You return home to discover a huge flower bouquet waiting for you, no card attached. Who is it from — and why did they send it to you?
Remembering to signal a right turn as I pull into the cul-de-sac (I have been followed by our local constable since hitting the town limits) I maneuver all the way through our circle and stop the car at our community-clustered mailbox unit.
Lowering the driver’s window, I set my key into the third box from the left and remove its contents. Thankfully, I can reach the lower boxes with my window lowered from my ’54 Porsche 550 Spyder. (The drive home in my classic is sometimes the only thrill I have from the day. Love the pay as Senior Investments Officer… Hate the monotony of the office.)
Bearing left, I turn in the driveway and slowly pull toward the garage. Multi-tasking with leafing through the clutter one finds daily in the postal boxes, I catch a glimpse of a parcel setting in front of the entryway to my home.
Releasing the clutch to suddenly, my baby stutters to a stop.
I can feel my face turn crimson as I scan the neighbor to see if anyone witnessed my clumsy stop.
Curiosity fills me, as I recognize the parcel is a pearl white phaleanopsis orchid plant potted in a modern bamboo container.
Under the container is a small crimson red envelope.
Carefully cradling the gorgeous orchid in one arm, and siding the card in my jacket pocket, I quickly fumble with my keys to get into the front door
Placing the orchid on the entry table, I hastily enter my security code into the keypad by the drawing room.
The intoxicating fragrance of the moth orchid had already filled my foyer.
I sit quickly on the foyer bench and use my car key to slice open the top of the envelope.
Inside is an engraved card.
“Thinking of you.”
I was stunned.
I recognized the phone number right way. I was my old dorm number from my Blue Devil days.
But that was 37 years ago.
(Yes, I know that I was supposed to tell who sent me the flowers… and why… But I have no one from my past that I think would ever try to get in touch with me by way of flowers. Old acquaintances know that I can be teased with fires and steak dinners much more easily.)
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Secret Admirers.”