I disclaim…

a/n: I owe my inspiration for this to an AOL news article concerning the colors of roses and their generally accepted meanings. I think this is the closest I will ever get to writing Emmett's POV. It is completely in the third person and a big old pile of fluff if you ask me. I like it though, so enjoy! ^.^

Summary: You should never underestimate the power of a rose. Each one carries a special significance that is not to be lost among clichés. AU&AH

A Twilight Series Fanfic
By FlamingRedFox

His mother always told him that the first rose he was to ever give to a girl should be purple. If the girl were to accept, the second rose he was supposed to give her would be pink. Every little, thoughtful surprise he planned, all those little, often overlooked signs of appreciation, were to always be accompanied by a single peach rose. The only time a red rose was to be given was during the first time he'd say, "I love you." Otherwise, the significance would be lost among the cliché. When he proposed, he would need a long-stemmed yellow rose to accompany his charming smile. White roses would not avoid his wedding day, and every "I love you" to come would be flecked with orange rose petals.

"Trust me, my little Emmett, darling," she would say as she scooped him up for a tight hug. "You should never underestimate the power of a rose."

From that first time she'd told him at age six up until now, twenty years later, he'd never really understood the outline for love his mother had laid out. He did his best to follow it though. After all, his mother was a woman. Who better to know the direct line to a woman's heart than a woman herself? Especially one who had been happily married for more than thirty years, if the nine children she had were any indication of that.


He was eleven when he had his mother buy the first purple rose he'd ever give out. After making sure it was tucked safely in his backpack so that it wouldn't be crushed, he spent most of the morning twiddling his thumbs and daydreaming as Mrs. Barbour prattled on with the various fifth grade lesson plans. When it was time for recess he made sure he was the last one out of the classroom, carefully hiding the purple rose inside his coat. The moment he'd spied her on the swing set, laughing and giggling with her friends, he took a deep breath and wore the most charming, dimpled smile he could muster. The girls continued to giggle, eyeing him up and down as he approached. The only quieted when he stopped walking, holding their breath as they watched him remove the single flower and hold it up to his crush. Then they all started laughing again and his smile fell, the rejection confirmed when his first crush said, "Silly Emmett. Roses are supposed to be red."

When he went home that day he found his mother bustling about the kitchen. She turned to him with a smile, asking her baby boy the question that had been plaguing her mind all morning. When he held up the lone purple rose and reiterated what the girl had said with a dejected look in his eyes, she didn't hesitate to scoop him up in her arms and hold him tight.

"That just means she wasn't the one," she cooed into his ear, kissing his cheek. "A girl worth loving understands the significance of a purple rose."


The next time he asked his mother for a purple rose, he was seventeen. The junior prom was a little more than a month away and he knew exactly who he wanted to go with. To his surprise, and excited elation, the girl said yes. When he told his mother, she instructed him to show up at her house exactly on time, looking his best with a smile on his face and a pink rose in his hand to accompany the corsage. He did just that and everything went off without a hitch.

They were together for the rest of junior year and all of their senior year. Occasionally he would surprise her with a pretty peach rose which she thanked him for with a kiss on the cheek. He never had the chance to give her a red rose though. He'd never summed up the courage to say, "I love you." They went to separate colleges and she fell in love with and married someone else. His mother had always told him it was for the best.

"Emmett, dear," she had said into the phone during the early months of his freshman year. "The significance of the red rose is not to be wasted. You should only give a red rose once." Had they not been a few hundred miles away she would have hugged him close and kissed his cheek much like she'd always done. Instead she'd told him how much she and his father missed him and how excited they were that he'd be home for Thanksgiving.


It would be eight more years before he completed the steps his mother had outlined so long ago. They were eight long years that changed his life forever, for the better, and there was only one thing he'd ever regretted. He would never hear his mother whisper, "I told you to never underestimate the power of a rose," and see the look on her face as she hugged him tight after watching him give his heart to the prettiest Rose of them all, forever.


Emmett had been twenty-four when he first laid eyes on Rosalie Hale. She was breathtaking, to say the least, the way golden curls cascaded down her back and the deep violet sundress brought out the color in her eyes. What was most captivating, however, was the peaceful little smile that decorated her lips and the heart melting laughter that fell from her jaw as she slid down the big slide in the park with a three year old on her lap. He was frozen for all of three minutes, watching them play, before something clicked in his head. He had to find a florist, quickly. He didn't care if the girl was married, or if that child was her daughter. He only knew that he couldn't approach her unless he was holding a purple rose.

By the time he'd purchased the lone flower and made his way back to that small playground the golden haired angel and her little cherub were gone. His heart sank and his smile fell as he began to make his way out of the park. Without much thought he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called his mother. In her he always found a happy confidante and she always knew just how to cheer him up. He quickly related the story as he meandered his way back to his apartment, and his frown slowly morphed into a scowl at the sound of his mother's laughter. She'd never laughed at him before when it came to matters of the heart.

"Stop scowling at me, Emmett," she'd laughed, knowing his expression without having to see him. "If what you say is true then I'm positive you'll find her again. Who's to say she wont find you? After all, the purple rose stands for love at first sight."

He was slightly slack-jawed as the words sunk in. His mother had never outright told him the significance of each color. She'd merely instructed which color to give at which stage in the relationship. Purple was to be first, followed by pink. Peach he had assumed was some sort of sign of appreciation or gratitude, and red obviously meant love. He wasn't sure why the yellow rose was supposed to accompany his proposal, but he would never question his mother's judgment. White was undeniably a symbol of purity. Orange roses had him just as stumped as the yellow ones. All he knew was that they were to be saved for last, and that his mother especially liked it whenever she walked into her bedroom and found orange rose petals scattered everywhere.


Every day for the next week he'd taken to following that pathway through the park that had first led him to her. He'd make sure to purchase a purple rose first, but it was all in vain. She was never there, and for the first time in his life he began to doubt his mother's words.


It was another four and a half days before he saw her again. They were in a freezer aisle of the supermarket, and even with her tall, slender figure and long legs she was having trouble reaching something from back of the top shelf. As he approached, to his delight he noticed she had no wedding band on her left hand as she gripped the freezer door with it and strained for whatever the elusive item was with her right.

Nervously he reached out and tapped her lightly on the shoulder, offering her his dimpled grin. "Want some help?"

She looked almost relieved as she turned to eye whoever dared to save her from her plight, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as a grateful smile graced her features. "Would you mind? My friend will kill me if I don't get her that exact brand of potato skins and I can't reach the last box."

With ease he reached into the freezer, retrieving her prize. "Here ya go," he said as he handed it to her, the expression in his eyes softening just slightly as their fingers brushed during the hand off.

"Thank you so much. You're a life saver!" She let out a small laugh as she dropped the box into her cart and glanced at her watch, expression paling as she registered the time. It was easy to tell she was running late, and she offered him an apologetic smile as she thanked him one last time and started walking down the aisle.

He watched her leave with his brow furrowed, wishing he had at least learned her name. Obviously she couldn't stay and chat. The regret in her eyes as she'd turned to leave hadn't been missed though, and with a disgruntled sigh he finished his grocery shopping and headed to the checkout.


The next time he saw her things couldn't have been more perfect. He had just turned to exit the florist much as he always did before taking his walk through the park. In the brief three weeks he'd been stopping there he'd befriended the woman who owned it, a sweet woman by name of Esme who was expecting her first child. She'd had the lone purple rose waiting for him before he'd even entered and bid him luck in his quest to find his mystery girl before he turned to leave. What he wasn't expecting was to practically walk right into said mystery girl as he made to open the shop's glass door.

His apology stuck in his throat as he peered down at her, one hand on her waist as he'd tried to steady her on her heels. She smiled up at him nervously, shock and realization battling for dominance of her expression.

"You again," she breathed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her eyes.

He nodded his head and held up the rose, silently praying she'd take it. "Sorry I almost knocked you down."

"Don't worry about it." She'd brushed him off, wearily eyeing the flower in his hand. It was sweet of him to offer it to her when obviously it hadn't been meant for her. She wouldn't take it though, she couldn't. It'd been a long time since she'd last accepted a rose. "I'm Rosalie. Rosalie Hale."

"Emmett McCarty," he replied before trying to hand her the rose again. There was a strange determination in his eyes. "Here, this is for you."

Her head tilted curiously to one side before she shook it in the negative. "I hate roses," she muttered, flashing him an apologetic smile.

He raised an eyebrow at her, not ready to give up. What sort of girl hated roses? "But this one's purple."

"There's a difference?"

From behind them, they heard the light tinkling of Esme's laughter as she watched the exchange in silence from behind the register. Silly Rosalie, she thought. Of course there is a difference.

"Big difference," Emmett replied with a nod of his head, his smile morphing into a grin as she finally took the rose and inspected it skeptically.

"Care to enlighten me?"

"My ma says purple rose stand for love at first sight." He smiled sheepishly, hand scratching nervously at the back of his neck as he prepared himself for the confession he was about to give. "I've actually been trying to give you one for the last three weeks."

This caught her completely off guard and she nearly dropped the rose as she snapped her gaze to his. "But we only met a week and a half ago…"

The confusion in her voice was impossible to miss, and it only seemed to make him more nervous. "That was the second time I ever saw you. The first time you were at the park with a little girl, but by the time I'd actually worked up the nerve to say 'hello' you were gone."

The day he'd specified had definitely been three weeks ago. Three weeks ago she had babysat for Edward and Bella Masen. Three weeks ago she had taken Renesemee to the park to play.

For a long moment she took in the semi-stranger standing before her: his dark curls and broad shoulders. Her gaze trailed over his well muscled physique and took in his dimpled cheeks before returning to rest on his eyes. A smirk crossed her mouth as she crossed her arms, absentmindedly twirling the rose between her fingertips. "You don't really look like the nervous type."

He returned her smirk with a grin of his own. "My ma says only the girls that make a guy nervous are worthy of receiving roses."


It was another three days before they met again. This time he was standing at her front door in a nice, dark green collared shirt and a pair of dress slacks, a pink rose held before him as he knocked a bit too enthusiastically. She opened the door a moment later in a little black dress that took his breath away and a small frown on her face that made him grin cheekily.

"Emmett, I thought I told you I hated roses." That didn't prevent her from accepting the flower.

"The pink rose is a sign of admiration, appreciation, and joy," he recited. He had Googled it earlier, wanting to know why his mother insisted on bringing a pink rose on a first date. "How come you supposedly hate roses anyway?"

She rolled her eyes as she took his hand, letting him lead her to his jeep. "Rose is short for Rosalie. The namesake sort of spoils the flower, though I admit you're the first date I've had that's ever brought me a color other than red."

"Obviously you've never had a date that understands the significance of a rose. Most people don't get that red roses are special."

She laughed at that, smiling as she watched him back out of her driveway and start towards the restaurant. "Oh really? And what does your ma say about red roses?"

"That they should only be given once." He grinned, winking at her, and the conversation shifted to less thought provoking topics.


The first date turned into a second which quickly morphed into a third. Their fourth date involved a football game in which Rosalie's team beat Emmett's twenty-eight to seven. It also resulted in their first real kiss; the kind that supposedly leaves you short of breath and tingly from head to tow with stars behind your eyelids and a desperate need for more.

On their fifth date, she invited him to her place with the promise of dinner. Unfortunately, she may have forgotten to mention that she was less than graceful when it came to matters of the kitchen. She was thoroughly frazzled and positively panicking as she'd opened her door, unsure whether she was relieved or terrified to have him suddenly there.

"A sign of gratitude," he'd stated, shoving a peach rose into her hands as he kissed her chastely in greeting.

She had no time to respond as the sounds of the smoke alarm suddenly shattered the silence. Rosalie blushed scarlet as she hung her head in shame. Emmett merely laughed and shook his head knowingly, kissing her again and leaving her dazed in the doorway as he made his way into the kitchen.

An hour and a half later the mess she'd made had been cleaned up, the smoke had exited out the opened windows, and they were sitting down to roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and a side of green beans courtesy of Emmett. They ate in relative silence, she still embarrassed by her cooking fiasco and he admiring the way the pale pink tingeing her cheeks only added to her appeal. He rather enjoyed the fact that he could reduce headstrong, confident Rosalie into nothing more than a silly little girl. It was nice to know that he made her as nervous as she did him.

As they stood at the door saying their goodbyes she pulled the peach rose from the end table she'd left in on during the moment of chaos. She held it up to him, refusing to meet his gaze. "I think I should give this back to you."

He chuckled lightly, pushing her chin up so that their eyes locked. "Keep it. It's yours."

She shook her head, trying to fight back her blush for the umpteenth time that night. "But you're the one that saved dinner. And possibly my house from burning down…"

He gently pressed his lips to hers, pulling away with a dimpled smile. "I'm grateful I'm the reason for that beautiful blush."

She couldn't help it then, and letting the pink taint her complexion she secured her arms around his neck. Pulling herself up she kissed him firmly, determinedly, a sign of thanks for not finding her totally incompetent. He returned the kiss all too eagerly, deepening it to a reality shattering intensity only found in fairy tales.


It was another four months before Emmett purchased his first red rose. It was a little after eight in the evening and stars blanketed the sky. He'd brought her to that very playground where he'd first laid eyes on her all those months ago, the place he'd first understood his mother's passion for roses. It was their sixth month anniversary.

He stood before her, hands gripping the chain links of the swing she sat upon. Her violet eyes bore into his as she sat there laughing, reveling in the innocence of the moment. And then he'd said it, and for a split second the earth stopped spinning and she stopped laughing and he'd pulled the single red rose from an inside coat pocket and held it delicately before her.

"Emmett," she'd breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Tentatively, almost as if she thought the world would shatter if she moved too fast, she brought her hand up to grasp the lone flower. Her eyes never left his as his hand curled around hers, and a soft smile graced her lips as she kept her tears at bay. "If you love me then you should know by now how much I really hate roses."

He chuckled then as he pulled her to her feet, which in turn elicited a giggle from her. In his ear she whispered, "I love you too," and they shared a sweet kiss that confirmed the sentiment a thousand times over.


Before he had the chance to call his mother with the news, his father's voice greeted him in distress. His mother was ill to the point of hospitalization and her condition would only steadily deteriorate. For one very long hour he sat in deafening silence, too stunned to even think clearly. And then his mind kicked into overdrive, his heart rate picked up, and he began to furiously pack his bags with anything and everything he could think of. He was trying real hard to keep in his tears, but it was a losing battle and all the more reason his decision was final.

That was how Rosalie found him; shoving half of his dresser into a suitcase as one tear at a time dared to slip down his cheeks. She didn't ask him what was wrong or where he was going. Instead, she calmly crossed the room and pulled him into her arms, sitting them on his bed as she soothingly stroked his hair. He latched onto her like a lifeline, never wanting to let go as the tears finally broke the dam.

"Shh, shh baby. It's alright. I'm here. Shh…"

Eventually he calmed and he dried his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. He then kissed her firmly, hard, almost as if he needed a reassurance that he wasn't living in some alternate universe that was playing some cruel, sick joke on him. She was caught off guard but kissed him back anyway, knowing in that moment it was the only way she could help him.

"Emmett, baby what's wrong?" she'd asked when he finally pulled away.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he voiced his troubles aloud for the first time since he'd received the phone call. "My ma's real sick. I'm flying down to Tennessee as soon as possible. I… I've got to go home."

"I'm going with you." It was a statement that left no room for argument. He tried to argue anyway.

"No, Rose. I can't ask you to do that. I don't know how long I'll be gone. It could be days or months. You can't just drop everything here for my sake."

"Emmett." Her tone was firm as she gripped his face with both hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I'm going with you. No buts. I love you. I'm not letting you go through this alone."

There was a determined passion in her eyes that made him smile. Hours later, when their plane touched down in Tennessee, he dragged her into the first florist he could find and handed her a peach colored rose.


"Is that my baby boy standing there with his head hung in the doorway? I thought I raised you better than that, Emmett. Now get over here and let me look at you!"

He let a nervous smile twist his lips as slowly he approached his mother's bedside, sitting on the chair his father had vacated moments before. "Hey ma. How are ya?"

"Oh you know. Same old, same old. Those doctors never have anything new to tell. But enough about me. I want to hear all about you. It seems like forever since I last saw you sweetheart. Tell me, what's new?"

"Well…" His voice trailed off as their eyes locked and his mother's face lit up in a brilliant smile.

"You're in love!" she accused, excitement oozing from every pore. "Who is she? Is it that girl from the park? Did you give her the red rose? My baby boy is finally in love! Oh this is so exciting!" She didn't care that she was making too much of a fuss, embarrassing her son in ways only a mother could. All that mattered was that she'd lived long enough to see all of her children with that look in their eye, that look that showed they weren't quite focused on reality and left them positively glowing; that same look she had every time she thought of her husband.

"Yeah, about that…" Emmett was nervous as he tried to curb some of his mother's enthusiasm. "There's someone I'd like you to meet." Turning towards the door he called out, "Rosalie?"

His mother's eyes danced with delight and her smile seemed to widen, if possible, as she watched her walk in and lace her fingers with her son's.

"Rosalie, this is my ma. Ma, this is my Rose."

"It's nice to finally put a face to the woman Emmett speaks so fondly of all the time." A nervous smile accompanied her words as she suddenly found herself being pulled down for a hug.

"Funny. He's barely told me a thing about you. But I know my son. He gave you the red one, didn't he?"

"Ma!" He tried to protest but the grin on his face gave everything away. She couldn't suppress her giggles as she nodded her head, and Mrs. McCarty squealed in delight and pulled them both down for a hug and a kiss.

"Oh I knew it! I just knew it! Emmett darling, be a dear and go talk to your father and brothers in the waiting room for a bit. I want to speak with Rosie alone."

"Ma," he tried to protest again, but she silence him with a glare. Rose planted a kiss on his cheek and then shoved him towards the door, and with one last withering look he left the two most important woman in his life alone to discuss heaven knows what. Though, he did have a sinking feeling that a majority of the conversation would be about him.


Seven hours later found them curled up together in his old bed, in his old room, discussing the day's events.

"Emmett, your mother is certifiably insane. Do you have any idea of the sort of personal questions she asked about me, about us? And she wouldn't stop calling me Rosie."

"Way too personal for her own good," he replied with a chuckle. "That's ma for ya. And did you ask her not to call you Rosie?"

"Well no, but… I hate being called Rosie."

"If I recall correctly you also hate roses, but that didn't stop a McCarty before."

She rolled her eyes, pressing her lips to his for a goodnight kiss.

"G'night Rosie."

She sighed before a thought struck her, and with an evil smile replied, "Good night Emmie."

He froze, for a long moment just staring at her like a deer caught in headlights. And then he murmured, "She didn't…"

Placing another kiss on his lips, she smiled sweetly before snuggling closer into his side and closing her eyes. "She did."


A lot happened in the five weeks that followed. Rosalie was introduced to all eight of Emmett's siblings and their respective spouses and welcomed into the family like she'd always belonged. Emmett's twenty-fifth birthday came and passed, celebrated in the hospital at his mother's bedside. And, most importantly, he learned the significance of the yellow rose.

When Rosalie had been sent out of the room in search of the cafeteria, his mother had fished around in a drawer on the bedside table. Pulling out a small box, she shoved it into her youngest son's hands with a silly smile on her face. "Go on, open it!"

He did, and as the lid unhinged a sparkling diamond ring revealed itself in all its gold plaited glory. "Ma?" he'd questioned, his gaze jumping from the ring to her and back again.

"It's my engagement ring, from your father. When the time's right I want you to give it to Rosie. She's perfect for you darling, and I won't let you blow this. Just don't forget a single, long-stemmed, yellow rose."

He smiled at her, kissing her cheek in thanks. Though one question had always nagged at the back of his mind. For the first time he dared to ask it. "Why yellow?"

She smiled sweetly at him, holding one of his hands in both of hers. "The ring," she started, glancing at the door to be sure they were still alone. "Is a sign of your eternal love. The yellow rose is a symbol of your eternal friendship."

"Thanks ma. I promise I won't let you down."

"You never have, darling. You never have."


With the passing of two more weeks he never found the perfect moment to ask her. Instead, his mother's health took a rapid turn for the worst and the family was lost in a sea of tears, and funeral preparations, and grief. Rose rarely left his side for more than a few minutes at a time, and for the first time since they'd left for the airport he let the tears flow freely down his face. His mother was gone, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to bring her back. He could only do his best to make her proud, and every so often he would subconsciously grip the engagement ring in his pocket, searching for that perfect moment.

The funeral was a somber occasion. Ten red roses were placed on the casket, one for every child and one for her husband. Every other rose was peach and tears were cried in silence. The day was sunny, warm, exactly how she would have wanted it to be. And, as they said their good byes, they knew her spirit was up in heaven getting ready to say a million hellos.


They spent one last week in Tennessee with his family, trying to prolong the reality check as much as possible. The plane trip was uneventful, and they returned home to unpaid bills and messages from worried friends.

"You okay, baby?" she'd asked, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

"She'd be mad at me if I wasn't," he chuckled as he kissed the top of her head. "Come on. Let's go out to dinner."

She nodded into his chest and slowly the slipped back into their old routine.


Three and a half months later he finally found the perfect moment.

They were walking towards the park, planning to follow that old familiar path, when Esme's flower shop came into view. Before he could register what he was doing he was pushing his way through the glass door, the small bell atop it tinkling at his entrance.

Confused, she followed silently behind him, smiling a greeting at Esme as they approached the register.

"Emmett, Rosalie. What can I do for you two today?" came Esme's lilting voice as she settled the arrangement she was currently working on onto the countertop.

"A single, long-stemmed, yellow rose please."

There was excitement in his expression as he tapped his foot in anticipation, slipping the diamond ring from its box in his pocket. The moment Esme handed him the flower he slid the ring up its stem. And then he turned to her, and falling to one knee as he held up his offering with the sincerest smile he'd ever smiled. "Don't you dare tell me you hate roses, Rosie."

She laughed, tears threatening to fall as she took the gift and sank down to his level, tilting the flower so the ring fell from the stem. She handed it to him, letting him place it on her finger as she pressed her lips to his. "I don't hate them so much when they come from you."

"Marry me?"

"In a heartbeat," she breathed, and the moment wasn't even broken by the excited clapping of Esme as she played witness to one of the many tender moments of true love.


Actually planning for the wedding was one of the most hectic events of either of their lives. They had made the mistake of telling her friend Alice that they had yet to book a wedding planner, and subsequently for the next five months they were subject to the overbearing, domineering, control freak, perfectionist ways of a four foot nine inch woman on a mission to pull off the most impressive wedding ever. All hope for a simple family affair was thrown out the window.

The fact that Alice and Rosalie could barely agree on anything and were both highly stubborn women when it came to getting their ways only made matters worse. Alice wanted to pull off the wedding of the century. Rose wanted her wedding done her way, and her way only. Emmett's only stipulation was that she carry a bouquet that contained several white roses and that he was allowed to taste test all cake choices. Otherwise, he tried to stay out of the planning as much as possible.


By the time the big day actually rolled around, everything was perfect. Two hundred fifty guests were in attendance, the chapel and banquet hall were fit for a fairy tale princess, and mixed in with the bouquet of lilies were three white roses. They were wed by the minister to no objections, and their first kiss as husband and wife was both sweet and passionate, and it was so utterly romantic that the little flower girl burst out in tears and giggles of joy.

Arm in arm they strolled out of the church to well wishes and cheers. Then they stood outside the doors as they parade of congratulations began. It was impossible to escape the many handshakes and tight hugs, the sloppy kisses on the cheeks and silly comments said in jest.

"Congrats little bro. You're officially as whipped as the rest of us."

"Beautiful ceremony sis. Over the top in true Rosalie fashion."

But one comment struck home, and it made him hold her just that much more tightly as she bit her lower lip to help fight back the tears.

"Welcome to the family, Rose," his father had said, wrapping her in an awkward hug. And then he'd turned to his son and tugged him down to his level so as to whisper in his ear. "A long time ago I was given some very specific instructions by your mother. She said I was supposed to tell you, and I quote, 'You can never go wrong with orange roses. They reflect the desire burning in your heart.'" As he pulled away he added, "You did her proud son. Best of luck you two, though I doubt you'll need it."

For him, at least, the rest of the day passed by in a haze. He only once let her go so she could dance with her father, and as he stood there, watching them, he couldn't help but reflect. The only one missing from this most magical moment was his wise, old ma with her knowing smile and twinkling eyes. And even then he knew that she was out there someplace, looking down on him in utter delight as the music changed and he approached his wife, asking if it was alright to cut in before kissing her soundly in a reminder of how much he truly did love her.


That night they lay together tangled in a mess of sheets and orange rose petals. Her head lay on his chest, his arms firmly around her waist. Their only movements were the steady rise and fall of their breathing as peaceful sleep consumed them both. Quiet hands, quiet mouths, quiet eyes, quiet minds. It was just them, together, in a suspended reality in which the only thing that mattered was the fact that they loved each other unconditionally and eternally. And by some strange twist of fate, or maybe it was pure dumb luck… but whatever it was, he had somehow managed to earn the heart of the girl of his dreams. He had completed every task laid out by his mother twenty years ago, and he was more thankful now than ever that he had always trusted his ma's judgment.

Love at first sight.

Admiration, appreciation, and joy.

Sincerity and gratitude.












Many times she'd told him to never underestimate the power of a rose. Funny thing is, every time he asks Rosalie if she's changed her mind about the flower she stubbornly claims she hates them. Of course, her smile tells him otherwise, and secretly she will admit that she too is thankful that Emmett's mother was always right.

a/n: And there you have it. I apologize if I have further added to the already highly distorted notions of romance. I've just sort of had this in my head for a week and couldn't pass up the chance to write it. I admit, I think the "I love you" scene in the park is my absolute favorite. I wrote it and it still makes me swoon every time I reread it. Ah, hope you all enjoyed this lovely pile of fluff. I certainly enjoyed writing it, and it was so nice to get back to a third person point of view. I admit I honestly hate writing in the first person most of the time.

Review please! I wanna know if this makes you guys smile as much as it does me. ;P