An old grocery shop on the outskirts of York was a local favourite—the food was delicious, portions generous, and the staff warm-hearted. Margaret Thompson had worked there fifteen years, starting at the scales before managing the deli counter. She knew everything—who took extra stuffed peppers, who needed a reminder about the porridge, and who got a little extra because, well, it just felt right.
That day, she hurried from the back with a tray of pork pies. Just as she set them in the display, her eyes landed on a familiar figure—a tall man in a worn-out coat, with a quiet sadness in his eyes, standing by the counter like he was searching for someone.
Margaret walked over quickly.
“If you’re looking for Emily, she’s off sick. Back next week. Your usual, then—sausages and ribs?”
The man blinked in surprise.
“You remember my usual order?”
“Course I do. You’re a regular,” she said, cheeks flushing.
He hesitated, then added softly,
“I’ve been meaning to come to your till, Margaret, but I keep ending up at Emily’s. Bit silly, really.”
“How’d you know my name?”
“Your badge, love.”
Behind them, Doris from the bakery snapped,
“Sir! There’s a queue forming! Ten people behind you!”
He startled.
“Right, sorry. Just the sausages, please.”
Then, quieter, meeting her eyes,
“Maybe one day, a kind woman’ll make me proper homemade ones. Sorry, Margaret—no ring on your finger. If you’re not spoken for… fancy letting me walk you home after your shift? I live just across the road. On my own.”
Margaret gave the smallest nod as she handed him the bag. Her heart hammered like she was sixteen again.
“See you tonight, then,” he smiled. “I’m Anthony, by the way.”
The rest of her shift, she floated. Even Doris noticed.
“Margie, you alright? Cheeks all pink—like you’ve got a date!”
“I’m fine, Doris. Just in a good mood.”
At closing, she touched up her lipstick, wrapped her scarf tight, and stepped outside. Anthony was waiting.
“Fancy a walk? Maybe a film?”
The weather was grim, sleet sticking to their lashes. They strolled down the high street, chatting like they’d known each other forever. At some point, he asked,
“Come back to mine, Margaret? Cup of tea, warm up. I’m just round the corner.”
“Bit forward, isn’t it? We’ve only just—”
“Hardly just met. I’ve been watching you a year. Love how you are with customers—kind, patient. Feels like I know you already. Don’t you feel it?”
She smiled.
“Alright, Tony. Lead on—I’m soaked through.”
His flat was simple but cosy. He took her coat, set her shoes to dry, brewed tea with biscuits.
When the storm outside turned fierce, he suddenly said,
“Stay. I’ll take the sofa. Where’s the sense in you going out now?”
Margaret looked around—warm, safe, her heart whispering to stay.
“Alright…”
She took the bed, him the couch. But come morning, they woke tangled—sleeping apart hadn’t worked.
When Emily returned, she spotted Anthony meeting Margaret after work straight away.
“Blimey, wasted no time! I go off sick, and you nick my customer!” she laughed.
Truth was, Emily was chuffed. Happy Margaret shone like sunshine, warming everyone. Real happiness is obvious from miles off. And that week, even the sausages and ribs seemed to sell faster.
