Lucky Day

He nearly exploded through the door in his haste to get to the counter. “Do you have any flowers, chocolates? I need to apologize to someone.”

“Well, then,” she said. “This is your lucky day.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” She nodded and leaned forward, whispered to him like it’s a secret. “Because I don’t actually have either of those things.”

“Sorry, what?” he asks, flummoxed. “How is this my lucky day, then?”

“Because,” she dropped back down with a bounce on her heels and an uneven grin across her face. “I may not have what you wanted. . . but I do have what you need.”

He stared as she rummaged through the drawers of an old card catalog and pulled out what looked like a soap bubble wobbling in the sun. She plopped it onto the counter and he watched it shift, waited for it to pop. It didn’t. She dug in the drawers again until she found a silver spoon. She neatly scooped the bubble and held it up to him. “Eat," she said.

For some inexplicable reason, he did. It felt as wobbly as it looked. “What was that?” he asked.

“Oh, just a bit of honesty and sincerity. Go down smooth, did it? That bodes well for you.”

She held her palms up. “And if you absolutely must have one of the things you asked for, I suppose I could supply you with this.” With a quick flick of the wrist a red rose appeared in her hand. He took it.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any.”

She smiled again. “Well, I didn’t. Not then.”

She turned away and waved a hand at him in dismissal. “Go on, then. That apology won’t make itself.”

He left quietly. She was content.

She did love a satisfied customer.