Jenny had caught Ron’s eye from behind her flower shop’s counter . . .
BY ALYSON HILBOURNE
IN the quiet period between morning rush hour and lunch, Jenny dragged an aluminium tub outside her shop to freshen up the display.
She filled the tub with some lush ivory dahlias and a little eucalyptus foliage.
She was admiring her effort just as the hamburger van pulled on to the waste ground opposite her flower shop.
Jenny had never spoken to the hamburger man.
He was a big man, broad-shouldered with razor cut hair and a no-nonsense demeanour.
If she had to guess, Jenny would have said ex-Army, but she’d noticed a softer side to him.
If he had burgers or hotdogs left at the end of the session, he would take them to the homeless lad in the doorway of the station.
She’d seen him call Baggy Maggie over and present her with a cup of tea on a cold day, too.
From the corner of her eye Jenny saw him hop out of the van and come round the side to open the counter.
She knew his routine.
He’d get in the van next and begin heating the hot plates, while putting out sauces and napkins on the counter for customers.
Ron noticed the woman from the flower shop as he pulled the van into his parking slot.
She came outside several times a day to check the displays.
Even Ron, who knew nothing about flowers, thought the display looked good. She made incredible bouquets, too.
He’d seen customers coming out of the shop clutching arrangements, a smile on their faces, which made Ron smile, too.
Ron’s only foray into the world of vegetation was the cactus on his kitchen window-sill.
It survived with just the occasional watering that Ron remembered to give it.
Ron had noticed the woman pack up in the evening and be at the point of locking the shop when some harrassed-looking man in a suit arrived.
She would always open up and spend 10 minutes putting something together for him, no doubt so he could woo a partner.
Ron’s first customer of the day arrived at the van.
“A cheeseburger, please.”
Ron slapped a meat patty on the hot plate and the buns on the side to crisp.
“Onions?” he asked.
Lunchtimes were busy, and Ron worked solidly for several hours.
It was only when he was packing up that he found the bunch of flowers on the counter.
He picked them up. He recognised roses, but couldn’t name the other flowers.
He did recognise the ribbon and the small sticker on the wrapping.
They had come from the flower shop across the road.
Ron looked around, but there was no sign of anyone.
He frowned.
Perhaps the owner would return to the shop looking for the bouquet?
Ron locked the van, picked up the flowers and crossed the road.
He felt rather self-conscious. The bouquet was delicate in his beefy fingers.
He pulled his shou
