Were all men unromantic? Or had Kelly just missed out on the best of the bunch?
Ginny Swart
Wasn’t that lovely?’ Kelly sighed happily and linked her arm through Harry’s as they left the cinema. ‘I couldn’t help crying when he walked off and left her. But the ending was perfect, running across the field into each other’s arms.’
Harry walked on silently. ‘Didn’t you think so?’ she persisted. ‘Sentimental rubbish,’ answered Harry. ‘And you know I can’t stand subtitles.’
Looking at his handsome, rugged profile, Kelly wished that Harry could be less macho and more – well, caring. He seemed to think that showing feelings of any sort was a fatal weakness. But she was sure those feelings were there, deep down.
‘He’s a typical man, Kelly,’ said her mother when Kelly complained that he’d given her a pair of sewing scissors for her birthday, unwrapped, without even a card. ‘He’s just like your dad was, down to earth. You can’t expect him to go around declaring undying love for you and writing poems. Men don’t do it.’
‘Some do,’ she thought. Was she wrong to want something more?
‘I need a man who’s going to offer me romance and excitement, who’ll write me poetry and send me flowers for no reason,’ she sighed to her sister Carrie.
‘Dream on. There aren’t any men like that around here,’ said Carrie. ‘But perhaps Harry needs to be made a bit jealous. It might give him a push if he thought you were seeing someone else.’
‘Harry’s never going to write me poetry!’ protested Kelly.
‘No, but he might send you flowers,’ said Carrie. ‘Or take you off for a nice romantic weekend.’
‘I think Harry’s idea of a romantic weekend would be 48 hours non-stop Formula One racing,’ laughed Kelly. But Carrie had set her thinking.
On her way home from work the following day, she popped into Say It With Flowers, a florist’s shop next to her bus stop.
‘I’d like to send a small bouquet,’ she said to the man behind the counter. ‘Do you deliver?’
‘Certainly,’ he smiled. ‘Is it for a special occasion?’
‘Oh… well, no it’s not. I just want to tell someone something.’
‘And you can say it with flowers. They have a language all their own.’ He looked at her intently, his brown eyes warm and friendly. ‘Did you know that? Different flowers mean different things.’
She grinned at him. ‘So how do you tell someone you love them?’
‘
