She bent over and plucked it from the sheets, feeling much like a desert wanderer pondering the warbling oasis which confronted her; even though Christie firmly held the stem in her grasp, her eyes refused to believe its existence. She blinked a couple times, then her eyes flicked to the bed and back to the rose.
Yep, it was real.
She shook her head. This was strange, Alex had never done anything like this before, nothing even remotely romantic. Why the hell had he hidden a damned rose in their bed? She looked around, guiltily, as if Ashton Kutcher might burst from the closet at any moment.
Christie wrinkled her nose and thought, Is this for me?
She thought about the rose's significance as she walked through the house and into the kitchen in search of a vase. There was one, up high, deep in the back of the cupboard, but when she pulled it down she discovered it had a thick patina of dust on it. As she held the vase under running water, another thought crept into her head, What if it isn't mine?
To Christie, this sounded more plausible, and she had clenched her teeth without noticing and said aloud, "That son of a..."