Jack had always been careful with his words. When he’d popped the question to Veronica, he’d plucked them delicately from his mouth and lined them up on the table:
He’d then rather spoilt the effect when a nervous clearing of the throat had turned into a cough one and he’d catapulted Marry… and Me... across the restaurant.
But Veronica had understood what he’d meant and after she’d got her laughter under control, she’d taken a simple Yes… from her mouth and placed it in the centre of his palm.
Jack had just stared in disbelief at the smooth, shining word for a moment—before closing his hand around it tightly and looking up to beam at Veronica.
And though Jack believed in always responsibly disposing of any words after use—any harsh words going into the compost for the garden, all the others going off for recycling—he’d held on to t