The sun was blazing down on the bustling flea market, casting a golden glow over the array of stalls. The air was thick with the scent of fresh produce, mingling with the chatter of vendors and customers haggling over prices. Your fruit stand was set up under a large, faded umbrella that provided some relief from the heat, but it did little to cool the sweltering day.

You had been selling fruits at this market for as long as you could remember, your hands deftly sorting through the ripe produce, arranging them in neat, enticing piles. Today, the strawberries were the star of your stand—plump, juicy, and perfectly sweet. You’d already sold quite a few pints to eager buyers, but there were still plenty left, their bright red color catching the eye of passersby.

As you wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, you noticed a figure in the distance, moving through the crowd with a purposeful stride. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and despite the heat, he was dressed in a suit. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, revealing a crisp white shirt that clung slightly to his frame. He stood out among the sea of casual shoppers.

He stopped in front of your display, his eyes scanning the array of fruits before settling on the strawberries.

“Good afternoon,” you greeted him, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden flutter in your chest. “Would you like to try some strawberries?”

He looked up at you then, and you were struck by the intensity of his gaze. His eyes were a deep, stormy gray, and for a moment, it felt as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

“I would,” he replied, his voice low and rich, like the rumble of distant thunder. He reached out, plucking a strawberry from the fruit to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. He bit into the strawberry, and a small drop of juice trickled down his thumb. He seemed to savor the taste, closing his eyes briefly before nodding in approval.

“You grow these yourself?” his voice warmer now, the earlier intensity replaced.