Vintage Sunflower Ink

From the pages of Strawberry Wine, by A.J. Rose

“Why?” The word wasn’t sharp, not like in the truck. It carried more hesitation than anger — as if the very idea that someone might have thought of her wants was almost too much to believe.

Jesse shifted, resting his hands on the counter edge. He’d expected her to snap, to toss them aside. Instead, she stood there avoiding his gaze, holding them like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to keep them. He cleared his throat. “Figured you’d like ’em.” A shrug, meant to sound easy. “That’s all.”

Magnolia’s lashes flickered, but she didn’t look up. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her fingers tracing the edge of the magazine before she quietly slipped both to the side of the counter, away from his eyes. Then she went back to unpacking, movements brisk but not quite steady.

Jesse let the silence hang in the air for a moment, then said more quietly, “Nothin’ wrong with wantin’ things, Magnolia. Even if it feels like you can’t have ’em.”

Her hands stilled on the sack she was opening. For a moment she didn’t move, then, still not looking at him, she whispered, “Thank you.”

It was soft, almost lost beneath the rustle of paper and the hum of cicadas outside — but weighted enough that Jesse felt it settle in his chest. He didn’t answer, only reached for another bag to unpack beside her. The silence that followed wasn’t sharp like before. It was quieter, heavier, carrying something neither of them was ready to name.