it to this situation. After all, the other times that he'd acted upon the advice had worked out in his favour, so he was cautiously optimistic.
He'd thought about going to see Louisa after he'd seen Joan yesterday, but he'd wanted to be fully prepared - he didn't want to leave this one up to chance. Thinking clearly now, he knew that Louisa hadn't actually broken things off with him, but he was terrified that if he said the wrong thing she would. And now that he knew what it was like to truly be with her, he no longer thought he'd be able to go back to being acquaintances.
So, he did the only thing he thought he could do to ensure he that he could say what he wanted without getting flustered. He was writing her a letter.
He wanted to leave no doubt in Louisa's mind that he was sorry for his outburst and that he would do anything in his power to make this relationship work between them.
As Joan had suggested, Martin had gone out early to Truro to buy flowers. He knew he could have saved himself the time and bought them down in the village, but after the inquisition he received after their date, Martin didn't want to fuel any more gossip. The florist had asked him what kind of flowers he wanted and Martin had no idea what type were Louisa's favourite. She was a happy person, and Martin had always thought daisies looked bright and cheerful, so he'd bought her those.
The decision to write to her instead of email had been easy. He wanted her to know how serious he was taking this, and he felt she would appreciate the time he took to write to her this way. Martin placed his pen down and perused the paper he'd spent the last few hours drafting, before folding it and placing it in a blank envelope on the table and sealing it shut. He picked up his pen and wrote neatly on the front. Louisa.
This time however, instead of leaving it on his desk for Pauline to accidentally post, Martin got up, grabbed the daisies and set off at a brisk pace towards Louisa's house.
Upon arriving at Louisa's cottage, Martin could see the lights on. He knew it was cowardly, but not wanting to risk mucking it up by seeing her, he placed the flowers and letter on the landing step, rung the doorbell, and left.