Paper Flowers

"You're quite like the paper flower you bought from that stall. The one which had stuff made by underprivileged kids?"

Her strong British accent more evident than ever, she said, laughing, "What, artificial and clumsily crafted?"

She was enjoying the thoroughly random and meandering nature of their conversation; much like the long walks they insisted on embarking upon, in spite of losing themselves completely in the process.

"No!" he said, with a supposed-to-be-stern side-long look. It did not have the desired effect, apparently, and merely elicited more laughter.

"No, I meant," he continued, "A bright and cheerful red on the outside, with a deep blue core concealed within."

She stopped walking. Agape at his uncanny ability to gain insight into her mind, she gazed vacantly at his rapidly receding back.

Realising that she was no longer beside him, he turned around and called, "Come on! What are you waiting for?"

What was she waiting for?

She hesitated. Slowly releasing her breath, she took a tentative step forward.