Blog #3- Blooming
Rose couldn't stop thinking about it. The mist off the pool. The candle light flickering. The alstroemeria and tagetes that she could see perfectly filling the space. And him, of course, Mr. Stars. He was so different from Jake (the bulky and dull quarterback) or Timmy (the popular and ambitious pre-law student) that made up her recent relationships.
But for some reason, to Rose, he was so- to use his own word- compelling.
"Rose? Hello, earth to Rose."
"Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?" Rose said, coming out of her day dreaming.
"I was asking you how you liked your trout," councilman Robert Randall came back into focus in front of her. His Brooks Brothers suit was immaculately pressed and, as usual, his graying hair was plastered down to his head.
"It's fine, thank you," she said, taking the most lady like nibble of her meal.
Rose let her eyes wander around the restaurant, in a somewhat subconscious attempt to avoid conversation. The Blue Bass was really the only decent place for a date in town. Live jazz filled the space, and the pleasant looking couples sat at tables talking, or nodding their heads to the music. On the red and white checkered tablecloth there was a blue vase with a wilting xylobium (orchid), positioned next to the the salt and pepper shakers.
The drooping flower made Rose worry about her choices for Jack's roof. What if the Peruvian Lily's don't bloom in the chilly December weather? What if the Marigolds don't get enough water? But she also wondered, why did she care so much?
"... and then I told my secretary right then and there to just cancel that meeting! You should have seen the look on his face," the councilman rambled on with more the details of his sad and stagnant political career.
Rose's eyes continued to wander, until they landed on the exact face that had been consuming her thoughts for the past week. The piano was playing a tune, the councilman was droning on, but all there was was his face across the room.
Jack saw her sitting there, on what could only possibly be construed as a date, and promptly left the restaurant.
But for some reason, to Rose, he was so- to use his own word- compelling.
"Rose? Hello, earth to Rose."
"Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?" Rose said, coming out of her day dreaming.
"I was asking you how you liked your trout," councilman Robert Randall came back into focus in front of her. His Brooks Brothers suit was immaculately pressed and, as usual, his graying hair was plastered down to his head.
"It's fine, thank you," she said, taking the most lady like nibble of her meal.
Rose let her eyes wander around the restaurant, in a somewhat subconscious attempt to avoid conversation. The Blue Bass was really the only decent place for a date in town. Live jazz filled the space, and the pleasant looking couples sat at tables talking, or nodding their heads to the music. On the red and white checkered tablecloth there was a blue vase with a wilting xylobium (orchid), positioned next to the the salt and pepper shakers.
The drooping flower made Rose worry about her choices for Jack's roof. What if the Peruvian Lily's don't bloom in the chilly December weather? What if the Marigolds don't get enough water? But she also wondered, why did she care so much?
"... and then I told my secretary right then and there to just cancel that meeting! You should have seen the look on his face," the councilman rambled on with more the details of his sad and stagnant political career.
Rose's eyes continued to wander, until they landed on the exact face that had been consuming her thoughts for the past week. The piano was playing a tune, the councilman was droning on, but all there was was his face across the room.
Jack saw her sitting there, on what could only possibly be construed as a date, and promptly left the restaurant.
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