Chapter 5
Driving the dark SUV, they maintained a careful distance as they followed her smaller SUV down the two-lane highway toward town.
When she turned into the grocery store parking lot, they drove past without slowing, ball cap pulled low and black jacket zipped high despite the warm afternoon.
Dark sunglasses completed the disguise, while the rental's tinted windows provided additional anonymity.
Three blocks beyond the store, they executed a careful U-turn and doubled back, parking just down the street from her house. The walk through the tall grass took less than five minutes while keeping an eye out for anyone who might notice while driving down her street.
Her house stood empty and inviting in the afternoon stillness. No neighbors were visible in this rural area where properties stretched across multiple acres. The nearest farmhouse was barely visible through the trees, too distant for casual observation.
They approached the front porch with glee, as if visiting an old friend. The two wooden rocking chairs sat side by side, facing outward toward the gravel drive and the endless prairie beyond. But that arrangement was all wrong. Too formal. Too distant.
Working quickly, they repositioned the chairs to face each other, creating an intimate conversation area.
Yes, this was better. This was how it should be when they finally sat together, and when Rose understood that all the waiting had been worthwhile.
The chairs would hold their quiet conversations about her writing, her dreams, her future. Their future.
Moving around the perimeter of the house, they peered through windows. The bedroom blinds were drawn tight, which was disappointing but expected. But her office window revealed everything.
The room where the magic happened. Where Rose created the characters and stories that enthralled.
Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with research materials and dog-eared novels.
Her desk faced the window, probably so she could look out at the prairie when searching for inspiration.
They imagined sitting in the corner chair, watching her work, offering suggestions and encouragement.
They so wanted to be part of her creative process. More than just part of it—essential to it.
From the pocket of their jacket, they withdrew a small velvet bag filled with rose petals. The symbolism was perfect for beauty and romance shadowed by longing. They scattered the petals carefully underneath the window, creating a trail that could be discovered but not immediately understood.
The return trip to the SUV required the same careful attention to timing and concealment. By the time they reached the grocery store, Rose would be emerging with her weekly supplies, unaware that her sanctuary had been visited by someone who longed to be closer.
I see you, my sweet Rose, they thought as they watched her look around as though she could sense their eyes on her. She felt our connection. The temptation to continue surveillance was strong, but their patience remained paramount.
They turned off at the next intersection, watching her taillights disappear. Not yet. She needed more time to discover the signs, to understand that someone was thinking of her and caring for her.
The roses would tell her everything she needed to know when she was ready to listen.