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Jan 14
She pushed the last button through, her fingers dallying over her heavy wool coat before she swept her hair and tucked it under her collar.

She rapped on the door. Twice.

She brought her other hand behind her back, the one holding the humble bouquet of flowers, the small bunch purchased minutes before from the sidewalk vendor three stories below.

Does he even like flowers?

The door swung open. She smiled briefly, her gift coming round.

These are for you.

Her gray eyes flashed with delight as his hand took hold of them.

She dashed from the landing without another word.

Who are you? he called from the railing.

Only the echo of his voice returned from the stairwell, and another smile.
Philip Lawrence
Written by
Philip Lawrence  New York
(New York)   
82
 
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