photo by Clem Onojeghuo via Unsplash
Delia could never pass by a table of books for sale without stopping—there were always treasures, many were bargains.
She remembered when she and a man had both reached for a worn copy of Wuthering Heights at the same time…neither of them letting go, smiling in brief mute tussle before he shrugged, and surrendered it chivalrously.
“It’s okay,” she’d said, offering it back to him, “it’s sad, depressing even”—to which he’d replied, “most great love stories are…but if you’ll let me buy you a coffee maybe we can write a hopeful one.”
©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.