One Wilted Rose

Dear Reader, sometimes there is nothing more alarming or awkward than one wilted rose.
A while back, I was getting ready for YSA FHE (young single adult family home evening), and my sister came up to my room to tell me someone was here for me. I was super confused -- my ride wasn't supposed to be here for another half hour. So, after some intense scrambling and mascara application, I rushed down the stairs, only to stop very abruptly in my living room entrance. The person sitting in my living room was not my ride. We shall call him Joe. I know him as a distant acquaintance, and I see him around fairly frequently. He was awkwardly sitting on our piano bench, obviously out of his element. I awkwardly welcomed him, and -- curiosity bursting out my ears -- asked him what in the world he was doing here?? Suddenly, I found the most wilted rose I've ever seen thrust in my face.
This terribly awkward, polite young gentleman had biked all the way to my house in the dark to offer me this sad rose. I can honestly say that I've never been more surprised in my life! I awkwardly thanked him for the rose, holding it as best I could so as to prevent the petals from falling off completely, and he informed me that he had found it in a pile of trash he had been raking up, and thought of me.
I had positively no idea what to say to that. So I swallowed, thanked him again as best I could, and asked him how life was. My mother looked at us, silently shouting at me with ferocious eyebrow movements that we needed to get started with FHE, and what in the world was this young man doing here?
Well. I scrambled for something to to converse about, to somehow regain control of the situation. He mentioned dinner, and I remarked that we had just finished. Then we sat there.
Wise men have said that silence is golden. But at this moment, the only gold I found in the situation was what I'd pay to get out of it.
Finally, after receiving some frantic eyebrow-messages from my mother, I awkwardly informed him that we were just about to start FHE. He awkwardly replied that he'd better let us do that, and get going. But as he was walking out the door, he paused.  
What now? I thought. Can this get any more awkward?
Dear Reader, there is always something more awkward.
He the proceeded to ask me out, "since he was already here."
Um.
Sure?
I grasped for some kind of saving rope, and went through the routine questions: when and where and such.
He didn't know.
Chuckling nervously, I told him to message me when he knew, and after a couple more awkward words of conversation, he left to bike all the way home, by himself, in the dark.
I still haven't recovered. But as far as I know, from the letter and chocolate he brought me afterwards, he enjoyed himself very much.