He didn’t know it at that moment, of course, but he was destined to spend so many quarter hours of his life waiting for her
that his old father would have gone cross-eyed if he’d found out.
And when she did finally turn up, in a long floral-print skirt
and a cardigan so red that it made Ove shift his weight from his right foot to his left,
he decided that maybe her inability to be on time was not the most important thing.
The woman at the florist’s had asked him what he wanted. He informed her gruffly that this was a bit of a bloody question to ask.
After all, she was the one who sold the greens and he the one who bought them, not the other way around.
The woman had looked a bit bothered about that, but then she asked if the recipient of the flowers had some favorite color, perhaps?
“Pink,” Ove had said with great certainty, although he did not know.
And now she stood outside the station with his flowers pressed happily to her breast, in that red cardigan of hers,
making the rest of the world look as if it were made in grayscale.
“They’re absolutely beautiful,” she said, smiling in that candid way that made Ove stare down at the ground and kick at the gravel.
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