each one instead of taking the first that appeared perfect. "Because this one's ripe now, that one's ripe tomorrow, and the prettiest one might taste like wet cardboard," he said. She laughed, then realized that the last time she had chosen her own produce was probably during college.
The market owner, Mrs. Alvarez, greeted Daniel by name and asked whether the legs on her display table were still secure. He promised to stop by on Monday and check the wobble she described. Victoria began to introduce herself with her surname, but Mrs. Alvarez simply asked whether she wanted fresh basil with the tomatoes.
When Victoria said yes, the older woman added a few extra leaves and told her to cook something good. Nobody seemed particularly interested in whose signature appeared on the city's financial pages.
They ate lunch at a small cafe with scratched tables and a window looking onto the square. Daniel ordered soup and a sandwich; Victoria chose the same because she liked the smell coming from the kitchen. The owner brought the plates himself and apologized that one bowl did not match the others. Daniel told him the soup would taste the same. Victoria thought of the restaurants where she had watched managers panic over mismatched silverware and wondered when she had begun accepting that kind of anxiety as normal.
"You look as if you're conducting an internal audit of your entire life," Daniel said. Victoria set down her spoon. "I might be." He did not laugh.
"Just remember that you don't have to fail at one kind of life for another kind to be good." She considered that as the afternoon light moved across the table. The idea was surprisingly merciful.
She began learning that Daniel was not a man untouched by difficulty. He lived simply because he preferred certain parts of simplicity, but he still worried about paying suppliers, balancing repairs that took longer than expected, and keeping his old truck running. Some months the workshop earned enough to replace equipment. Other months he delayed buying something he needed and made the old tool last another season. His ordinary life was not a picturesque refuge built for Victoria's comfort, and he refused to let her mistake it for one.
When she suggested buying a new dust collection system for the workshop, he thanked her but declined. "I have a plan for upgrading that," he said. "It'll take me a little longer, but it's part of the business. If I need a loan, I'll go to a bank with numbers, not to someone I enjoy having tea with."
Victoria flushed. She had not meant to make him feel dependent, but she understood that intention did not erase the effect of her suggestion. She apologized, and Daniel accepted it without extending the discomfort.