The next day, after I had finished my chores and my errands in Konohana, I headed up the mountain as usual to go to Bluebell. I hadn't seen Mikhail at all so far that day, but then I often didn't bump into him until I was on the trail towards the peak. Sure enough, as I passed the shallows just outside of town, I saw him on a little way ahead, nearing the bridge by the falls. I urged Nimbus on, and we quickly caught up to him.

I dismounted, and leading my mare by her reins, walked up to him with a friendly greeting. He seemed a little cooler than usual, but I assumed that I'd just caught him deep in thought, as often happened. So it was a bit of a surprise when he rebuffed my offer of a thermos of tea, saying as he turned his back on me, "No, thank you. To be honest, I'm rather angry with you right now. I think you know why."

I was dumbfounded, and I honestly had no idea what had upset him. "No, as a matter of fact, Mikhail, I don't know. What did I do?"

He turned around and looked at me, and replied icily, "I saw you yesterday."

Still baffled, I said, "Okaaay... saw me where? What on earth is the matter?"

He glared at me, and said even more fiercely, "Allow me to clarify. I saw you yesterday... kissing another man. That... that florist fellow from Bluebell. Tell me, is he why you travel there every day? Is he the reason you hesitate?"

I felt an entirely inappropriate urge to laugh out loud. Instead, I suppressed it, and looking him straight in the eyes, I replied coolly, "Mikhail, I believe I already told you that you no longer have any claim to my heart. What I do in my spare time—what little I have—is no one's business but my own. Right now, I'm not in love with anyone. But I will tell you one thing for certain: if you try acting as if you own me, you'll only end up getting shut out of my life forever. You have as much chance as anyone of winning my affections—no more and no less. As for Cam kissing me, remember that you kissed me, as well. And before you say that was different... no, it wasn't. Because we are no longer together."

We stood glaring at each other, as if locked in a silent battle of wills. After several minutes, Mikhail sighed and lowered his gaze, waving his hand in a gesture of capitulation. "As you wish. I abhor the thought of you with another man, but I will accept your need to make up your own mind in your own time and your own way."

He turned and started to walk away, then turned back. "Just... tell me one thing. Does he kiss you as well as I do?" My jaw dropped at the audacity of his question, but before I could say a word of reproach, he swept me into a close embrace and kissed me fiercely, hungrily. Then suddenly he released me, and just as suddenly he was gone, swallowed up by the shadows of the woods on the slope, leaving me breathless and weak-kneed on the trail behind him.

When I arrived at Cam's flower shop the following day, he was leaning against his counter, twirling a sprig of something in his hand and looking at it with an expression of bewilderment. "Hey, Cam. What's that you've got there?" I asked as I walked up.

He looked up and smiled warmly at me, then the puzzled look returned as he contemplated the sprig. "It appears to be a sprig of sweet rocket. It grows wild in some parts around here, though I've never come across it myself in my walks."

"Oh?" I replied, "where'd you get it then?"

"That's the weird part. It was on my counter when I came out this morning to open up. There wasn't any note or anything—it was just sitting there on this torn scrap of paper." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a torn corner of paper and handed it to me. It was a corner torn from some sheet music... music written, if I wasn't mistaken, for the violin. I had an inkling who might be behind the cryptic offering.

"Rocket, you say?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's not a flower that one usually cultivates or uses in arrangements or anything, so my experience with it is limited. But I'm pretty sure that's what it is. Wait a sec—I can look it up to be sure. Wait here." And he darted into the café, returning a moment later with a thick volume in his hand.

He flipped through, muttering the word "rocket" over and over to himself as he searched the pages for the entry he wanted. After a short search, he gave a cry of recognition, and turning the book so I could see, he pointed to an entry. The image next to the entry for rocket was virtually identical to the sprig laying on the counter.

"Ahh... I have an idea where it might have come from...." I said, clearing my throat.

"Oh, yeah?" he looked up, his interest piqued.

"Well, uh... I think it came from... from Mikhail."

"Mikhail?" he exclaimed in disbelief. "Why would Mikhail come all this way to leave me a flower?"

"Well... you see, back when we were... when we were together, we used a variety of things to communicate in secret. Because my parents were so protective and strict, you see, especially with regard to boys. So we had ways to communicate that no one else understood. And the language of flowers was one of those ways...."

"Ahh, I see. And rocket means.... Let's see, what does it mean?" He looked up, his brow furrowed in concentration and his fingers drumming on the counter as he thought.

"Umm... I believe it means... 'rivals' or 'rivalry'—if I remember it right," I said, blushing. "It isn't a message I ever needed to use. But I had nearly all the flowers memorized once, and I think that's what rocket means."

He looked at me in surprise, saying, "I think that's right. That's pretty impressive that you remember so much about the meanings of flowers after so long." Then his brow furrowed again, as he said "Rivals, huh? So... I can guess what he means by that, of course. The question now is: do I just ignore it, or do I reply? And if I reply... how?" He looked off into the distance, lost in thought.

Finally, with a mischievous grin, he said, "Aha! I think I know just the reply to send. I think you once said he goes to the mountain peak nearly every day, isn't that right? Is there a particular place there that he goes to? Can you tell me where? You mean that really huge rock over on the east side of the clearing? Perfect—thanks. I know just what to do," he said, looking mighty pleased with himself. I gave him an uncertain look, said goodbye, and headed back home, wondering what he had in mind. I wasn't sure I liked this turn of events....

The following day, I was tempted at first to avoid both Cam and Mikhail. But soon my curiosity overcame my reluctance, so I followed my normal routine, arriving at the mountain peak right behind Mikhail. I dismounted and followed him to his customary perch. He saw me coming along, and waved to me, waiting at the base of the rock for me to catch up to him. I waved back, and then we climbed up on the rock together. There at the top, weighted down with a small rock, was a slip of paper tied around two flowers: a snowdrop and a yellow tulip.

Mikhail spotted them, and his face looked like thunder as he examined them—instantly recognizing the floral message: the snowdrop meant "consolation" and the yellow tulip meant "hopeless love". Scowling, he turned his attention to the slip of paper, then flung it down a moment later, furious. I picked it up, and saw it contained a couple of lines of poetry, written in a tidy, elegant script. I recognized them as coming from a poem from Burns:

"But ah! how bootless to admire,
When fated to despair!"

I was a little taken aback a bit by the boldness of Cam's response, but I also admired him for finding such a perfectly suitable reply, and on such short notice, too. Still, the tension between the two men was getting uncomfortable, caught in the middle as I was. I knew I couldn't expect them to suddenly become the best of friends, but I wished they didn't feel the need to fight over me, even in such subtle ways. After all, I was my own person, not a prize to be awarded, and I would make my choice when—and if—I was ready.

I looked up at Mikhail, who was scowling at the flowers in his hand. "Mikhail...." I started.

"No, Alice," he interrupted. "Don't say a word. I know, I brought it on myself. And indeed, he was clever with his response. He seemed to know exactly which buttons to push, and how. I very nearly lost my temper—something not easily achieved, at least under normal circumstances. However, I started it, and so I will finish it. I will allow him to have the last word... for now. He is a worthy opponent. But, " and here he sat down beside me on the rock and took my hand in his, "I hope to prove him utterly and completely wrong."

He kissed my hand, and looked at me with eyes so eloquent with emotion, I felt my resistance to his charm melting away, and when he leaned in to kiss me, I didn't push him away. He put his arms around me, pulling me closer, and his kiss was as intense and fierce as before. He pulled slightly back, and softly kissed my eyelids, then the tip of my nose, then my cheeks and chin, then he traveled down the side of my neck, leaving a trail of hungry kisses as he went. He pushed the neckline of my top over and off my shoulder, kissing along my collarbone to my shoulder as he did so. My skin tingled at his touch, and I gasped, feeling breathless and hot and dizzy all at once. But when he tried to continue to kiss me even lower, I stopped him, pushing him back.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, I shook my head. "No, Mikhail. Don't. Not now, not like this. Don't mistake desire for love. We'd only regret it afterwards," I said, pulling my blouse back to rights.

"Says you," he murmured, looking at me with hungry eyes.

"Yes, says me," I replied firmly. "Even if you somehow didn't regret it, I would. I won't deny that I find you very attractive. But that isn't enough. And deep down, you know it isn't, too." I hopped down from our perch, brushed some loose hair from my face, and looked back up at him. "I'm sorry, Mikhail. I need some time, and I need more space than you're giving me. So please, dial it down a little, okay? Otherwise I'll have to keep away from you for a while."

He just looked at me, not saying anything. Then he slowly nodded his head in agreement. "One small comfort... " he said with a ghost of a smile, "... if you're pushing me away, I know you're pushing him away, too." Then he turned away from me, picked up his violin, and began to play a wild, fierce melody into the wind, which followed me as I descended from the peak.