Chuck should eat some plum pie, Olive thinks as she watches the woman-waitress-friend?-serve a cup of tea to a customer. The tea is hot and there is a friendly laugh on her lips, a warm twinkle in her eyes; her cheeks are blushing red, and Olive knows she's staring, but there isn't much she can do, is there?
Besides, she isn't the only one staring. Next to her stands the pie maker, and his expression is that of someone who watches something beautiful, something breathetaking, something so wonderful it makes your heart stop in amazement that you were given the gift of being able to recognise that beauty. His expression is that of someone who loves deeply, and now that she knows what it is Olive can't believe she didn't realise it sooner.
But it's for the better, probably. Because Olive now knows what the expression on his face means because she feels the same expression on her own face, sees it with her mind's eye, when she watches Chuck-watches her like Ned is watching her. That is the reason she knows what it means, because she knows what it means on her, for love isn't something you can deny when you feel it. It's too strong, too present to be ignored; Olive, of all people, knows that.
Oh, how she knows it.
And she watches Chuck take some cherry pie for herself and thinks Chuck should eat plum. Cherries are nice and all, but they're ordinary; everyone knows cherries. Fake cherries, real cherries, no matter-but plums? Plums are special. There is no plum joghurt, no plum chewing gum; plums are a rare flavour that is to be savoured.
A flavour for someone like Chuck; a flavour exactly for someone like Chuck, because Chuck is just as special, just as rare, and she should be treasured just as much. Plums are warm fruits, rare fruits, special but not high-maintenance and because of that even more delightful, just like Chuck.
It'd be a perfect match, Olive thinks.
But Chuck eats cherries.