The breeze stroked chill fingers over her neck as the leaves crackled beneath her boots. She shivered, but walked on. There, she thought, just within the embrace of those trees. Her throat closed, and she swallowed hard.

 How many times had she met him here? How many times had they sat together here, watching the boats on the lake through the gap in the trees? 

 Times long gone.

 The aged oak felt somehow comforting against her back. She slid against the side of the tree until she sat, cradled among the roots. Long dark strands of her hair fluttered over her face, and, unthinking, she brushed them behind her ears. The paper rustled as she pulled it from her pocket. It was all that mattered. She traced trembling fingers over the familiar handwriting, and felt tears prick her eyes. They trickled over her pale cheeks, unheeded. 

 “Excuse me?”

 She looked up from the book in her hands. Storm colored eyes gazed inquiringly down at her. Her dark eyes drank in his features: the way his eyes crinkled at the corners; the sweep of dark hair that trailed down to his shoulders; the soft smile on his lips as he waited for her response.  It took her a moment to find her voice, “yes?”

 He smiled, and her heart beat a rapid tattoo in her chest.  “I have a confession to make.”

 Her full lips curled into a smile as one eyebrow rose. “Really.”

 He nodded, and unconsciously brushed away the ebony strands that fell in front of his eyes.  “I’ve been watching you for awhile now.”

 She blushed rosily.  “Have you now?” she asked softly, a touch uncertainly.

 He dropped down to his haunches, so their eyes were level. This close, she caught at trace of his scent: some rich cologne that teased her senses, and something else...something she couldn’t name...something oddly...familiar. 

 “I have.”

 His voice dropped an octave, suddenly a touch more husky.  A shiver raced through her.  It took her a moment to realize that he held out a sketchbook to her.  She thumbed through the pages, full of sketches.  They were all of her.  In that one, she was gazing out over the lake, unmindful of the squirrel rifling through her bag just next to the tree.  In another, she sat with her back against the tree, her knees pulled to her chest, and a book open on her knees. He captured every detail from the folds of her skirt to her fingers tucking her hair behind her ear.

 “These...” she paused, cleared her throat, then, “these are very good.”

He murmured his thanks. His hand covered hers as he reclaimed the sketchbook. She glanced up.  Her eyes met his and held. Her blush deepened.

There was a loud crack, and golden leaves rained down on her. A squirrel landed heavily on her lap, lay motionless for a long moment before he jumped to his feet. Chittering angrily at her, he scurried off of her and back up the tree. She watched it go, a bemused smile curving her lips only to slowly fade away.  He would have laughed, she thought.

His laughter rang in her ears, and she couldn’t help but join him.  She leaned back against the tree, her arms loosely around him as he leaned against her.  She felt his laughter rumble through his chest, making her hands tremble where they lay against him. He looked back at her, grinning. Her heart melted, and she leaned forward, pressing her lips lightly to his.

 She felt his stunned surprise, and then he was kissing her back.  His hand cradled her cheek, slid into her hair. His mouth moved over hers, softly, gently exploring.  She shuddered.

“I miss you,” she breathed, tears falling steadily now.  “Oh, how I miss you.”

 Paper rustled, and she realized she was clutching the envelope tightly. Her hands shook as she opened the envelope. She bit back a sob as she tipped the envelope, and rose petals rained down over her open palm.

 “Close your eyes.”

 Sunlight dappled shadows over them as the lush green leaves danced in the breeze.  One dark brow rose in question.  “What are you up to?”

 Her only answer was his grin.

 Sighing resignedly, she closed her eyes.

 Something brushed delicately over her cheek. Silky soft, it fluttered over her eyes, down her nose, over her lips. She breathed deep, and smelled, “Roses.”

 “Yes, darling,” he affirmed, “a rose.” He held the rose out to her, blood red with just a blush of pink in the center.  “I saw this one, and remembered the day we met.”

 She lifted her gaze from the rose to his eyes.  “Why?”

 He pointed out the soft pink hue.  “It’s the same color as your blush that day.”

 She laughed softly, a blush tinting her cheeks.

 Her hand curled tightly around the rose petals before she let those, too, fall to her lap.  Turning back to the envelope, she pulled the letter from within.  The envelope fell on top of the rose petals, and she unfolded the single piece of paper.  Her trembling fingers traced his so familiar handwriting.