Axel let go of my hand, walked to the center table, and picked up the broken rose. He walked back to me, a soft smile on his face as he slipped the rose into my hair, stepping back with his hands on his hips to admire his work. 

“There. It’s complete now.” 

“What’s your obsession with roses anyway?” I asked, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. 

He held my hand again, interlocking our fingers and we left the house. 

“They remind me of someone,” he ...