After he'd said goodnight to Rose earlier that evening, Mason had left Hope Grove. Though he lived there, he often spent his time away from the building whenever he wasn't with Rose or on the clock. Tonight, however, he didn't go to the local bar as he usually would have done on a different night. He had something different to do. There was only an hour before the shoddy bookstore a few miles from Hope Grove closed - so Mason had to hurry.
Finding a collection of poems was only the first step to the plan that had sprung into Mason's mind as he ate with Rose earlier that day. With him, it was usually go big - or go home. Ever since arriving at Hope Grove and being reunited with the blonde, he had been searching for that big something to win her back over. Though Rose seemed eager to start right back up again, that wasn't good enough for Mason. He needed to do something to redeem himself to her, even if it was only in his eyes. Until now, he hadn't been able to think of anything. Being stuck at Hope Grove hadn't given him many options. Rose was the kind of girl who deserved the world and more, and unlike George Bailey - Mason didn't think he could capture the moon for her.
That was why he was so eager to get his newest scheme under-way. Mason had told Rose they weren't together yet, as much as he wished they could be, and now he finally was beginning to think he could start making up for his past wrongs. If tonight went well, if she found what he had planned romantic in the least - Mason might be able to start forgiving himself, too.
The book shop was shady, no doubt. The books were old, not things that would show up on a New York's Best Seller list. But to Mason, it was perfect. His time in the city had shown him the best treasures were found covered in dusts and hidden in holes in the wall such as the place he was at now - and once more, Mason was proved correct. His eyes laid on a red hardback, the cover stenciled with an old-time font. Love Notes was scrawled over the front, and though the pages inside were faded, and the poems written in old English - it was perfect. Purchasing it quickly, Mason left the store, hustling down the cart that sold vegetables, run by old marines who no longer could find work. He'd stopped by earlier and requested a bouquet of roses - the darkest red that could be found.
After a couple more stops, the pieces of the puzzle were coming together - now only the most important part was left. The princess.
By the time Mason returned to Hope Grove, it was late. Rose would have fallen asleep hours before, and he took his time going to his room. For the tenth time that night, he wished he had a car, or something more dressy than his jeans and regular t-shirt. Times had been hard on Mason, and he found himself lacking the usual luxuries he'd taken advantage of in the past. He could only hope that Rose would look past it and instead focus on the idea of the whole thing. If Mason ruined this, he didn't think he would trust himself to ever try and achieve redemption again. His relationship with Rose was riding on him proving himself - to them both.
He pocketed a carefully folded sheet of note paper before leaving the tiny room he'd claimed his own and heading for the girls dorm hall. A patient wandered by, and he pretended not to see them. Mason didn't have time to bust them right now, but didn't want any rumors of him being soft floating around, either.
Deciding against knocking once Mason got to Rose's door, he just opened it, greeted by the darkness only slightly illuminated by the moon. Color covered the walls, and a smile crossed Mason's face as he admired the art work Rose had done. It was very her - and there was nothing else that made him happier.
"Rose," He called out softly, sitting on the edge of her bed and rubbing her shoulder gently. He leaned down, kissing her cheek, and gave a gentle shake. "Rose."
