Denny
I take the last box of decorations down from the shelf in the garage, relieved to finally see the Christmas lights. I could have always bought new ones, but I knew I had some around here already. I walk back into the living room and sit on the couch, grabbing a string and starting the laborious process of untangling the cords and replacing the bulbs. At least I've got the tree up already.
I haven't done anything for the holidays since I got sick; I'd honestly always assumed that each one would be my last. Now that I'm well again, I'd like to pull out all the stops, especially since Robin told me she loves the Christmas season. She's not religious, but she said she likes the overall sense of joy that seems to be everywhere.
She's made me happier than I ever thought I could be after my surgery. I want to return the favor as much as I possibly can.
I smile as I remember the day I finally worked up the courage to ask her out. We'd been talking every night for weeks, but I was still nervous that she wouldn't want someone who had been sick like me.
I clutch the bouquet of roses anxiously as I enter the bakery, looking for Robin as I step inside. "Hi, Denny!" she calls brightly. I see her hand waving from behind the counter; she must be tidying things before she closes. "I'll be right there!"
A moment later, she emerges. I turn and flip the sign like I always do, my new heart pounding in my chest.
"I have red velvet cake on special today," she informs me cheerfully. "Do you want a slice?" I step to the side so she can lock the door. After she does, she notices the roses in my hand and stops, her cheeks flushing a lovely shade of pink. She looks up at me, her dark hazel eyes wide, and murmurs, "How did you know? I never told you."
I blink, confused. "Know what?" I ask carefully, not sure what she means.
She gestures to the flowers. "Those... aren't for my birthday?" she replies cautiously, biting her lip. Suddenly, she's not just flushed, she's bright red, and she starts to babble. "I'm sorry. They're probably not even for me. I shouldn't have assumed. I... oh..." She twists her skirt in her hands and looks terribly embarrassed, so I step forward and cup her cheek in my palm. She stops speaking instantly and automatically presses her warm skin against my long fingers.
I've touched her before. I've sat in the bakery for hours after closing with my arm around her. I've smoothed her hair back over her ear. I've kissed her forehead and her cheeks on numerous occasions. But this time feels different. I sigh contentedly.
"They're for you," I assure her. "It's your birthday? I didn't know. I would have brought you a gift." I can think of a million things I could have gotten her that would have made her smile.
"But... you just said the flowers were for me," she observes. "If they're not for that, what are they for?"
It's my turn to blush. It's the best opening I could ask for. "I..." I take a deep breath and force myself to say the words; I can't keep coming here and hanging around her and not telling her how I feel. I want her too much.
"I... was wondering if you'd like to go out with me? On a date? I know I've been out of the scene for the last five or so years, but it's still considered nice to bring a girl flowers when you ask that, right?" I look at her bashfully, hoping against hope that she'll say yes.
She looks completely shocked, but she reaches out and touches one of the roses delicately. "I wouldn't know," she admits. "No one's ever asked me out before."
I smile and chuckle, thinking she's not serious. But when I look at her face, which has gone slightly pale with worry, I realize that she is. I step closer to her, pushing the flowers into her hands in the process. The plastic wrapped around them crinkles as she curls her fingers over the stems.
