With a steadying breath, Edna launched into her list of provisos, scarring experiences, and assorted baggage. Her own voice quickly felt distant to her, as if she were eavesdropping on a nearby table.

“…only wanted me for one thing, which wasn’t the pear tree…”

Egbert sat there as the information spilled forth. He just ordered, after a careful perusal of the menu. He barely flinched at the details as he ate.

“…as I saw his father’s wink and smelled the melon, I knew…”

Was that compassion? Was that understanding? Had he really meant an impulsive fascination that would surely grow to a devoted love by giving her pink carnations?

“…finally realized women and cherry chapstick were not for me…”

This man was an idiot or a saint. The diatribe was nearly over, and he hadn’t bolted. She was sure his cell phone would ring any minute, a prearranged escape plan.

“…and no kumquats. The end,” She heard herself finish.

Egbert only smiled and asked, “Did you like those seasoned fries?”