It went on for weeks. Roger kept running out of things to say in his notes, yet somehow always found the words. Each time, he would purchase or pick a different type of flower to give to her. His favorite part was watching her read it. As of now, each time she opened the door, she smiled, ready to be indulged by her secret lover's words. Roger couldn't help but wonder when he would get the courage to reveal himself to her.

How could he do it? He could painfully imagine himself knocking on Andrea's door with an idiotic grin and saying, "I'm the one who's been sending you those notes." Roger shuddered at the thought. Perhaps he could explain himself in his next note…but that was so unromantic. He'd think of something, he knew. At that moment, it was time for him to write another letter.

Dearest Andrea,

I'm sorry I haven't yet told you who I am. I'm trying to find away, but there is no way that I feel will be right for you. For you deserve much more than I could ever offer.

Your Secret Love

Roger sighed as he finished the note and picked up the lone daisy he had bought for her today. Going to her door, he fastened the flower to it and bent down to slide the piece of paper under the door.

That's when the door opened.

There was Andrea, staring down at Roger blankly. She turned and saw the flower on the door and then the note on the floor. Slowly, she got down to his level and stared at him face to face. Roger felt his pulse quicken.

"Are you the one who's been…?" she said, trailing off.

"Yes," he said with a smile. "That would be me."

All of a sudden, she said, "Are you sure?" and then, "I mean…I'm sorry. You just aren't at all what I pictured."

"Really?" asked Roger, slightly offended.

"Yes. But that was just my imagination getting away from me. I apologize."

Roger giggled nervously, then cleared this throat. "That's okay." He stood up, and so did she.

"If I may ask, who are you?" said Andrea.

"Roger Fox," he said, shaking her hand.

"I suppose you already know my name. But I don't go by Andrea."

Roger was intrigued. "What should I call you?"

"Andy."

He smiled a little bit. Andy. Perfect.

Andy bent down and picked up the letter. "You don't have to read that," he said with a shy tone in his voice.

"Nonsense. These letters are the greater points of my week."

As she read it, Roger watched her facial expression slowly. She smiled when she was finished. "That's really very beautiful."

"Oh, I wouldn't say…"

"And I should know, I'm a writer myself."

"I didn't know that," said Roger.

She glanced at the letter again. "I guess you don't have to find a way to say who you are now, do you?"

"No...I guess not."

"You know, it's all right. You could have just knocked on my door and said that you were the one who wrote these wonderful letters."

Roger had to keep himself beating his head against the wall.

Andy spoke up again. "We should go to dinner. I know I would like to make your acquaintance better, Roger," she said, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"You would?" he asked, somehow very surprised.

"Of course! You took the time to write all those wonderful letters and buy me flowers day after day. You really seem like a terrific man."

"I'm free tonight!" Exclaimed Roger, very excited.

"So am I!"

And so they went out that night, and the night after that as well. Andy couldn't believe that she loved Roger, who was almost the exact opposite of her. Yet somehow, she had fallen for him.

Roger couldn't believe he was dating Andy at first, yet he got used to having her in his life soon enough. As time passed, he even began to see a future with her…kids, a house, and a backyard. All of that seemed so possible now.

And as the years passed, he found it was more than possible.


The End