She glared at the vase of flowers on her table that wasn't there before she went to bed. Roses, she thinks with distaste, red roses. This isn't the first time roses have appeared in her house while she slept, but it is the first time she realizes what they mean. Sneering into her coffee, she glares harder, that man wouldn't know love if it slapped him in the face. Roses. She nearly scoffs out loud, all he knows is lust. Roses.

She knows he's watching her, through whatever means (cameras in her house, an underling watching from outside, fucking ESP, who knows with him), but she still can't bring herself to throw away perfectly good flowers, so she grabs the vase as she leaves for work, like she does every week this happens. She drops them off at the receptionist's desk with the usual sign that reads, 'my stalker dropped these off, take one', as she heads to her own office under the sympathetic gazes of her coworkers. Fucking. Roses.

It's been three months of weekly break-ins/rose deliveries before something finally changes. There's a single red Zinnia, barely bloomed mixed in with the usual roses, probably by mistake, right? I mean, I only noticed it because it was darker than the others, no it wasn't like it was purposely put there, right? She frowns deeper than usual, glaring harshly at the vase before grabbing a cup of water and putting the zinnia in it. The vase of roses goes straight to work, ugh, roses.

When she gets home that night, she does all she can to make sure the zinnia can live as long as possible, and admires it (she can't help it if flowers are pretty, no matter who they come from). It barely lasts the week, wilting into the weekend and some small part of her wishes it didn't.

The new week brings a big change, the vase on her table holds an assortment of colorful flowers, azaleas, carnations, chrysanthemums, hyacinths, lilies, orchids, violets, bluebonnets, and a single rose. Looks like he's testing a theory, she smiles a little into her coffee and plucks the rose, pink this time, out of the arrangement. She gives it to a little girl on her way to work and is greeted with the curious stares of her coworkers as she arrives without flowers. She merely smiles at them, putting away the sign the receptionist already had out in answer to their silent questions.

The next vase to appear had no roses, but held quiet a few primroses (a coincidence or is he still testing things?). She kept them all, running her fingers over their smooth petals with a small smile, getting rather down when they started to wilt halfway through the week due to how much she touched them. And the weekly flower deliveries quickly became bi-weekly, one Monday morning, one Thursday morning.

And maybe she misjudged the guy if he's paying such great attention to her? Maybe he deserves another chance? She can forgive the Roses.