“See, it is silly.” “It’s not,” he said. “It’s perfect. I can picture it: you on a farm, surrounded by flowers.” “It’s just a dream.” “It’s a good dream,” he said, then walked toward the cash register. He passed the clerk the book. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t have a garden, and my balcony doesn’t get enough light for me to grow much of anything on it.” “Dream big with me, Lucy.”
