she admitted.
“Outside the cardboard incident?”
She smiled. “Exactly.”
“I wondered that too.”
“And?”
“I’m beginning to think the box is the least interesting thing about you.”
Her expression softened enough that I looked away first.
Before leaving, she returned to the pottery stall and bought the green cup.
I stood beside her while the vendor wrapped it in paper. She asked two careful questions about the glaze, listened to the answers, and carried the little bag as though its modest contents deserved attention. I liked that too.
“There’s an
