it’s tiny fiction: no. 1

There were many things she might’ve focused on in the moment—the way the air in the house went still as soon as she stepped across the threshold, or the slow, subtle creak of the floorboards above her, maybe even the single picture frame on the wall, slightly tilted to the side. Unironically, it was the single rose, resting on the staircase, that captured her attention. Her narrowed eyes were locked on it, the evening sun dancing through the stained glass windows that hid throughout the old, fairytale cottage. Cottage was a simple word when she thought about it. The building was closer to a mansion in size but the same ethereal vibrance that she’d felt when reading her favorite storybook as a child filled her chest whenever she stepped inside. 

She stalked toward the rose, her feet dragging along the expensive floors that had filled the primary suspect in her floral surprise with so much joy—a constant source of the bright happiness that exuded from him these days. Her lips curled into a small smile at the thought, her mind going blank as her fingers ran along the thornless rose—the barbs likely plucked by the same hands that had run along her naked body the night before. Her cheeks heated at the thought, at the warm memory of his skin meeting hers, gentle yet all-consuming. 

They had gone out to dinner, enjoying a meal at the Oceano Bistro, just minutes from where she stood now. It had been a long time since they’d been able to enjoy a night out—his ever-expanding business and her slowly-growing art class keeping them both busy enough that the most she’d seen him in the last month was in the quiet stretch of time just before she surrendered to sleep’s thrall.

Her eyes trailed up the stairs, landing on a carefully laid bundle of lilac—hard to find in the city—and her body followed. The heady scent worked its way to her nose and, as she reached down to pick up the bunch, she couldn’t help but raise it to her face. Small, perfectly pink petals dusted her cheeks as she took a deep breath in, her lips stretching to release a toothy grin. The man who’d found a way to pull her from her shell had likely picked the spring blooms from a stranger's bush, always eager to break the rules when it came to her despite her constant, playful chastisement. In all honesty, she was grateful for the small gestures he made—often going well out of his way to make sure she was happy. 

She called out for him, her voice echoing through the halls of the house she’d long grown used to calling home—the cedar scent that seemed to cling to the missing man leading her across the walkway that bridged the stairs to the rest of the upstairs. 

The house was dark aside from the occasional ray of sun beaming through an open window, the breeze a welcome relief against the anticipatory heat that seemed to cling to her. It was her feet that found the next floral arrangement, an elaborate bouquet filled with eucalyptus, baby blue hydrangea and a single, purple iris standing proudly in the middle—all of her favorites now tightly clasped in her hand. She called out for him again, her hand hesitantly pushing open the door to an office she once refused to step into—the room where she began to find her way back to herself. Any lingering whisper of trepidation was wiped away with her breath as she stepped inside.

There were many things she might’ve focused on and, this time, she allowed herself to. Twinkling lights zig-zagged across the ceiling, hanging low as they welcomed her into the room with warm, slow blinks. The lights danced across the, what seemed like hundreds, of flowers that filled the room. A single chair sat in the center of it all, surrounded by the small group of people she’d grown to love and cherish. Her eyes burned as they found him, waiting for her to take it all in. There was more than appreciation on his face—something like unadulterated love radiating from his ocean blue eyes. She swallowed back her tears, her hands lifting the bouquet to cover her quivering lip as she took another unsteady step. 

“Happy Birthday, my love,” he said, motioning to the chair. She let her body take her to it, sinking in as their friends—their family—stepped in to surround her. 

She wouldn’t realize it at the moment but she could feel it pulsing through her—the love that each of these people had for her and the love she returned in equal measure, if not more.

There was once a time where every room she stepped into felt cold—closed off to her in a way she could never understand. As she sat here, her eyes glued to the man as his fingers began dancing across his guitar, her shoulders brushing against the once strangers turned friends, she let herself settle into the comforting feeling of home. 

She’d found it at last.