Crysta Valentine Week.The first day it was just a small basket of wild strawberries, each one smaller than her thumbnail but bursting with so much flavour she closed her eyes when she popped the first in her mouth, startled at the tart sweetness of the small fruit.
There was nothing but this, this small basket of woven leaves and a card atop of it, the writing elegant and fluid on the creamy paper.
“As red as your lips”
The second day it was a bouquet of white roses and fluffy baby’s breath, all ivory fragrance and feathery elegance in the same little woven basket, that was awaiting her on her windowsill.
Now convinced it was one of her cousi