She is everything he didn’t want.
He feels as though he has entered a grocery shop with a list dictating he buy eggs and bread and milk and bacon and has emerged shell-shocked and shaken with an inordinately expensive bottle of vintage red for which he has neither the palate nor the pocket.
The click of her heels is too loud, the shine of her smile too bright, the colour of her hair too brash, the sound of her voice too startling. Yes, she is everything he didn’t want, but, somehow, it has come to pass that she is everything he needs.
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