down the hallway in the opposite direction of Roman’s office. Most people are fast asleep, unlike me, the insomniac skulking through the night. I have no real desire to go anywhere specific, but the gardens seem to be my go-to place when I feel the need to escape.
The star-kissed sky flashes above me, reminding me that I’m a mere speck in the greater scheme of things. So many tragedies are happening right this second, and I should be thankful for all the good things I have.
I venture over a grassy hill and see the tall pine trees surround me on both sides, prompting me to remember that I’ve seen this sight before. If I recall correctly, a stunning rose garden should be just up ahead. It was stunning from afar, so I can only imagine how extraordinary it will look up close.
The moon is full, providing all the light I need to navigate past the pines. Just beyond is an amazing spectacle that takes my breath away. Rows upon rows of roses are planted as far as the eye can see. Every color rose is cultivated, the well-ordered effect unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. All the colors of a rose rainbow.
I wonder why this was positioned here. Why is it so far away from the main building?
A light wind picks up speed, alerting me that a fellow insomniac is close by. The shifting of dirt can be heard quite distinctly, which makes me wonder why someone is gardening at this time of the night.
I decide to find out.
The flowering bushes are thick and lush and well maintained. They are looked after with love and care. As I peer down each procession, the digging gets louder and louder, but after five minutes, I’m certain I’m hearing things and consider turning back.
However, I scream bloody murder when a soft voice sounds behind me.
“Lola?”
“Holy shit!” I spin around, wielding the stick that I picked up along my journey as a weapon.
“Are you planning to stab me?”
“Maybe,” I reply breathlessly, attempting to calm down my racing heart. “You almost gave me a heart attack. You do realize this is how every horror movie starts, right?”
Roman runs his forearm over his sweaty brow, leaving a dirty smudge in its wake.
Peering down at his shovel and mud-covered boots, I raise a brow. “So…are you digging a grave?” Hardly appropriate, I know, but why on earth is he out here at one a.m.?
As I’m still waving the stick around like a sword, Roman reaches out and lowers my wrist. The contact shoots fireworks all the way to my toes.
“I’m gardening,” he reveals, which doesn’t explain why he’s out at this ungodly hour.
“And this gardening couldn’t wait until the morning? When it’s daylight and a lot less…serial killerish?” I ask, searching for the right word.
No matter how often I’m rewarded with that lopsided smirk, it always feels like the first time. “No rest for the wicked.” He accents his comment with a wink.
“S-so what is this place?” I ask, breaking the sudden static in the air.
Roman licks his bottom lip, then glances around with a sigh. “Want me to show you?”
I nod.
He extends his palm. I peer down at it, nervous. “I won’t bite.”
Pushing my fears aside, I take his hand, relishing in the connection. He threads his fingers through mine and leads the way. He knows his way around and explains all the types of roses.
It takes about forty-five minutes, but by the end, Roman has shown me the complete gardens. The entire time I listened, lost in his voice and his passion for something truly beautiful.
When we stop at what appears to be the first row of roses, he doesn’t let my hand go. He circles my palm with his thumb, appearing to be lost in thought.
Something near my feet catches my eye, and I look down, wondering what it is. The moonlight has slipped out from behind a cloud, highlighting a small bronzed plaque. The message inscribed and the small cherub depicted in the top right-hand corner have tears instantly welling in my eyes.
Leave Room in the Garden for the Angels to Dance.
A towering rose bush in a dazzling shade of red grows just behind the plaque. This rose is the leader of the pack. This is the sight June looks upon every day from her office window. Realization of just what this place is hits home, and suddenly, I can’t help but feel so alone.
A tear slides down my cheek. “Each rose represents