Visiting the charming, quaint tea house in her small town was Claire’s favorite Saturday morning ritual. She rode, the basket filled with fresh flowers she picked along the way.
Her routine was the same. She would lock up her bike, then head inside for a cup of English Breakfast Tea. Patricia, the owner of the place, would smile brightly and thank her profusely for the fresh flowers.
Claire, twenty five years old, vibrant and free, found Patricia to be an eighty year old book where every page demanded to be read and appreciated. They were kindred spirits and Claire soaked in this relationship. She never wanted it to end.
Patricia passed away on a Friday evening. The next morning, Claire rode her bicycle up to the tea house, like she did every Saturday, collecting the fresh flowers along the way. This time, Claire parked her bicycle out front, removed the basket and hung it on the tree.
She wiped the tears from her eyes, exhaled, turned and walked home.
The next Saturday, she walked to the tea house, fresh flowers in hand. She replaced the old flowers from the basket, removed the “For Sale” sign, and entered her new establishment.