The flowers had come that morning. He had already been at the sponsor’s office at the Chudley grounds, thankfully – better there than at home, where Cee or Veronica would inevitably be asking about them. Not that Theo had any answers. They hadn’t come with a note or an explanation. He had allowed himself to sit for a while at the desk just being nonplussed about them, staring at the whites and reds and yellows of the bouquet.
Were they from Cash? In counter to his doubts about this possibility ran the fact that there really was no one else in his life who would be sending him flowers, so. Besides, anyone else would have written something.
So this was either potentially the most romantic thing to ever happen to him, or a worrying sign. Maybe it was some kind of apology – but that didn’t quite make sense to him, because if anyone was owed an apology, Theo felt it should still probably be Cash, and not the other way around. If he knew what the flowers meant more precisely, maybe he could work out why he had sent them – but that would probably mean asking someone. (Calla Potts would certainly know about flower meanings, but she was out on the pitch and that would be too strange a conversation for comfort. Or he could write to Gemma Simpson? She knew her plants, and would probably help, but that felt – excessive.)
So instead he sat there for most of the day, wondering what Cash had been thinking. Was he still afraid about the baby? When was it due – soon, surely? Was he alright? What was he doing? Something must have happened.
In the end, he had been thinking about Cash all day, and he was no less worried about him. That evening, then, he penned a short note and pressed one of the red roses into it as he folded the parchment. That meaning he could figure well enough, and I love you wasn’t something he could write.
Were they from Cash? In counter to his doubts about this possibility ran the fact that there really was no one else in his life who would be sending him flowers, so. Besides, anyone else would have written something.
So this was either potentially the most romantic thing to ever happen to him, or a worrying sign. Maybe it was some kind of apology – but that didn’t quite make sense to him, because if anyone was owed an apology, Theo felt it should still probably be Cash, and not the other way around. If he knew what the flowers meant more precisely, maybe he could work out why he had sent them – but that would probably mean asking someone. (Calla Potts would certainly know about flower meanings, but she was out on the pitch and that would be too strange a conversation for comfort. Or he could write to Gemma Simpson? She knew her plants, and would probably help, but that felt – excessive.)
So instead he sat there for most of the day, wondering what Cash had been thinking. Was he still afraid about the baby? When was it due – soon, surely? Was he alright? What was he doing? Something must have happened.
In the end, he had been thinking about Cash all day, and he was no less worried about him. That evening, then, he penned a short note and pressed one of the red roses into it as he folded the parchment. That meaning he could figure well enough, and I love you wasn’t something he could write.
29th October, 1894
I wanted to say thank you. How is everything? Are you alright?
T.
