The Days of Mail and Roses
By Felicia Ferguson
Author's Note: Usual disclaimers in the first chapter titled, July. Enjoy!
August
Over the next few weeks, Shane did exactly what she knew she should not do. She watched the pot. Despite her mental acceptance that rooting would take the time it took, reality held no sway in her curious heart. And checking the rose cutting became the last thing she did before she left for the DLO and her first priority when she got home in the evening.
She'd crouch by the plant stand, turning the pot this way and that and stare at the drainage holes in hopes of seeing the tiniest white threads peeking out from the dark soil. But there was nothing. She'd begun debating whether she should start talking to the cutting. She'd read that encouraging words seemed to help plants grow, but was she ready to risk a trip to a psych ward if her neighbors caught her? Maybe next month.
Besides, she'd followed the hormone directions exactly. Humidity had built and continued to dampen the walls of the cutting's two-liter confines. Even the soil was perfect for rooting flowers. So, roots had to follow, and soon.
If the lack of progress on the rose cutting wasn't enough, following her own self-prescribed directions when it came Oliver hadn't resulted in any progress on that front either. He had yet to mention trying something more official for their first dinner. And what few moments they'd had for quiet conversations seemed to always be interrupted by a new batch of letters, Norman's panicked questions, or Oliver's own hesitancy.
After a while, though, Shane decided maybe the creeping pace really was for the best. Given their recent mutual emotional upheaval, they both probably needed time to come to terms with his divorce from Holly and her contacting Steve.
So, she did the only thing she could to hold onto their connection from D.C. She focused on the search for the McInerney house plans, which unfortunately had been a fruitless effort. Until one Wednesday in the middle of August.
Caught up on the usual DLO tasks, she'd sighed and started yet another search. She was scrolling through a series of plans when her eyes caught on one in particular. The rooms were in all the right places, and the exterior was in the right material. Even the roofline was similar. There was only issue—the front porch. There wasn't one. But maybe it was good enough?
She bit her lip as she looked up from her computer screen, eyes landing on Oliver as he sat at his desk and studied the latest dead letter under his magnifying glass. His gaze met hers as it often did when they each silently searched out the other. His brows lifted with a wordless question, curiosity lighting his eyes.
Shane thinned her lips in a fond smile and felt her own gaze warm. "Oliver, I found something close to my house plans. It's not exact, but it's the best so far. Want to take a look?"
He dipped his head in a quick nod and joined her behind her desk, leaning into her personal space to peer at the screen.
Shane caught a whiff of his cologne and froze. He was close. Very close. If she turned her head only a few inches, their lips would easily touch. All thoughts of house plans and empty lots left her brain. The air between them stilled. Her tongue darted across her lips as his breath brushed her cheek.
Then Oliver stepped back and took in a sharp breath.
She couldn't help turning to study his face. His mouth slightly parted. Eyes glinting with an odd, but attentive light. Even the pulse in his neck hiccupped against his skin.
Yes. He was as affected as she.
"Oliver?" His name fell from her lips, unbidden and loaded with so many questions and even more longing.
But rather than opening the door between them further, it only jarred him back to the original question, breaking the charged moment. Oliver closed his mouth, eyes flicking back to her screen. Nodding again, he clasped his hands behind his back.
Shane's stomach sank, and she forced her eyes to the house plans.
"There doesn't appear to be a front porch on these plans, Ms. McInerney." His studious tones softened with concern. "That is an integral part of your ancestral home for you, isn't it?"
Heart melting at his sweet query, Shane nodded and turned her gaze back to his. "Yes," she murmured. "It is."
Boyish delight lit his blue eyes, and it took everything in her to keep her hands on the keyboard instead of cupping his cheeks.
Oliver must have read the battle in her eyes because he stepped back even further. Rising on his toes, he said, "Then you must press on in the search. The architect will be making enough changes with the expansion. We must at least start with the original as it was."
He walked around her desk, eyes darting around the DLO as if searching for an escape back to their customary professionalism. His gaze landed on Norman, who sat at his desk flipping through a book of stamps. "Ah, Norman. What is the latest news on the upcoming collectors' stamp release?"
As Norman began a hesitant review of the potential stamp profiles and release dates, Shane glanced over to Incoming. Norman was oblivious as usual, but had Rita caught the charged interlude with Oliver? Rita's amused, knowing gaze assured Shane she hadn't missed a moment. Flashing her a quick, hesitant smile, Shane clicked out of the house plans and returned to the search.
##
After an enlightening conversation with Norman about the upcoming release of the Presidents' Day Forever stamp, Oliver settled back behind his desk and returned to his perusal of the dead letter. He had just begun to make out the destination address when Ms. McInerney had called him over to her computer. Pleased with the opportunity for a moment together, he had readily released his study of the envelope.
But the moment had heated more quickly than he was prepared for and he backed away, needing space from both the physical and emotional tumult. Perhaps like the porch swing, obtaining her ancestral home lot, coupled with his spontaneous cutting of the rose, was a bit premature for their current relationship status?
Dad's voice slipped through Oliver's head posing his own question.
"Have you asked her out yet?"
He had posited the scenario as Shane's belated birthday party drew to a close, and she was packing up her gifts.
Concerned Shane might have overheard Dad's question, Oliver had shot him an uncomfortable look. "Ah, no. We work together. I am her supervisor. I don't believe it would be proper."
Dad had shrugged then clapped him on the shoulder before heading out. "Just something to consider. You two click when you're together."
Oliver pulled his thoughts back to the present as his gaze drifted back to Shane. Seated behind her floating desk with her lower lip tucked between her teeth, she was the picture of loveliness. But more than that, despite her proclivity for the twenty-first century, Shane was a near-perfect mirror for himself. Insightful, caring, considerate, and, yes, efficient. Even her brazen manipulations always seemed to originate in a desire for the betterment of others. An ideal to which he wholly subscribed, albeit using a much different approach.
Oliver nodded. Yes, he had to agree with Dad. He had never experienced their type of … clicking … with anyone—even Holly. But Dad was also right again. There was an established order of progression for relationships—something he had not followed with Holly which led to disastrous results. He did not want to repeat that experience with Shane.
Yes, he would follow proper etiquette with her. He would be more circumspect in their interactions, taking pains to allow them to get better acquainted outside the DLO before rushing even further ahead.
She was worthy of a formal courtship.
##
That evening, Shane sighed as she filled her watering can and scanned her back porch. Just when she thought he might make a move, Oliver had backed away. Again. Granted they had been in the DLO during work hours and Rita and Norman were only feet away, but would it have been too much to ask for Oliver to at least touch her shoulder, or take her hand … or … do something … to show he wanted more with her than heated stares across the room? She wrinkled her nose. "Apparently yes."
The odd sound of pooling water jerked her gaze back to the sink, and a curse rushed off her lips. She shut off the water and tipped over the watering can, letting some of the excess escape, before heading out to the porch.
She absently finger-combed her hair over her shoulder as she drenched the pot of red begonias. "But it was sweet of him to push for the exact house plans." She moved on to the planter of lilies and dwarf dahlias. "So that must be something, right?"
She turned and bumped the plastic two-liter bottle covering her rose cutting. Wincing, she set down the watering can and slipped the cover off of the pot. Water dripped from the inside, dampening her hands as she studied the plant. The leaves and stem were still a healthy shade of green. The soil was appropriately damp. And it had been almost a month. She peered at the drainage holes. Still no obvious roots.
Flattening her lips, she rocked back on her heels. "Maybe they're just hiding?" She turned the pot and bit her lip. "It wouldn't hurt to check." Ignoring the prickling in her gut, she gently pinched the rose stem. It moved. Easily.
"Oh no." Sighing, she gave it a careful tug. The soil released the stem without protest. She stared at the rootless nub as her heart turned over. "Well, that answers that." She carried the stem back into the kitchen, pulled up the original rooting article, and searched for troubleshooting options.
"Put more hormone on it and wait." She nodded and looked back at the cutting. "Well, at least they didn't say throw it out and start over. And it'll be worth the wait." Lips lifting with hope, she headed back out to the shed in search of the bottle of growth hormone.
