Misinterpreting his silence, Gabrielle said, “If you don’t like it, I could work on some other titles.”
He shook his head and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the type to let himself get emotional, but Gabrielle was the first person to do something so kind and thoughtful in honor of his mother. She probably didn’t even know how much it meant to him and perhaps it was better that way. It’s too bad the fund-raiser would never become a reality. He thought it would definitely have been a great event.
His gaze met hers. “It’s perfect. Thank you. What made you choose the pink rose for the title?”
She shrugged. “I guess because pink is the color of breast-cancer campaigns.”
“Do you know what else pink rose means?”
She shook her head.
“Then come with me.” He led her down to the rose garden, where he’d purposely planted a rosebush in every color that he could track down. As they made their way down the steps in the back of the house, he said, “My mother loved roses. And so I made a point of buying as many colors as I could find. I loved watching her face light up with every color that was added to the garden.”
“That was very sweet of you. She was lucky to have you.”
“No. I was the lucky one.” And he meant every word of it. His mother had loved him even when he hadn’t made the wisest choices. And she cheered him on when he reached for the stars. “I couldn’t have asked for a better mother.”
When they stood in the rose garden, Gabrielle’s eyes searched his. “What are we doing here?”
“Did you know that each rose has a meaning?”
“I know that red roses mean love. But that’s all.”
“Ah, but not any love—true love. I’m sure you must get them all of the time.”
“I must admit that I’ve never received any.”
The fact that no man had given her roses really surprised him. Gabrielle was so beautiful. Her beauty started on the inside and radiated outward. He’d like to be the first to present her with one. “You should have roses and daily.”
Colo
r filled her cheeks. How was it possible that she grew more beautiful each time he saw her? His heart picked up its pace. He couldn’t help but stare. He never got enough of looking at her. Was it possible for her to look even more radiant?
It was with great effort that he turned away. He walked down the brick path and stopped next to a white rose. “This one is the traditional rose of weddings. And it represents purity and virtue.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“Each time I ordered a new rose, I would do my research. Roses are quite intertwined in history. I would distract my mother from her discomforts with stories that included the various roses.”
Gabrielle gazed at him but didn’t say anything. Yet there was a look on her face and he couldn’t read it.
“What?”
“It’s just that you continually surprise me.”
“You mean you thought I was nothing but a conceited partygoer.”
“Um, no. I don’t know why you think that. It’s just that I don’t know any men who know so much about flowers.”
His body tensed. It was even worse than he’d thought. “You think I’m a wimp—”
“No. Not at all. I think what you do here is wonderful.” There was sincerity in her voice. She continued down the walk and stopped in front of a pink rosebush. “And how about these? What do they mean?”
“The dark pink petals mean gratitude and appreciation.” He moved to a neighboring light pink rose. “And this one means sympathy.”
He continued walking through the garden. When he came across his gardening supplies, he grabbed a pair of shears. He moved to some long-stemmed yellow roses. He searched for a perfect bloom and then cut it. He turned and presented it to Gabrielle.
A bright smile lit up her face. “Thank you.” She lifted it to her nose and inhaled. “What does it mean?”