A single red rose

Everyone in the office simply couldn't take their eyes off that magnificent – and rather bulky – bouquet of red roses strategically positioned on the left corner of Van Pelt's desk.

Rigsby was actually pouting as a matter of fact. He was probably trying to decide whether he should feel jealous about his former girlfriend's secret admirer.

"Why a dozen identical roses? Seems a bit redundant, don't you think?"

Van Pelt took a good look at the man sitting on the brown leather couch – currently performing his customary drinking tea ritual.

"People usually regard a dozen red roses as a declaration of love, you know."

"I know that.", Jane retorted dryly. "What I meant is that a single red rose would suffice for the purpose."
"So the man who buys it can save some money? How romantic…"

"I wasn't thinking about money. I just don't get why a dozen roses – or even one thousand, for that matter – should be better than a single one."

"He's hopeless, Grace. Arguing with him isn't worth it, I can assure you."

Jane smirked at his lovely wife – who had just entered the bullpen nursing a mug of freshly made coffee.

"I was simply pointing out the fact that a bouquet of identical flowers seems more of an insult to women's intelligence rather than a romantic message."

"Really?"

"I'm being serious. It doesn't take twelve flowers to make a woman understand your feelings towards her."

"Well, I have some news for you, Jane. Any sensible woman would choose a dozen roses above a single one."

"I'm pretty sure I can change your mind on that subject, Lisbon."

"That'd be kind of pointless, I warn you."

"Wanna bet?"

Sparkling green eyes met challenging blue ones. "Okay. What's the betting?"

"If I lose, I'll give up tea for a month. On the other hand, if I win… you'll bring me breakfast in bed every morning for a month as well."

"Deal."

As she strode towards her office she noticed Van Pelt biting her lip in order to hide an amused smile.

Poor deluded man – how was he going to survive a whole month without his beloved tea?

...

That evening Jane went straight to bed after dinner. He said he felt sleepy, and Teresa didn't push – though she was sure he was up to something.

She stayed up late to watch a game of hockey. When she finally switched off the TV and went upstairs to the bedroom, she found her husband actually asleep, and a single red rose waiting for her on her pillow.

Tucked under the rose there was a folded note written in Jane's flowing handwriting.

My dearest Teresa,

You know why I'd never give you a dozen red roses?

I'm sure you've read The Little Prince at some point during your childhood. The golden-haired boy was in love with a single rose. His rose.

He didn't care for other roses. They weren't his own, you know?

You're my lovely little rose. How could I give you a bunch of meaningless flowers?

A single, perfect rose is what you'd deserve. I'm afraid that the flower shop a couple of blocks away from the CBI didn't exactly own one.

So here you are. Your rose isn't perfect, but just pretend that it is. It stands for you, the beautiful red rose to her little prince.

You're much more beautiful than a rose anyway.

Love.

Patrick

She brushed away a betraying tear that was lingering at the corner of her eye.

Damn the man and his silver tongue.

Now she just hoped she'd be able to cook scrambled eggs just as he liked them tomorrow morning.