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Desmond and Molly Jones
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Desmond had a stall at the Farmers Market. Molly was the singer in
a band playing on the plaza that Saturday afternoon. During a break
in the music, she wandered through the displays of flowers and produce
and handmade goods. Desmond had seen her up on stage and was smitten.
As she approached his table, he plucked a bouquet of fresh lavender
from his basket and held it out to her, bowing in a gallant
old-fashioned way. "For you, m'lady." Her raised eyebrows questioned
his intention. "Because I like your face," he replied awkwardly,
unwilling to admit that her voice had made him weak in the knees,
that his stomach was doing flip-flops, and that his life couldn't go
on without her. She smiled back at him, a dazzling sun-breaking-through-the-clouds
smile and took the proffered flowers from his hand with a curtsy.
The rest is history...
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