Was that what he was willing to do with his Rose?
Jump all in and not let the fear of failure hold him back?
She didn't lose her temper as she struggled to get the folds correct. The cast made it even harder, and her first attempt looked more like a mangled piece of paper than an actual rose. But she didn't give up, just had him write out the instructions so she could work on it over and over again.
Each try was a little better, a little cleaner, a little more rose-looking, and when she finally held up one that was very clearly a flower, she beamed at him in delight as she held it proudly.
“I did it,” she said excitedly.
“Never doubted you would.” While she’d been repeating the flower over and over again, he’d been working on his own creation. A dozen red roses with stems.
When he held them up, Rose’s eyes filled with tears, and his heart felt like it stuttered to a stop inside his chest.
Did she hate them?
Did she feel uncomfortable that he’d made them for her?
Surely, she had to know that he was attracted to her, that he was borderline obsessed with her, that he wanted to own every inch of her mind, heart, body, and soul, and give her the scraps he had left of his.
“You made them for me?” she asked as fat little teardrops trailed silvery lines down her cheeks.
“Don’t know who else is in the room that I might be giving them to, little ladybug,” he said carefully, uncertain how to tread in unexplored terrain like this.
“I’d say they’re the nicest gift anyone has ever given to me, but that wouldn't be true, because really, it’s the only gift anyone has ever given to me,” she said softly, allowing him a precious glimpse at the pain she hid so well. Pain he would do anything to rip out of her soul and destroy.
Instead, he reached over, palmed her cheek, and brushed the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. “First,” he corrected. “First gift anyone has ever given you.”
December 31st
11:02 P.M.
“Still in here.”
The voice startled Rose since she’d been deep in concentration, and she set the piece of paper she was working on down because she didn't want to do anything to mess it up. She had no idea what time it was or how long she’d there. She and Steel had worked on origami all afternoon, and he’d all but had to yank the paper out of her hands to get her to go to dinner.
Straight after, she’d come back into the dining room and gotten back to work. Rose knew she could be a bit obsessive when she latched her attention onto something, but she’d quickly found something calming about the smooth folds of paper that soothed out her jangled emotions.
It wasn't easy, that was for sure, but she didn't care. If something was too easy, she quickly lost interest. It was the challenge of mastering a new skill that drew her in. Despite howcomplex origami could be, she was enjoying repeating the same folds over and over, watching as each attempt at a new creation improved with each try.
Steel had even let her use his laptop earlier to go online and look up origami ideas that she wanted to try out. Even though she knew someone was likely monitoring her every move to make sure she didn't try to contact anyone, Rose had appreciated the gesture of trust, and depressing as it was to admit, she didn't even have anyone she could contact.
So instead, she’d focused on the task at hand and quickly settled on flowers, there were so many different ones, some easier than others, and she had a whole garden’s worth spread all over the table in an array of bright and pastel colors.
Growing their own food had been part of living on a remote, off-grid farm, but Rose had always wanted to have flower gardens. Her brother told her that it was frivolous and in the time it would take her to tend it, she could be learning something or growing something they could actually use, so when she’d moved into her own home, she’d quickly transformed the garden into a flower paradise.
“It’s addictive,” she told Steel as he strode over and picked up a flower she’d just finished.
“This is your best yet,” he praised.
Her skin flushed, and she hated that she even cared that he complimented her. She did care, though. Compliments weren't part of her life as a child. Ridge believed that no one was perfect—well, no one except him—and that you could always improve. So even if she did something well, he always managed to find something that she could have done better.
“It’s a tulip.”
“I can see that. I made you this.”
When he placed a ladybug in her hand, Rose couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you. It’s adorable. Maybe I’ll have to moveon to garden insects when I finish mastering flowers. I bet there are some gorgeous butterfly and dragonfly ideas I could try out, maybe some cute little bumble bees, too.”
“Later, though. It’s after eleven, I thought you might like to watch some fireworks.”
