Chapter 7 â Sunday Dinners
She looked at the lavender. âBecause if they say no, Iâll know the shop will never become what I imagined.â
He was quiet for a moment. âAnd if they say yes?â
She looked at her coffee. âThen Iâd have to admit I was the one keeping it small.â
Outside, the November rain came down against the windows. Thomas looked at his cup, then at her. âSend the letter,â he said.
She looked at him. He looked back with the steadiness of a man who says the true thing without decorating it.
âSend the letter,â he said again.
She nodded.
When the rain stopped, Thomas stood and picked up the flowers from the counter. He paused at the door. âSame time next Friday.â His eyes went briefly toward the back room rather than the flowers.
May you like
âYes,â Clara said. âIâll make the darker coffee.â
He nodded and left. She sat with her coffee going cold, listened to the rain finishing itself against the windows, and thought, Well, this is something.
