In the quaint little town of Springville, there was nothing quite as coveted as the rare emerald grapes. Unlike the common grapes sold by the pound at the local market, these green-gemmed delights were auctioned off individually. At the last auction, a single emerald cherry fetched an astonishing $55,000, prompting some to joke that one wasn't simply indulging in fruit but acquiring a small mansion instead.
Given the off-season rarity, Karen clutched her box of emerald grapes like a treasure. Typically, she wouldn't even let her husband so much as glance at them, but today she was uncharacteristically generous.
"Do you realize what you have here?" Anthea exclaimed, marveling at the full box of grapes . She delicately scored the thin skin of one with her pinkie nail, and with a satisfying "zip," the creamy flesh peeked out from its blushing green shell, releasing a sweet fragrance into the air.
Taking a small bite, she reveled in the burst of juice and the exceptional flavor—a refined sweetness far surpassing that of ordinary grapes.
"These are divine, Mrs. Christensen! Are these the famous emerald grapes?" Anthea asked, turning to Karen with delight.
Karen nodded eagerly, "Yeah, Annie! How do they taste?"
"Absolutely delicious!" Anthea smiled.
"Then help yourself to more, darling! But peeling grapes can be such a tedious task, and our hands must be pampered—they're our second face, after all! Let the young man do the peeling." Karen pushed the box towards Sherman and signaled a maid to fetch a fresh plate.
Anthea, however, wouldn't hear of it. "Oh no, Mrs. Christensen, I can manage."
"Nonsense!" Karen insisted, pressing Anthea's hand down. "Let him do it. What's a little cherry peeling to someone with hands as rough as his?"
Sherman, the target of their teasing, could only raise an eyebrow.
The maid promptly arrived with a clean plate, and Sherman, setting aside his reluctance, took up the task of peeling the grapes with the focus of a well-trained soldier.
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