![]() ![]() I’ve seen this ritual many times before - it happens every Thursday afternoon at 4:15, regular as the changing of the guard. Malik the bag and the vase from last week’s arrangement. “And I have here some ginger-pear scones, made by my own hands,” she says as she gives Mr. Gran flashes him her twinkliest smile and reaches under the counter for an empty blue vase and a bag of scones. Wilson, I have brought for you some alstroemeria, freesia, and a few orchids - all arranged by my own hands.” He bows his head slightly as he places the bouquet by the cash register. Wilson,” even though my grandfather died before I was born. Malik.” He’s from Pakistan, so he’s just as bad, calling her “Mrs. Malik for eight years, and she still calls him “Mr. ![]() Do you see how British she is? She’s known Mr. Malik, what have you brought for us this week?” my grandmother asks. Malik gives me a smile, nearly dazzling me with his white teeth. A dark head peeks out from behind the flower arrangement, and Mr. I get to work frosting more cupcakes, and the door bursts open with a jingle and an explosion of pink and purple flowers. ![]()
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