business. I happen to like the color."
"I prefer it to pink." Tomas's smirk threatened to expand into a grin. He stopped it just in time. It wouldn't do to let Donovan know this soon how amusing it was to wind him up, or how easy. "Oh excuse me." A well-timed pause was worth far more than any words. "It's cerise."
"And here I thought it was caramel red," Donovan drawled, his expression unreadable. Tomas froze, suddenly unsure whether he had gone too far, stepping over an invisible line that would disappear, never to return.
The Land Rover groaned in protest when Donovan ground the gears down as he turned a corner, the vehicle shuddering to a stop in front of a large wooden house which seemed newer than the cottages flanking it on either side. The sign in front proclaimed it to be the local library. There was a quote of some sort at the bottom of the sign. Tomas strained his eyes but could not make it out.
Turning off the engine, Donovan grinned. "But I won't tell if you don't. We guys have got to stick together."
"If you say so," Tomas said, distracted. He opened the passenger door, climbed out, and closed it behind him. The gate which provided entrance through the white picket fence creaked loudly when he opened it, the old hinges protesting his action. The smell of some kind of perfume permeated the air even before he reached the sign, which was fastened to the trellis work at the left side of the verandah. The black paint proclaiming "In the beginning was the word" was fading on more than half of the old-fashioned lettering. Further investigation and running his fingers across the smooth word revealed that the letters were carved into the wood, the paint merely highlighting something that already existed before it. Strangely, the sign seemed older than the building itself, although, of course, Tomas was no expert on architecture, not having had the need to research the subject before now. Something brushed against his cheek. He brought one hand up to capture it, frowning as he found himself holding a single rose petal, dark pink in color. Glancing around to see where it could have come from, he ignored the other buildings farther up the road. He would explore those later. This had come from somewhere closer.
Donovan shook his head, already heading toward the steps leading to the verandah and shelter, his bag tucked under one arm. Once out of the rain, he stopped to pat the ginger cat which was rubbing itself against his legs and eyeing up Tomas from its spot near the front door of the library. "You're getting wet, and I'm going to be a while," he said. "Meet back here on the library verandah in a couple of hours, okay?"
"Okay." Although Tomas heard Donovan's question, it only registered on the edge of his mind, as his attention was already elsewhere. Overhanging the main entranceway were three climbing roses, two intertwined, the petals tugging, trying to break free to answer the invitation given by the wind. They were the same color as the roses that climbed one of the walls of the Crossroads Inn. His fingers closing over the petal in his palm, Tomas's hand went to his cheek again. The third rose seemed to embrace the other two, supporting, separate yet not, the color strikingly different than anything Tomas had seen before. The tips of its petals were also lavender, but inside, hidden unless the rose was fully opened, were petals that were sprinkled with a dusting of deep pink like the one he was holding.
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Chapter Four
Staring after Donovan as he disappeared through the door, Tomas absently put the rose petal into his pocket. The rest of the village could wait. He wanted to see the library. It held answers; he was sure of it, but not of why he felt that way. His imagination was beginning to work overtime again. The events of the last few days had definitely addled his mind.
Wiping the rain from his face, he shivered. His clothes were damp rather than soaked; the
"I prefer it to pink." Tomas's smirk threatened to expand into a grin. He stopped it just in time. It wouldn't do to let Donovan know this soon how amusing it was to wind him up, or how easy. "Oh excuse me." A well-timed pause was worth far more than any words. "It's cerise."
"And here I thought it was caramel red," Donovan drawled, his expression unreadable. Tomas froze, suddenly unsure whether he had gone too far, stepping over an invisible line that would disappear, never to return.
The Land Rover groaned in protest when Donovan ground the gears down as he turned a corner, the vehicle shuddering to a stop in front of a large wooden house which seemed newer than the cottages flanking it on either side. The sign in front proclaimed it to be the local library. There was a quote of some sort at the bottom of the sign. Tomas strained his eyes but could not make it out.
Turning off the engine, Donovan grinned. "But I won't tell if you don't. We guys have got to stick together."
"If you say so," Tomas said, distracted. He opened the passenger door, climbed out, and closed it behind him. The gate which provided entrance through the white picket fence creaked loudly when he opened it, the old hinges protesting his action. The smell of some kind of perfume permeated the air even before he reached the sign, which was fastened to the trellis work at the left side of the verandah. The black paint proclaiming "In the beginning was the word" was fading on more than half of the old-fashioned lettering. Further investigation and running his fingers across the smooth word revealed that the letters were carved into the wood, the paint merely highlighting something that already existed before it. Strangely, the sign seemed older than the building itself, although, of course, Tomas was no expert on architecture, not having had the need to research the subject before now. Something brushed against his cheek. He brought one hand up to capture it, frowning as he found himself holding a single rose petal, dark pink in color. Glancing around to see where it could have come from, he ignored the other buildings farther up the road. He would explore those later. This had come from somewhere closer.
Donovan shook his head, already heading toward the steps leading to the verandah and shelter, his bag tucked under one arm. Once out of the rain, he stopped to pat the ginger cat which was rubbing itself against his legs and eyeing up Tomas from its spot near the front door of the library. "You're getting wet, and I'm going to be a while," he said. "Meet back here on the library verandah in a couple of hours, okay?"
"Okay." Although Tomas heard Donovan's question, it only registered on the edge of his mind, as his attention was already elsewhere. Overhanging the main entranceway were three climbing roses, two intertwined, the petals tugging, trying to break free to answer the invitation given by the wind. They were the same color as the roses that climbed one of the walls of the Crossroads Inn. His fingers closing over the petal in his palm, Tomas's hand went to his cheek again. The third rose seemed to embrace the other two, supporting, separate yet not, the color strikingly different than anything Tomas had seen before. The tips of its petals were also lavender, but inside, hidden unless the rose was fully opened, were petals that were sprinkled with a dusting of deep pink like the one he was holding.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Four
Staring after Donovan as he disappeared through the door, Tomas absently put the rose petal into his pocket. The rest of the village could wait. He wanted to see the library. It held answers; he was sure of it, but not of why he felt that way. His imagination was beginning to work overtime again. The events of the last few days had definitely addled his mind.
Wiping the rain from his face, he shivered. His clothes were damp rather than soaked; the
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