The Lanky One raises his eyes, meets her gaze, and nods. Looks at Ove. Ove looks at the Pregnant One.
The Lanky One points at the box and his face lights up. “She’s Iranian, you know. They bring food with them wherever they go.”
Ove gives him a blank stare. The Lanky One looks even more hesitant.
“You know... that’s why I go so well with Iranians. They like to cook food and I like to...” he begins, with an over-the-top smile.
Then he goes silent. Ove looks spectacularly uninterested. “... eat,” the Lanky One finishes.
He looks as if he’s about to make a drumroll in the air with his fingers.
But then he looks at the Pregnant Foreign Woman and decides that it would probably be a bad idea.
“And?” Ove offers, wearily. She stretches, puts her hands on her stomach.
“We just wanted to introduce ourselves, now that we’re going to be neighbors...”
Ove nods tersely and concisely. “Okay. Bye.” He tries to close the door.
She stops him with her arm. “And then we wanted to thank you for backing up our trailer. That was very kind of you!”
Ove grunts. Reluctantly he keeps the door open. “That’s not something to thank me for.” “Yeah, it was really nice,” she protests.
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