I had bought fruit and veg provisions from the small grocery shopfront and stood staring at the inviting flowers. I really didn’t have enough money to waste on flowers. My son probably needed a new pair of shoes. Then he walked out of the shop holding a big bunch of flowers: tall, good looking, a hunk, wearing sandals; it was early summer. I averted my eyes quickly and kept looking at the flowers. I didn’t realise he was watching me until he spoke.
“You like them?”
“Yes, but I don’t think I can …” I swallowed the word afford because sensible decisions were important.
“Hey, take these,” he offered her his bunch.
“Oh no I couldn’t, really. Very kind of you.” I didn’t want this to get complicated see …
“Please, it would make me happy.”
“It would?” Astonished.
“It really would. Please, take them.”
I did, tentative and shy. “Thank you.” I took in the profusion of the bouquet and the feast of colours and shapes. He bought another bunch for whatever his occasion was, glanced at me briefly and sauntered off. I called out thank you again silently to myself, so thrilled that he had done this, made me so happy and had just walked off. When he was a safe distance ahead, I called thank you audibly again to him. He waved and smiled and went on his way. I couldn’t wait to put them in water. I never forgot him either. Such a simple, generous thing to do.