Excuse me, siryes, you, the woman called, and Tom froze, shaking his head to be sure the words were meant for him. The doubt vanished the moment he saw her smiling directly at him. Buy some tulips, young man.
What? Tom asked, stepping closer. Standing in the endless rush of commuters felt foolish; the crowd swept you forward like a rapid river down the Thames.
Buy some tulips, she repeated, extending a modest bouquet of whitepink blossoms.
She looked to be about forty, dressed like the other street sellersheavy sheepskin coat, thick trousers, sturdy winter boots that could brave any chill. But her face was different: warm, kind, and unlike the weatherworn visages of the usual vendors. Her smile radiated a comforting heat, the sort you feel from a longlost friend, though Tom swore hed never seen her before.
Sorry, Im not a flower person, he whispered, edging away as a burly gentleman nearly knocked him down. Youve chosen a strange spot for a stall.
Why? she asked, clutching the tulips to her chest.
Everyones always hurrying, never noticing anyone else.
Why dont you like flowers? she laughed, making Toms cheeks redden.
Flowers are foolish. Theyre dead thingsjust sit there a while, then they wilt. Its a waste of money, he muttered, surprised he was explaining himself to this odd stranger.
My flowers are alive, she replied mysteriously, inhaling the scent of the tulips before smiling again. Tom shrugged, tightening his coat collar against the biting wind. You dont believe me?
Sorry, no. I know how sellers twist words to make a sale, he said, shivering.
Then take them, just because, she persisted. Let the cold leave your home and let spring take its place.
The forecasts say the frost will linger for two more weeks. Do you think your tulips can chase the cold away? Tom smirked, a low chuckle escaping him as the woman shook her head. Sorry, didnt mean to offend.
You havent, she said softly, still smiling. Just take themfor someone you love, perhaps.
Youll never give up, will you? Tom grinned as she shook her head once more. Admirable persistence.
Where there are no flowers, cold always rules.
And where the heatings off, the cold rules too, Tom quipped gloomily. Im sorry, I really must be off.
Take them. I wont know whether you toss them on the pavement or leave them in the tube, but if you bring them home youll see I was right.
Alright, Tom thought for a moment, fishing out a couple of crumpled pound notes from his pocket. Here. And thank you.
For what? she asked, handing him a fresh bunch from a plain cardboard box. Just doing my job.
I dont know, he admitted honestly. Just thank you.
Anytime, she replied. Tom tucked the bouquet to his chest and moved on. Soon the wind ceased its harsh bite, replaced by a gentle warmth spreading through his chest. He halted, turned, and watched her continue beckoning passersby. To his surprise, she seemed to call selectively, yet no roar of traffic, no rush of commuters, no street chatter could drown her lilting voice.
Lovely lass, yes, you. Buy tulips.
Back home, Tom stripped off his coat, walked into the sittingroom and retrieved his grandmothers old vase from the sideboard. He rinsed it under the tap, dried it with a striped towel, filled it with fresh water, and placed the tulips inside. He set the vase on the table by the window.
The tulips were indeed striking. Their stems were a deep pink, fading to pale white near the tips.
—
Hey, Emily, he said as the front door clicked and his weary, pretty girlfriend slipped in.
Hey. The weathers dreadful, she sighed, shaking off a damp hat. They say the cold will stick around for a couple of weeks.
Yeah, I saw the forecast this morning, Tom muttered, taking her coat. But weve got hot tea and biscuits, just the way you like them.
Perfect, Emily laughed, warming her frozen hands, then paused, inhaling the air. Whats that smell, Tom?
Smell? Tom asked, puzzled.
Yes, she replied, moving toward the kitchen. Its warm, a hint of sweetness. I cant put my finger on it.
Must have drifted in from outside, he said, pouring boiling water into a cup. Emily shrugged off her cardigan and disappeared into the bedroom, from which a surprised gasp drifted back. Tom set the sugar bowl aside, smiling as he realized she had spotted the flowers.
Did you get those tulips? Emily asked brightly as Tom entered with a tray holding two steaming mugs and a tin of biscuits. He nodded, setting the tray down. You never like flowers, even on holidays youre forced to take one.
The seller was persistent, Tom replied, startled as the tulips unfolded, releasing that faint, sweet scent into the room.
Theyre gorgeous, Tom, Emily whispered, pressing her face close to the blooms, closing her eyes in bliss.
I see, he smiled, his breath caught when she wrapped her arms tightly around him, burying her face in his chest. Whats wrong, love?
The day was miserable, Tom. And now now it feels warm again, like this morning, she murmured, her eyes sparkling. Thank you.
Youre welcome, he chuckled, ruffling her hair. He gazed thoughtfully at the flowers and whispered, I never knew tulips had a scent.
I cant describe it either, Emily said, lifting her tea cup. She raised an eyebrow as Tom laughed. Whats that about?
Ive figured it out.
And what is it?
She was right, he said, pulling her close around her waist. They smell like spring.
Tom and Emily lingered for hours, sipping tea and speaking in soft tones. On the table, in the old grandmothers vase, the tulips stood, filling the roomand their heartswith the sweet perfume of spring.
