The heavy sound of a truck becomes louder until I see the source stop in front of our house. A UPS truck. I stare at it curiously, my string bean covered fork in mid-air between my plate and my mouth. They are most likely here to deliver the new guitar my father ordered not long ago.

"You expecting something, Steven?" Mom asks Dad.

"Yes, but not today," he answers. "The guitar's not supposed to be here for another week."

"You sure you didn't select one week delivery?" My mother stabs a leaf of lettuce, then brings it to her mouth.

"Positive." My father adds more barbecue sauce to his ribs, which were already drowning in it. "The confirmation email confirmed my selection. It said it's supposed to arrive not this Wednesday, but the one after."

"Hm. Well, you know them. It's not rare that the delivery's faster than you expect it to be."

Dad nods. "True, true."

I stare at the driver through the large window directly across from me. He's holding a box in his arms, a small box. I don't imagine a guitar would be that small. I doubt even a ukulele could fit into it. I watch as the man walks up our sidewalk and toward our front door until he disappears from view.

"Am I forgetting a birthday?" my father jokes as he leaves us to answer the door. He opens it just as the doorbell rings. Then, after thanking the man, he returns to the table with the box, a puzzled expression on his face. "It's for you, Abigail."

"Who's it from?"

Dad looks at me from under his brows. One is raised. "Is there a boy I need to know about? Which boy would be sending my daughter a package?"

"It's from Devon?"

"No," he answers. "Says here it's from someone named Chase Jones..." And then it dawns on him. I'm able to see the realization come to his face the moment after the name leaves his mouth. "Wait, hey, isn't that Paul's son?"

"Sure is," Mom replies. "Abigail and I keep bumping into him at Publix. Sweet kid. Handsome, too."

"Mom." My tone is flat. I return her stare, except mine lacks whatever suggestion she's trying to make. I see it in her eyes. She's never usually like this... Most of the time she's like my father, wary of every person of the opposite gender around me. She seems to believe that I'm the interest of every boy. It is due to this that Devon is the only male friend I have. We've known his family for a long time. So what is so special about Chase in her eyes?

"Maybe I should open it first," Dad says. I can't tell whether or not he's joking.

Mom shakes her head, then directs a stern, will-altering look toward my father. "Oh, Steven. I hope you're joking."

"Of course I am," he says defensively, a hand in the air. His other hand holds the box protectively against his chest. "You wanna open it now, Abigail, or after you've finished eating?"

"Now, please, I think." I haven't managed to stop thinking of Chase, his poem and confession since Saturday. That day repeats itself in my dreams and thoughts, all night, every night. All day, every day. The only thing that interrupted these thoughts was another one of those dreaded nightmares.

"All right..." My father raises an eyebrow, tilts his head and begins to hand me the box. When I reach for it, he quickly pulls it back to himself. "If you're sure."

I drop my arms to my sides dramatically. "I'm sure."

"You don't sound sure." He's on to me! I know it!

I sigh long and hard, if a large breath of air can be described that way. "I'm positive. May I please see it?"

Dad's head jerks back and, this time, both of his eyebrows shoot skyward. "Aren't we a little eager tonight... I think I should hold on to this and do a background check on this Chase guy. What do you think, Donna?"

"I think you should just give her the box, Steven." Mom has her no-nonsense tone now, the one no one - not even my father - can ignore. She also sounds tired. She blames this on the sugar she's just eaten, but I believe it's also because she was up really late last night preparing the coupons for today.

"All right." It is with great slowness that my father hands over the medium-sized brown box. Up close, it doesn't look as small as before. "Here you are, Abigail. It says 'fragile', so be careful."

"Okay. Thanks."

I use caution as I walk to and up the stairs, cradling the box in my arms as if it's a baby. I'm surprised Mom hasn't teased me yet again about what I'll be like with a real child of my own. She must be used to it by now, seeing as I treat my laptop, phone and guitar as if they're my three children.

I set the box gently on my bed after moving the guitar a little further in, then read the sender's name for myself. It is as my dad has said. This box came from Chase. Chase Jones. The Beast, as I've called him a countless number of times. However, my view of him is changing against my will, for more reasons than one, and I can't decide whether I hate it or don't mind it. That nightmare I had did nothing to help me; it seems as if the awful dream has chosen the opposing side to fight on. It chose Chase's side. I've oddly found my heart softening toward him after it, and I can't figure out why.

I sit cross-legged on the bed and place the box in my lap. I'm both eager to know what is in it and not wanting to find out just yet. I open it anyway. My fingers fly at a pace faster than I'd like them to, as I'm not liking this feeling of excitement. Not one bit. What is happening to me?

I'm thrilled as well as disappointed to discover that inside this box is another. I lift this second one out, move the larger one aside and then set this one in my lap. That's when I see a soft yellow envelope with my name on the front in large, beautiful handwriting. I simply stare at it for a while, making no moves towards it.

"Abby, you all right in there?"

I glance up at my bedroom door. My mother has brought to my attention the fact that I've closed it. I don't know what to expect from Chase lately, so it stands to reason that I'd be wary of a box he sent himself. A box! I might need privacy, either to cry or to... or to what? I don't see another way this could end."Yes, I'm fine. Thanks!"

"Don't be too long in there, okay? I'll need your help with the rest of the coupons, if you don't mind."

"Yes, Mom." I don't know how I'll be able to focus on cutting anything properly after this.

The envelope feels thick and is soft and smooth in my hand, and I'm now able to tell that it was homemade. I wonder who made it. Certainly Chase wouldn't have put this much thought and care into something as small and insignificant as an envelope. It just doesn't seem like something he would do, regardless of his confession, which I'm still having difficulty getting over. He said he likes me. Then he said he loves me. This is all after he said he hated me. It was about seven years ago, but I'll never forget the embarrassment I felt in that moment. Especially not as he listed reasons for hating me. But now he's apparently changed his mind about all of them.

"You're an eyesore," he'd said, "and dumb, and nobody likes a goody-two-shoes. Your presence never fails to destroy a good mood. And just in case you can't hear out of those tiny ears of yours..." Raising his voice, he finished, "No one likes you!" And he went on, and on, and on, and all I knew to do was just take it. I'd never experienced anything even remotely close to the insults he was feeding me.

When I leave memory lane, I look down to discover that the letter has already been taken out of the envelope. Now there is nothing between my eyes and the paper I now hold in my hands. There is nothing between my eyes and the words on the paper. Nervousness fills me. It is hot and seems to set off sparks in my stomach... like butterflies on fire. Both in a good and bad way. Why good?

I can't seem to make myself begin to read. I decide to count down from five and force myself to read it then. As I count, I breathe in deeply. In through my nose, and out through my mouth. Although it only seems to worsen the nervousness, I remain with the plan.

"Her eyes are like stars... like lights in his night." I read aloud but in a volume that could be considered a whispered whisper. "The past left him marred... He's locked in its bite. Her beautiful heart must be left unscathed. His hideous start, forever engraved. Her beautiful soul is hard to resist. He's scared of the truth and is sure he's missed the chance to repair all that he has lost, might soon disappear, so small is the cost."

Who is he writing about? For some reason I find it difficult to grasp the meanings behind these words. It seems as if it should be as plain as day, as if there's something directly in front of my face that I'm just not seeing. This feeling is familiar now. Frustrating and familiar.

 I continue, "So here is a rose..." What? "...the best from them all, for beauty from me, to say that I fall, further every time that you are around, and further each time you cannot be found." I knit my brows, lacking understanding. But then it slowly comes to me. Is he saying that whether I'm in his presence or not, he falls further? I don't notice the tears until one drops onto the paper, right onto the previous line of the poem. "No!" flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"Abigail, are you okay?!" Mom shouts. It sounds as if she's at the bottom of the stairs. Then I hear footsteps.

"Yes, yes, I'm perfect!" Oh, wait, that sounds odd! "I mean, I'm fine! Thanks, though!"

"Are you smiling?"

"Huh? No." But as I say this, I realize that I am, in fact, smiling. Widely, too, as if a regular smile wouldn't already be heard in my voice.

"Don't forget about me! I'm hoping to leave in about an hour and a half."

 "I won't!" A thought to go with her to Publix tonight enters my mind. How could I? But how could I not? A part of me wishes to see the author of this poem. I believe it is the largest part of me. However, there is another part in a lonely dark corner of my heart that never wants to see him again. "It's also to say I apologize, with a rose for you that will never die. It's yours forever, like my heart. It's true. Abigail Coulson, I'm in love with..."

Though he's said this before, my mouth refuses to cooperate and finish with the final word. The paper falls out of my hands, and I nearly fall out of the bed at the sight of the word 'love'. My mouth won't even close; the screws at the corners seem to have fallen out and gotten lost. Does he know what that word, 'love' means? Yes, he's said he loves me with his own voice, but now I'm seeing it on paper... in his handwriting. I'm so in shock that I fail to catch the letter before the fan above my head blows it off the bed and toward my window. Which is closed, thankfully.

Chase sure does have a strange way of showing love. Perhaps I wasn't all that off when I said he needed more help than I could offer. But now that my head is clearer... somewhat... and I'm not in the middle of my anger towards him, I'm able to see just how awful that must have sounded, and I actually feel guilty. The guilt builds as my mind runs through every nasty thing I've said to him since I started helping his family, and now I finally see the damage I could have been creating at the very same time.

The guilt in my heart isn't little, like something I think I could get over soon. I should have known better than to play backsies, even if he honestly meant every hurtful thing he's said. Returning a wrong doesn't fix things... It only makes everything worst. Miss Riley was right about that one step in the right direction. Is this, though, the right direction?

Next, I lean forward and pull the box towards me, all the while wondering what might be inside. The curiosity now has grown from the size of an average mountain into Everest, and I can't wait any longer. But I still find myself opening it slowly as I try to fight another emotion I've felt growing within me since...

Longer than I've realized.

I deny its existence. It grows larger. I say it's not there. It says, "Here I am! You can't ignore me, or pretend I'm not here."

I sigh. My exhale is cut short, however, by my sharp intake of air. What is this?! Is this what he meant in his poem? Inside the box is a flower... but it's not just any flower. It is a rose. It is a rose within a long glass dome. Its stem barely touches the wooden base, which is covered in petals that I'm certain aren't from the same flower. When I lean closer to see how in the world it's possible to make a flower float, I find a note on the other side of the dome. The only way I can get to the note is to lift the rose and its container out, which I do with great caution as I fear its fragility.

The rose is beautiful. The prettiest I've ever seen, in fact. Where did he find it?

I'm glad I noticed the note. The only thing that stood out against the folded up, stark white printer paper for me to be able to see it was the red ink from the pen he used. On the back of the paper is my name. Once again, it has been written in the most beautiful cursive I have ever seen. It's easy to tell that he used great care as he wrote it. I can't help picturing him writing my name, slowly and carefully as if... No. You can't think like this.

But why not? I try and try, always unsuccessfully, to convince myself that he's just trying to play with my heart to hurt me again as he's done so many times before. I shouldn't trust someone like Chase. He's given me no reason to, and I shouldn't allow him to run off with my trust without proving he won't misuse it.

I unfold the note slowly. Chase opened the short letter with my name, then began the message with an apology. It doesn't matter how many times he apologizes. I have to guard my heart. I shouldn't be fooled, but especially not so easily. I've always known he's had some sort of charming device built into him, and I've always known he's used it for bad, so what is this feeling inside? It's this odd feeling of an inability to resist what I've somehow been able to for so long - the very charm that has somehow been able to capture my mother. It's blinding, and should not be trusted. Am I the only one who can see this?

Chase explains within the note that the rose came from his garden. Only... it wasn't exactly his garden. It was his mother's... I feel my lips begin to part again in shock that he would do such a thing, and... for me? I bite my bottom lip to prevent my mouth from becoming stuck in the position it's been in so many times since I opened this box. It's full of surprises, just like the person who sent it.

My eyes begin to cloud with tears again at this sweet gesture. Why would he do this for me?

He said it was the best rose he could find. In fact, the best rose his mother's garden has ever produced, and he chose it because, and I quote, I somehow "deserve it." He also said this rose, as beautiful as it is, could never compare to the beauty he sees when he looks at me. Who is the author of this letter, really?

I don't know what to think about all of this, but what I feel has become clear to me. It's a feeling that cannot be fought... an emotion that cannot be ignored, as it forces me to acknowledge the fact that it's here, inside me, begging for me to...

To what? What does it want?

It wants me to go. It wants me to see him later. But I couldn't possibly... Especially not after this. Not after my rudeness to him on Saturday. He, though, seems to have either forgotten, or this so called "love" has caused him to completely miss it.

I take a quick glance at the rose that I've rested on my side table. That's when it hits me. Beauty and the Beast! The floating rose in the glass dome... It's from the Beauty and the Beast movie! Why did it take me this long to realize where this is from? This certainly doesn't seem like something someone who truly doesn't care would do. If it's from his own garden, that either means he had someone custom make this or he did it himself. He's always seemed like the do-it-yourself type of person, so my guess is leaning towards the latter.

I'm so touched by this overwhelming kindness that I'm not sure what to do about it! But I discover that the poem and the rose aren't all when I near the end of his letter.

After I remove the packing foam, I discover two other items just as he said I would. I can't suppress another gasp. The first object that catches my attention is a silver hand mirror. I squint my eyes to read a little message taped at the top and find my throat becoming increasingly sore, and there's no one to blame but this confusing boy. Never would I ever have believed anyone if they came to me claiming I'd one day be feeling this way. Not about a boy who has brought me to tears in the past in a negative way. I wouldn't even have thought of it as a mere possibility, not even a week ago. Not even when I first noticed the beginning of these feelings.

The same Chase who has, in the past, successfully bullied tears out of me is the same Chase whose sweet words are currently bringing about the same result. I wipe my cheeks, although I know that won't remove all the evidence there is that I've been crying.

The message on the mirror says, "You are a special kind of beautiful that words will always fail to describe."

I rest the mirror gently on the bed beside me, unable to look at it any longer, lest I become any more emotional. He has a way with words, whether he uses them to destroy or to do what he's doing to me now.

The final gift is a small box, a small dark brown wooden box that has been polished to perfection. I study it for a while, trying to guess what might be hidden inside before deciding that there is only one way to find out. I remove it from the box it arrived in, then study it some more in my hands. I turn it every which way, looking for a way to open it until I notice something else. A keyhole, but no key. I search the box everything shipped in for one and finally find it beneath some packaging foam. Then I open the small wooden box. The moment I do, I shut it closed out of both embarrassment and surprise.

The box is not just any box... It's not a keepsake box, nor a jewelry box...

It's a music box! A music box that plays the theme song for Beauty and the Beast.

"Oh my goodness," I whisper, reopening it slowly. The music is beautiful... stunning, and I feel as if I could listen to it all day. There is something about this indescribable music that seems to play with my emotions, which have already been stirred by the other gifts and the sweet notes. It's so soothing, and I can imagine falling asleep to it playing on my nightstand.

Inside the smallest box, I find the main characters - Belle and the Beast. The miniature figures are dancing around to the sweet tune, gracefully rotating, but not only that. They are actually dancing around inside the box, moving from one side of it to the other, making it seem more realistic than if they were simply remaining in the center. On the inside of the lid is a screen. On that screen are words, and they're changing! It takes me a while to realize that the words on the screen - lyrics, I see now - are in time with the music. Amazing!

I don't miss the joke within these gifts. Chase not only had an interesting way of showing how he feels about me, but he also has a strange sense of humor. It's not as if he's forgotten that I've repeatedly called him "Beast". Obviously not, or he wouldn't have done this.

Wow.

"Abigail, I'm leaving soon! Are - hey, what's that music?"

"Uh, it's nothing!" I close the music box quickly, almost pinching my finger inside of it. The music ends instantly, and I find myself missing the beautiful sound of it. "I'll be right out, Mom!"

"All right, but hurry, please. I don't like getting there twenty minutes before they close. Our shopping list is long, so we'll need all the time we can get."

♥ • ❤ • ♥

"Okay, I think... that's the last... item on the list!" Mom says as she scans the notebook paper in her hand. In her other hand is the pen she uses to cross off the final item, the large container of Tide I've just put into the shopping cart. The second shopping cart, actually, because the one my mom has taken responsibility for is completely full and has no room to spare. Mine was getting there. "One can never have too much laundry detergent!"

"Yeah."

"Hey, Abigail, I've gotta run to the bathroom. I think I had too much lemonade... Will you be all right here?"

"Yes, of course."

"All right. Just checking. My baby girl is growing up too fast."

I smile, shrugging. "Your fault for feeding me."

Mom makes a playful 'you're so sarcastic' face, then hurries off to the restroom.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I need to get through," says an elderly lady with a full shopping cart. Behind her is a young woman with a baby in her cart, as well as a few products for babies. Newborns, specifically.

Apologizing to both of them, I go around my cart to move my mother's, but find that its wheels have somehow locked up!  I try and try to push the cart to the side, but nothing comes of my efforts.

"Here, let me help."

I turn around in time to narrowly avoid bumping into another person behind me. Regardless of his words, it takes a moment to realize that this person, a Publix employee, is here to assist me in moving the carts. He does so easily and quickly, causing my face to heat up in embarrassment at my inability to do the same.

The elderly lady smiles at him, and so does the woman behind her. They both thank him, then continue down the aisle.

I reluctantly release a quiet, "Thanks."

Chase offers a smile that is obviously half-hearted. "I'm always having to rescue you." I laugh dryly, rolling my eyes. "Nice shirt, by the way."

Having completely forgotten what I'm wearing, I glance down. My cheeks instantly become red-hot when I notice the large orange tabby cat head on my oversized green t-shirt. I'm thankful when I see that I am wearing jeans, and not the matching pajama pants. With all the surprises this evening, changing had completely slipped my mind! Why didn't Mom tell me?

"Thanks," I reply. "You're really rocking the uniform. Green looks great on you." But even as I say this in the sarcastic manner that I aim for, I can't help noticing that it actually does.

"Was that a compliment?" Chase tilts his head and raises a brow, smiling with only the left corner of his lips. The smile is dazzling and, against my will, sends a rush of butterflies through me. I lift my shoulders for a second, as if literally trying to shrug the familiar feeling off. "Well, I know. I can't help it, honestly. Anything - rags, pink, you name it - looks incredible when I wear it. Thank you for noticing." He holds his head high, but wears a silly smile, his bright green eyes smiling along with him.

I'm brought back to the moment I first saw him again, here in Florida. His eyes displayed everything but happiness, his tone was anything but light and joking. This change seems sudden, and I'm still failing to wrap my mind around what, exactly, the reason for it is. Chase Jones is actually joking with me. Though he is, indeed, being sarcastic, it's not as if the joke is meant to harm my feelings. Unless he has some secret plan...

At the very same time Chase says, "Abigail, I-" I say his name. We both seem surprised by the utterance of our names.

"You first," he says after a moment of recovery, gesturing for me to go ahead.

"Well, I..." I find myself nervously playing with my fingers. I separate them immediately, hoping he hasn't noticed. "I got-"

A man - another employee - comes quickly down the aisle, then slows down as he nears us. His startlingly blue eyes give away the fact that something has happened. "Jones, you're needed at register five, please. There was a mild emergency."

Chase somehow appears both alarmed and disappointed. He glances at the man - Jeffrey, I see from his nametag - and then refocuses his eyes on me. "All right. I'll be there in a second."

Jeffrey answers, "There's a lady waiting there now."

"Okay. Sorry, Abigail. Can we talk later, or tomorrow?" Chase, seeming hopeful, bites his lower lip and knits his brows, almost appearing as if he's positive my answer will be 'no'.

Nodding, I reply, "Yeah, of course. No problem."

As if on cue, my mom appears at the end of the aisle the moment Chase leaves. "You ready to go home?" she asks. "You look tired."

"Yeah. Ready."

"'Kay. Onward!"

The wheels of my mother's shopping cart have thankfully loosened up, and I have no trouble with mine in that area. But my cart is incredibly heavy and is therefore slightly difficult to push, so I imagine my mother's is more so, considering the fact that hers is almost overflowing while mine is only halfway full.

"Oh, Abigail! There's Chase!"

This time, I have to turn my head in order to hide the evidence of these strange newfound feelings from her. "Oh, cool." I attempt to not sound too excited, but not too bored, either.

I follow my mother to the register he's manning, trying not to giggle at her overflowing excitement to see him again. The look on her face - the smile and wide eyes - makes it clear that she has a lot to say but is trying to be patient while we wait for the lady in front of us. My mom can make friends with just about everyone. I've always known this about her.

This one sentence snatches my attention from the snacks section and catches my curiosity: "Mike told me everything..."

"Oh?" is Chase's curt reply. He doesn't lift his head to look at her; his focus remains on the items as he rings them up.

"Yes, Chase, and I know this most likely won't make a difference now, but he really is sorry..." I take a peek at the woman's face. Her expression displays great concern and emotional pain, and she also appears very disturbed. Although it's been mentioned that she didn't just learn whatever this news is, her brown eyes are wide and filled with tears. "I'm sorry. I was so astonished when I heard... Never mind that, but sweetheart-"

"What's done is done," Chase replies. I don't miss the tone of irritation in his voice. "It's fine. Really, don't worry about it."

Human nature takes over, and I find my curiosity growing. But I'm clearly not alone. I know better than to believe that my mom truly is this interested in the beef jerky hanging on the hook.

"How could I not?" says the woman, her head tilted in concern. "What happened is very serious, and-"

"I know." This must be the end of this specific discussion, judging by the way those two words are said by him. He glances up at the woman for only a moment. She seems to pick up the same hint. "The total is $8.71."

"All right."

It's not long before she leaves, glancing back at Chase a few times with the same concerned look on her face. By the time my mother and I move forward to take our turn, Mom seems almost as disturbed as the customer who came before us. She doesn't question him, though.

After a polite, "Hello," nothing more is said. Chase is quiet as he rings up our items, and only speaks to say the total. Because of this dramatic mood flip, I wonder if I should carry on with my plan and give him the letter I wrote.

"Have a nice night, Chase," Mom says.

I reach into the right pocket of my jeans but find that it's empty, so I check the left pocket next and find the letter there. I wrap my hand around it, suddenly hesitant again to take it out of hiding. What if everything really is a joke? His words... the gifts... What if they have all been parts of the plan to convince me? What if he's going to laugh at me later, or show someone else the letter?

I can't do it.

"Bye, Abigail," Chase says. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I must!

Looking up from my pocket, I find that my mother is already in the shopping cart area between the two sets of automatic doors. Two employees are standing by the doors that lead outside, ready to lock up once everyone has left, but I can't seem to move. I have to give him this letter.

I walk quickly toward the register, all the while watching Chase's face. His expression changes from puzzled to... Is there a name for this one? Although he appears perplexed, the soft smile he wears is reflected in his eyes. It seems as if the meadow is confused, unsure of the kind of weather it prefers. Will the clouds finally part to make room for the sun?

 "Um, here," I say quietly, handing him the paper. He looks at it for a moment, as if debating with himself whether he should take it.

"What's this?"

"Just take it." I fear being caught by my mother. I'd never hear the end of it.

"Abigail? Are you coming?" Mom shouts. Another employee is by her side with the shopping cart I was supposed to be pushing. They're both ready to load up the car.

"Yes, Mom!" I give Chase one last look while attempting to fight a blush, then avert my eyes from his. I find that looking at him makes the task of trying to wear a poker face more difficult.

"You should catch up with your mother," he says, his voice soft. It gives no hints as to what comes next out of his mouth. "Don't worry. You'll see me tomorrow." The sarcasm is obviously playful.

I roll my eyes, but am unable to fight a smile. "Yeah, okay. Um... bye."