The man is far taller than she realized, towering like the broad expanse of a scarred oak over her littler frame, carrying its basket full of preserves and fruits. He’d been trailing behind her, or so she thought; he was really just part of the crowd she was in, and with some turn or two up ahead it just ended up with the two of them facing each other.
Quietly, not quite shyly but still with easy-to-read movements, the basket is reached into and her largest apple appears in hand, easily double the size of others, colored a pretty red-green-white; McIntosh.
Its this sweet thing she quietly holds up to him, her grandmothers words about kindness and offering it first resounding... “You look like an apple will help you, mister. You’re welcome to say no, though they’re fresh picked from the orchard near here--he was just a lucky find.” She says shyly, keeping it held up.
@rxigned
