• I spent the next week in and out of my home variably, trying to keep myself busy. I would visit town often, spending short amounts of time in nearly every shop and parlor that had a stately name to it. I had come to realize that I was searching for something, but that something I could not quite understand. I urged to become more luxurious, more desirable. I wanted to wear vibrant silks and satins that would cast a warm glow to my face. Undoubtedly, my need was spurred by nothing other than the meeting of Samuel Dulle. I had captured his faint, yet present look of interest in my mind, and I could only desire to engage him in a much stronger compassion.

    Admittedly, I was also quite disappointed that I had heard nothing from him. Not a single letter nor telephone call came in from him. I had even become slightly angered that he could find my affections so, and simply leave me to desire. I couldn't entirely blame him, however. I failed to leave him an address or number to be reached, but of course I had half-expected him to give me his.

    I had been out in the town during a Thursday afternoon when I had passed a florist perched on the corner of the block. A small space it was, newly rented. Bouquets of flowers spilling over fashionable vases were arranged along the exposing windows in such a design as to captivate the passerby's on the street. One particular vase of flowers stood out to me. A collection of delectable red flowers, the names of which I cannot recall, were crowded in a skinny indigo vase. And among the arrangement was a single collection of bright violet-colored flowers, rising just above the other flowers in all their glory. I remember glancing at the tag that hung limp from the vase, with a picture of the same flowers (expect pink) labeled 'Sweet Pea'.

    When I had arrived home carrying a bag of fresh fruits and vegetables, I noticed a small letter barely poking from my mail holder. My servant, Sarah, graciously took the bag from my hands as I slipped the letter carefully from the holder. I had forgotten to get the other pieces as I slipped into the parlor, taking a seat. Anxiously I scanned the face for the sender, and it was from Don Morrison. I cannot explain my disappointment when I had come to discover that the letter was not sent from Samuel Dulle, but I still opened it carefully. I unfolded the crisp piece of paper to unveil beautiful penmanship that began with a 'To the Lovely Ms. Holloway' and said,

    "I would be most honored if you would join me at my home again this Saturday. I enjoyed your company the previous gathering, and can not wait to see you again. Please consider my gift as well."

    My brows furrowed slightly as I glanced up to see Sarah holding a rectangular white box.

    "The post man delivered it this 'morning, madam." She began, handing it to me slowly. "Said it came from a Don Morrison."

    My soft hands gently lifted the lid of the box to find a neatly-folded dress. It was a soft cream color, and the silk was soft and fine. I tried it on immediately, and I found that although it was slightly loose-fitting (and purposely so), it looked ravishing on me. A small grimace tugged at my lips as I showed Sarah excitedly, and she filled my ears with many words of praise. It seemed as though, and I knew this from the previous Saturday, that Mr. Morrison fancied me quite.

    And so, I found myself at his doorstep that Saturday, in the pretty cream dress with my hair pulled in a fancy bun. I will admit that I was not exactly there to please Mr. Morrison. It seemed as though Mr. Morrison and Samuel Dulle were friends, and I was hoping with every ounce that he would be there again. I was ushered in by the same indifferent servant, however this time I did not have to take more than a step before Don approached me with open arms to embrace.

    "Veronica!" He spoke excitedly. Hesitantly I hugged him, as a warm grin became fit to my expression.

    "I was worried that you wouldn't come. You did not answer my invitation." He pointed out, tilting his head slightly in question. I took a deep inhale and nodded.

    "My apologies, Don," I answered, my attention wandering to the noisy parlor. "I forgot." I was a bit worried that my excuse may offend him, but he did not seem to mind.

    "No worries, my dear. You are here now. Come, let us join the guests." He urged, leading me with one strong arm.

    As we entered the room, the many guests seemed too busy to notice us this time. It was a deal more crowded than the last gathering, however I still strained to scan each and every face for the handsome eyes of Samuel Dulle. I was unpleasantly surprised when I didn't find him, and a powerful and solemn feeling washed over my heart. My grin must have faded, because Don Morrison stared at me worriedly.

    "Is it too crowded for you, Veronica?" He questioned, his tones soft and compassionate.

    I was not sure what had come over me at this moment, but as I stared into his dull green eyes I felt an overwhelming sense of need. It was as if I had discovered an interest in Don that I had failed to discover before. He now seemed fanciful to me, and it startled me for I could not understand what had been the catalyst for this. My grin returned without much effort,.

    "Not at all, Don." My words were more soft and dulcet than before, and I believe he had picked up my sudden interest because I had never seen his expression light up quite as it did. With no words spoken we continued to sit among the same couch as we had before, however it was next to another man, and in the loveseat opposite were two young ladies both dressed in matching pink dresses.

    "Don!" They exclaimed in unison, and the man we had sat next to glanced over and smiled.

    "Miranda, Lily." Don greeted subtly, giving them each a nod. He then looked to the man beside him and they shook hands with a strong grasp.

    "Ah, Tom." Don spoke again, shaking his head. "Time passes you, eh? Haven't seemed to age a lick!"

    "You're right," Tom answered, his dark eyes falling upon me. "Looks like time has given you the gift of love?"

    Don hesitated before answering, looking to me and grasping my hand gently.

    "Veronica Holloway, she's my neighbor. But, heck, if I had it my way.." He stopped there, fading off and glancing to the empty glass in Tom's hand.

    "A bit too much?" He inquired, quickly changing the subject. Tom laughed loudly, the two women Miranda and Lily laughing with them in high-pitched squeals.

    "Never, Don! I could drink 'till the day I die!" Tom proudly announced, and Don nearly chuckled with amusement. The servant came to us, lowering a round plate with a few glasses of red wine. Both Don and I took a glass and thanked him.

    "Mr. Morrison, Sam Dulle is at the door. He insists he cannot stay, but he would like to speak to you."

    In unison, Don and I glanced to the hall, where we found that Samuel Dulle stood leaning against the archway, lifting a hand to offer a single wave as a wry grin slipped across his lips. He must have invited himself in. My heart stopped as I stared for a moment, catching his stare before I quickly looked down at my glass.

    "Please excuse me, won't you?" Don spoke to me lowly. I nodded although I almost begged him to join them. Of course, that would not be my place, and so I sat and watched them.

    "So, Veronica, is it?" Tom spoke. Closing my eyes I turned around to face him, looking at him with a disinterested look.

    "Yes." I answered, taking a big sip of my wine.

    "Ah, well. I think Don likes you." He spoke, nodding. Cocking my brows I nodded.

    "Me too." I answered simply. It was quick as Don returned, sitting back down next to me. I glanced over my shoulder, but Sam was gone. My heart sunk, and I looked to Don as I pushed a piece of loose hair behind my ear.

    "Sam said he had something to do, and he couldn't say." He spoke, mostly to Miranda and Lily. "But, he invited me to lunch Monday. Veronica, would you like to join me? Us?" He asked, staring into my eyes affectionately.

    "Gladly." I answered, my tones the highest they had been all night. He raised his glass to me and I gently allowed mine to touch his before we both took a drink. The rest of that evening we talked to Miranda, Lily, and Tom, and laughed to their drunken antics.

    I couldn't await Monday.