The Extra Tomato

Every Saturday, Mira walked to the little market in town. She was new there and did not know many people.

Her favorite stall belonged to an old man named Ovid. Mira always bought four tomatoes. But every week, after she paid, Ovid put a fifth tomato in her bag. It was never pretty.

Mira thought he felt sorry for her. Maybe she looked lonely. She did not like this idea. So one Saturday, she brought him a jar of plum jam she made herself."You don't have to give me extra tomatoes," she said.

Ovid laughed."Those aren't gifts. That's work."

He showed her an old notebook. Her name was on many pages."I grow new kinds of tomatoes," he said."Every week, you tell me what you think of them. That helps me choose the best ones. You are my best taster."

Mira remembered. She only said those things to be polite.

Ovid pointed to the last page."This one is ready. Next summer, I will sell the seeds." The new tomato's name was Saturday Mira.

Mira's face felt warm. She was not just getting kindness. She was helping him, too.

Ovid tasted the jam."Too sweet," he said."Bring me another next week."