AN: Oh, honestly. What the hell is wrong with me lately?

This is my fourth --count 'em FOUR STORIES!-- about cheesy romances. But really, I couldn't help myself this time.


Just like the other three times. . . .

Disclaimer: SM owns everything.


There must be another Isabella Swan in the neighborhood. There must be. Because there is no way that the beautiful bouquet of brightly colored roses is really for me. Truly, they can't be. It's absurd to even nurse the idea for the faintest second. Girls like me just don't get random flowers in the mail. Especially with such beautiful ones.

I touch one of the fragile roses cautiously and sigh. The petal feels so soft under my fingertips, like velvet or something of that sort. It feels nice. But where on Earth did who send them to me find purple flowers? I've never even heard of purples flowers. But then again, before today, I thought there was only red and pink and a few shades in between. But, there must at least be orange and purple roses, along with pure white roses. They are all assembled before me, in a clear vase that I put them in so they wouldn't die. Who would want to me, Isabella Swan, plain Jane, such nice flowers?

Maybe Jacob. He could still be trying to apologize after he left me. During the summer before I left to go to college, Jacob suddenly and unexpectedly fell in love with some random girl he had never even seen before. While we were still dating. Yeah. That wasn't awkward at all.

But still, not even he would spend this much money and trying to apologize. I already accepted his apology a long time ago, and he knew that. In fact, I was happy for him and Carlotta. They deserve each other.

But. . . then who sent these?

Maybe they are for Alice? I check the tag again, but Isabella Swan remains in bold letters. They're definitely mine.

Sigh. This detective stuff is hard work.

I pick up the vase and walk to the living room. I place them down next to my laptop and boot it up. Time to do some researching.


White roses

It yields a surprising amount of items (66,200,000!) and I click the first link.

A light green background pops up. A picture of a white rose is on top of the writing.

History and Meaning of White Roses

Primary Significance: Purity, Innocence, Sympathy, Spirituality

With its pristine appearance, the white rose has come to symbolize purity, innocence and secrecy. There are myths and legends from several different cultures relating to the origin of the first rose which is initially white in color and is then miraculously transformed. Oftentimes the pure white rose was depicted as being stained by blood, or made to blush from a kiss. The recurrence of this theme does a great deal to establish the white rose as a symbol for purity.

Oh, haha. Very funny joke. Let's all make fun of the girl who's never had sex.. Oh, honestly! Who sent these?!

My eyes narrow as I glared at the one of the white roses in the middle of the bouquet. It's not that pretty anyway.

I try a new Google search, this time, orange roses.

I click the first link again, and the same site as before pops up. This time, though, there's an orange rose on top of the writing instead of a white rose. Let's see what orange means. . .

History and Meaning of Orange Roses

Primary Significance: Desire, Enthusiasm and Passion

Orange roses have emerged as one of the true stand-outs among today's popular rose varieties. The fiery color of an orange rose immediately conjures up passionate thoughts of romance. They can also be reminiscent of the warmth of a glowing sunset, or the sweetness of citrus. Orange roses come in a range of shades, from bright orange to softer coral
and peach colors. Since the introduction of the orange rose into the world of roses, they have quickly found their place in the hearts and imaginations of rose aficionados everywhere.

This must be joke. There is no way in hell that these are meant for me. "The fiery color of an orange rose immediately conjures up passionate thoughts of romance." Oh, really, these can't possibly be for me.

With a heavy heart and a cloud of trepidation surrounding me, I type "purple roses" into the Google search box.


I click the first link and realize that it's not the same site as the other20ones. I scroll down until I find purple and skim it, not really taking anything in. Then four words pop out at me.

Love at first sight


I hurriedly go back up the beginning of the purple rose description and read it.

Thought to be almost mystical in nature, with symbolism tied to enchantment, desire and even proceeding cautiously, itʼs not surprising that lilac and purple roses send a message of love at first sight. Perfect for a new love.

Oh. My. God.


They're mocking me.

Oh, I know what you're thinking, if anyone's reading my mind.

(I hope no one is.)

Oh, Bella! They're roses! They're not alive! They can't mock you, you silly girl.

Well, I disagree. Those stupid flowers of love at first sight, passion, and innocence are mocking me! I swear they are! I mean, honestly, they're staring right at me.

. . . Well they would be, if they eyes, I mean.

Oh, God. I'm going insane. I have to get out of here.

I stand up and glare once more at the (beautiful, gorgeous, mesmerizing) roses before stalking off to my room. I throw on a pair of sneakers and I'm out the door.

I jog down my steps and walk over to my truck. I'm not sure where I'm going, and all20I know that I just want to go. Oh, well. I'll just figure it out later. I drive for a few minutes before I see a Ben and Jerry's ice cream store.


I park my car as close to the Ben and Jerry place as I could and I get out. I walk into the store and wander over to the counter.

"Phish Food," I order. After a short wait, the girl hands it to me. Once I pay, I walk out of the store and wander my way over to a bench in a nearby park. This is nice. It's warm out, but not so warm that I'm sweating. A breeze is present too, but it's not too bad. I take a spoonful of my ice cream. It's nice out today. I wonder who sent me those flowers.

All to soon, my ice cream is finished. I reluctanly get up from my bench and start walking back towards my truck. I shove my hands into my sweatshirt's pockets and glare up at the
cloudy skies. Why can't it ever be sunny in Port Angeles? Honestly, why the hell does it rain-

I fly to the ground.. On instinct, I throw my hands out and land on my palms. I groan, and push myself up. I stand up, wipe the dirt off my clothes and keep walking. I hate it when I fall. Curiously, I look back, and see there's nothing on a ground. Not a stick, or a pebble, or even a crack in the sidewalk. Just like always. I hiss as I rub my palms together. Gah. That hurt.

"Miss?" someone murmurs from beh ind me. I turn around and stop in shock. It's the hot guy I always see around here. It's not like I'm stalking him or something, but we always wave
to each other and I always get butterflies in my stomach and blush when I see him. "Are you alright?"

"What?" I ask stupidly. "Oh! My fall. Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just a little clumsy."

He grins at me, one side of his mouth going farther up than the other. I love crooked smiles.

"Edward Cullen," he holds his hand out. I take it and try to hide my jump at the spark of electritcy that jumped from his hand to mine.

"Isabella Swan."

He smiles at me, as if he knows something. "Nice to meet you Isabella Swan. I know we just met and all, but I was about to grab a cup of coffee. Would you like to join me?"

Huh. I have no clue who this is, but whatever. I feel safe with him. "Sure."


"So, what were you doing out today?" Edward asks me. He takes a sip of his coffee and I wrinkle my nose at it. I hate coffe. I glance down at my hot chocolate and smile. It's much better than that crap that some people call coffee.

"Well, really, I was just pissed off at something." I look at his face to make sure that he isn't offended by my light curse. "I recieved the most beautiful roses this morning and I have no idea who sent them to me."20I pour a sugar packet into my hot chocolate. "And when I researched the colors of the roses because I was curious, I found out they meant love at first sight, purity, and passion." I sigh. "Gah, this is just so confusing!"

Edward leans forward. His fingers tap out a beat on the table. "Someone sent you purple, white, and orange roses?"

I narrow my eyes. "How did you know that?"

He shrugs easily. "My mother was a flourist. She drilled these kinds of things into me before she died."

"I'm sorry," I say.

He smiles at me. "I don't get why people say 'I'm sorry' when they hear that someone's died. It's not like you had anything to do with her being in a car accident."

I shrug and take a sip of my drink. "It's just the polite thing to do, I guess. I'm not really sure why people say 'I'm sorry' to be honest. It's just something we automatically do."

"True." He leans back in his seat. "Now, back to your flower mystery. Are you sure that no one left any kind of signature?"

I shake my head at him, my brown hair flying around my face. "None. All I know is that they're from Elizabeth's Flowers and the color." I sigh. "I'll never figure this out."

"Don't say that," Edward says. "You just have to think a little bit."


It's been a month since I've gotten the flowers. Edward and I became even closer; after we had coffee, we had exchanged numbers and now we talked almost every day. I went over to his house the first time a few days ago. It's a beautiful house, close to mine. I'm over there right now, actually. I pull my truck into his driveway and Edward walks out his front door at the sound of my engine.

"Oh, Bella," Edward says once I'm out of the car. He shakes his head in mock disapointment. "What have I told you about this monster of a car?"

I try to hide my jitters at being so close to him. "That it's the god of all cars, it kicks your stupid shiny Volvo's ass, and you're jealous of me for having it?" I retort. Hopefully, he can't hear my voice shake.

He smiles. "I believe I said that you should get rid of it, but close enough."

We walk into his house, bickering as usual. It's fun to argue with Edward on the some of the stupidest subjects.

"Edward, I thought I knew you."

"I can't believe that you think that Tony the Tiger can beat Cap'n Crunch in a fight to the death," Edward says.

"Tony's a tiger!" I say in response. "He lives in the wild. He has to hunt to live. He's a dangerous animal!"

"Cap'n Crunch eats tigers for breakfast," Edward says. His cell phone rings and he takes it out frowning. "I'm sorry, but I have to take this. Make yourself=2 0at home."

I wander towards the living room and plop myself down on the leather couch. I reach for the remote, but the heel of my hand hits the remote and sends it and most of the papers on
the table flying.

"Damn it," I mutter. I get on my hands and knees and pick everything up.

Magazine, letter, remote, package of gum, reciept from Elizabeth's Flowers-

Wait, what?

I stare at the reciept in my hand. Elizabeth's Flowers is where I got my bouquet from. And Edward mysteriously knew what my color my roses were from the meaning. Hmmmm.

Coincidence? I think not.


"Edward, what were your parent's names?" I ask him softly. I know that both of his parents died in the accident, and he almost died from it, but Dr. Cullen saved him. And adopted him once he got better. But I don't know his parents name. I know that his mother was a florist, and his father was a newspaper editor, though.

He smiles sadly at me. "Edward and Elizabeth Masen. I actually took over my mother's flower shop when she died."


I knew it!

But then. . . Edward sent the flowers.

He sent me purple flowers.

Purple means love at first sight.

Oh, my God.


"Rose!" I shout into our apartment. How ironic that her name is Rosalie. Rose. Oh, God, Edward sent the roses. "Alice! Code Blue!"

Code Blue is our way of telling each other that we are having some major problems. And this a major problem. VERY MAJOR!

"Bella, what it?" Alice comes out of her room. Rose peeks her head out of the kitchen.

"Edward sent the roses!"

They're speechless. They know who Edward is and what the roses are. They seem to have trouble connecting the two together.

"But, doesn't purple mean love at first sight or something?" Alice chokes out.

"And didn't you only meet him a month ago? After you got the flowers?" Rosalie says.

I gaze at the hardwood floor. I've never realized how interesting it is before. "Yes, but I always used to see him around. Sometimes we walked next to each other if we were both heading the same direction."

Alice flaps her hands around. "You told us that you met him a month ago!"

I flush. "I learned his name a month ago."

My stomach is full of butterflies. "Oh, God. He sent me the roses. He loves me."

Rosalie and Alice exchange glances. "Bella," Rosalie starts off. "Do you love him."

I think about it.

The past month has been amazing. I can't think straight when I'm around him=2 0and his green eyes. I imagine life with him. I scribbled my name as Isabella Cullen a few times to see what it looks like. I can't picture life without him.

Oh, my God.

"Yes," I whisper hoarsly. "I do."

I don't need to look up to see Alice's and Rosalie's flabbergasted faces.


Red? No, that's too cheesy. Yellow? Of course not.. That means friendship. Oh, or jealousy. That won't do. But which color means I accept? Oh, what's that? Yellow with a red tip?

Falling in love. Too late for that. I click off that website and put in a new Google search.

Rose meaning "I accept"

Nothing. Just some stuff about blue roses.

I didn't know that blue roses exist. I click the link, curious, and read what's there for blue roses.

Impossible, Unattainable

Blue roses exist in fantasy but not in nature. The blue rose symbolizes the unattainable or impossible which won't make it a good choice to give someone you would like to maintain a relationship with anyway.

Um. Blue's out then.


Oh, God, this is insane. I adjust the sunglasses that block most of my face and make sure that my hair is hidden underneath's the baseball hat that I stole from Rosalie. This is insane, but I don't care. I push the door to Elizabeth's Flowers open, take a deep breath, and step in towards my doom.

. . . That was quite melodramatic wasn't it? Oh, get back on track, Bella.

Okay, focus. Flowers. Go ask the guy for help. Ask for flowers meaning something along the lines of "I agree" or "I accept". No problem. Nice and easy.

Five minutes later, I'm still wandering around the flower shop. I can't get my courage up and ask him. He might know Edward! After all, Edward owns this place!

I think, at least. Because come on! How many flower shops are there in Port Angeles? Not that many, I think. And how many people have mothers who used to own a flower shop before they died and their son took over?

Yeah, betcha can't that!

Shutting up now.


"Can I help you with something?" his voice is rich, amused even as I stare at him with wide eyes. I feel like a deer. A deer about to hit by a car. The guy in front of me is not Edward (Thank God!) but he's kind of hot. Long, shaggy blond hair that hangs into his eyes. Grey eyes that stare at me. Eh. I prefer green eyes, anyway. And bronze hair. Messy bronze hair that is always a mess that I long to run my fingers through-

Focus, Bella!

"Um," comes my oh-so-eloquent answer. "What kind of flower means I accept? Or even I agree? Or, hell, even I love you, too."

He stares at me. "Well, ten tulips means Perfect love, if that's what you were wondering."

I nod jerkily. What if Edward thinks this is stupid? "Anything else? Do colors matter here?"

He raises one eyebrow at me. "Would you like me to make a suggestion?"

"Yes, please."

The man shrugs. "He's a guy. Getting flowers isn't to manly. Go with something simple. Just tell him."

I gape at him; how did he know that?

"My name's Jasper, by the way. Have a nice day."

And he walks away, leaving me gaping after him like an idiot.


Well, this is uncomfortable. Not that Edward notices of course. Well, he might, but he's too much of a gentlemen to point stuff like that out.

"Edward, we need to talk." Gah, that sounded ominous.

Edward noticed the ominous tone and starts to babble. "Oh, Bella, would you like to eat dinner now?"


He cuts me off. "We can order out, or maybe I could make something-" He stands up.

"Edward, this is important-"

"-how do you feel about chicken? I can make a chicken-"

"-Edward, damn it, this is about our futures-"

"-you want mashed potatoes?"

"-Damn it, Edward, I love you!"


Whoops. That was not supposed to come out until later.

"What was that?" Edward croaks.

"Um." What could that have been? "I shove moo?"

"That makes no sense," Edward mutters. "I heard you right the first time. You love me." His face is shining with pride. "You love me."

"Um. . . "

"Bella, I love you too."

Gah. On a romantic scale of one to ten, this night is easily a three. My living room, which we're in, is a complete mess. The roses are sitting on the table behind us. The TV is turned to some horrible horror movie. But, we're discussing out "love" so, that makes up for three of the points.

I have no idea what to say. So, I just kind of do some odd shrug and smile at me. "I love you."

He sweeps me up into his arms. "Say it again," Edward says huskily.

"I love you.."

I giggle at his obvious glee.

I stare into his eyes, feeling the laughter leaving me. I close my eyes. "Kis me, Edward," I whisper.

And kiss me he does.

Just short of swooning, with little shivers going through my body, he kisses me. His lips are warm and are shaping to mine in a familiar way, and I'm about to pass out from sensory overload. It makes me feel like we had known each other since the dawn of time, since the beginning of time, since the very first star had been born. It's something almost primitive, something ingrained in me, and I draw back for a few seconds to breath. And then he's whispering things to me, cheesy thing, sappy things, declarations of love.

And I can't get enough of it. I stand on my toes, reach up, wrap my arms around his neck and pull his head down.

I don't think I'll ever get enough Edward. I may never let him out of my sights.

He smiles against my lips and wraps his arms around my waist.

I don't think he'll mind much.


". . .but calling him a demon was like calling Tinkerbell armed and dangerous."

Ah, I love The Vampire Diaries. And Damon is taking on quite the hotness in The Return: Nightfall. Yummy.

And his sarcasm is on the same level of mine. Even better.

Oh, yeah. Can you find the Phantom of the Opera mention in here? --giggles-- I find it quite funny, but other people might not get it. I'll post the answer later. Maybe in a second chapter of this. But it'd probably just be an author's note.

And, what the bouquet looks like in in my profile. One of the only links, actually. . . .