Theresa

There was a soft scratching noise that brought Theresa slowly back into consciousness.  When she opened her eyes, she noticed flowers on her pillow.  She jerked up and banged her head on the low roof over her bed.

“Ow!” she yelped, wondering how she could have slept through a flower delivery.  They were freshly picked – an arrangement of white daisies, yellow buttercups and a single red Indian paintbrush.  They were held together with a circle of grass and a small piece of paper was tucked inside.  She pulled out the paper and unfolded it several times.

“You look beautiful when you sleep,” said the note without a signature.  But the handwriting wasn’t Kirk’s and Theresa knew who they were from.

“Crap,&r...

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