“No.”
“Wise decision.”
We continue through the market.
I buy apples. Mary buys fresh bread.
Then we pass a flower stand.
Mary pauses to admire the bouquets.
Without really thinking about it, I ask the vendor:
“How much for the white heather?”
Mary turns toward me in surprise.
“Five pounds,” the vendor replies.
I pay and hand the bouquet to Mary.
“To thank you,” I say awkwardly. “For the... vegetable lesson.”
She takes the flowers, her cheeks faintly pink.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
She holds the bouquet against her chest, and something in her expression makes me forget for one dangerous second that we’re supposed to be acting.
The drive back is quieter.
Mary keeps the bouquet of white heather on her lap, her fingers lightly tracing the stems.
“White heather means good luck,” she says softly.
“I know.”
She looks at me.
“So you did that on purpose?”
“Maybe.”
A long silence settles between us.
“That was nice today,” she finally says.
I nod, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Yeah.”
And it’s true.
It was nice.
Maybe a littletoonatural.
