14
“This is the place.” Gwen knelt down between two glorious rose bushes, and parted the glossy green leaves. A small wood-and-bronze plaque was set in the neatly cultivated dirt.
Alyssa Rose Langford O’Neill Thurmond, it said in elegant looping script. And beneath the name were delicate engravings of three twining roses—two in full bloom and the third bud still tightly curled.
Mitch crouched down beside her, and felt his eyes blur with unexpected emotion. He understood the symbolism—but wondered if Gwen had ever realized that the second blooming flower represented him, and not Winston.
He felt…humbled…by the realization that Winston had loved her enough, even then, to want her someday reunited with her one true love.
“This is where he first saw you, isn’t it?” His voice sounded husky
