“Take the next right or you’re going to run into traffic,” she says abruptly, pointing at the upcoming intersection.
“Are you kidding? It’s not even 6:00 on a Saturday morning. There isn’t any traffic. If we take a right, it’s just going to add more time until the next stop. You know how much gas that adds up to if you do that every week?”
She glares at me from the corner of her eye. “Seriously, if you keep going straight, we’re going to be stuck in a standstill for like twenty minutes. I do this every week, Bash. Take my word for it.”
At the last minute, I take a sharp right at the street she was indicating. The tires squeal and she pitches to the side. A few of the boxes in the back lean dangerously but stay upright.
“You’ve got to be careful!” she cries out. “People are waiting for these cakes and cupcakes! If they show up disheveled, it’ll look bad for my business. I have a reputation around here for perfect deliveries and I'm not going to have you messing it up.”
“You’re the one that asked me to be your delivery boy,” I mutter back, though I remind myself to be a more careful driver.
I'd forgotten that I'm not in my Porsche right now, able to drive however I want. It’s not like I want to ruin Holly’s hard work. To be honest, I'm a little worried about what she’d do to me if I did. She might very well push me off the Brooklyn Bridge. If I was to be even more honest . . . there’s something about her ferocity which I find intensely attractive.
Most people fall all over themselves to flatter me once they know how much money and authority I command. But Holly doesn’t seem to care at all about that. She isn’t blinded or star-struck by my fame or reputation. She treats me like any other person on the street, and though we bicker and butt heads, it’s possibly the most real connection I've had with anyone in a long time.
The only ones who actually treat me in a similar manner are my mother and sister, both strong women in their own rights. Holly reminds me of them, fiercely independent but sweet at the center of it all. Even with her gorgeous hair and supple body, her strength and honesty are probably the sexiest things about her.
“See!” she says triumphantly, bad mood vanishing like a rain cloud as she points a victorious finger toward the highway ramp.
I glance over, catching a brief glimpse of cars lined up on the road. It’s just like she said. We would’ve been stuck there for God knows how long if I'd insisted on going straight.
“I suppose even a broken clock is right twice a day,” I say playfully, chuckling when she rolls her eyes but continues to smile.
Fortunately, her bad mood seems to have gone for good.
“What in the world are they doing down there?” I ask, focusing again on the road as I steer further down the highway and check the GPS for our next location.
“It’s a little league tournament. It happens every couple of months around this time.”
When the GPS instructs me to, I pull off the highway and onto a small side road. Though I'd thought we were headed toward another grocery store or boutique like the previous couple of stops, we turn into a tiny parking lot of an equally tiny café.
Holly leaps out before the van has even come to a complete stop. She heads to the back and pulls out a case of cupcakes bigger than she is. She seems to carry it with ease, declining my offer to take it from her.
“You can carry that one,” she says, gesturing to a box barely bigger than a coffee cup.
Shaking my head, I grab the light box and follow after her.
The back door of the café swings open and an elderly woman with silver hair steps outside. “Good morning, Holly!” she calls with a cheery wave, her movement freezing when her eyes land on me. “And just who might this handsome fellow be?”
“This is Sebastian Titus, he’s helping me with my errands this morning. Isn’t he a wonderful delivery boy?”
“Oh, that’s good. You work too hard, sweetie,” the woman murmurs, still visibly appraising me like one would examine beef steaks at the meat counter.
As Holly passes into the café, the woman sticks her hand out toward me. I shake it, grinning at her.
“Mary Perkins,” she beams, “I own Perkins’ Perk Up. Holly brings us some of her treats to sell with our coffee. Can I get you something? We have the best cappuccinos in town. I just fired up the machine a minute ago.”
“We actually just had some coffee,” Holly begins apologetically, finding a spot on the counter to rest the box, but Mary’s already headed to the machine.
The old woman glances back at me eagerly, wiggling her silver eyebrows.
“That sounds lovely, Mrs. Perkins,” I say, sliding into one of the chairs.
Holly pauses, gazing at me with curious eyes, but eventually follows suit. Now that she’s already set down the big box of her confections, she reaches over to take the smaller one that I still carried.
“I made this for you,” Holly says softly as Mary pours our cappuccinos into to-go cups and hands them over. “I don’t know if it was appropriate but—”
“Oh, Holly . . . sweetie . . .” Mary gasps, opening the box and gazing down at a single cupcake. The woman’s hands shake slightly, the edges of the box wavering in the air. Her expression is stunned, her jaw slightly slack.
To me, the dessert inside the box looked rather simple. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and a single strawberry on top.
“I'm sorry if I overstepped,” Holly adds hastily. “It just felt odd, not bringing one.”
Mary swallows hard and closes the box, “Thank you, dear. This means a lot. I greatly appreciate your thoughts.” Dabbing at misty eyes, she glances at me with a small smile. “My Hal passed eight months ago,” she explains. “Every year on our anniversary, Holly would bring us a cupcake to share. She’s been making them for us since she was a girl. Her mother was a family friend.”
“Mary was my first customer when I opened Holly Cakes,” Holly says brightly, reaching over to squeeze the woman’s hand.
Mary leans toward Holly, pressing a kiss into her cheek and then shakes her head. Silver strands hang into her teary eyes. “You two better get back on the road! You still have a few more deliveries, don’t you?”
“Just one,” Holly says, pushing the keys over to me and grabbing both of our coffees.
Together we walk toward the door, though I hesitate for just a moment to look back at Mary. She’s lifted the cupcake out of the box now, lovingly running a finger down the side of the strawberry.
I return to Mary’s side, leaning in so only she can hear me. “Happy anniversary, Mrs. Perkins,” I say simply, hoping that the words cause more comfort than pain.
Mary turns glassy eyes to mine, a smile again parting her lips. “Thank you, Sebastian. It is a beautiful day, indeed.” She pauses, looking past me to where Holly waits, then glances back with sage eyes. “You know Hal drove me bonkers when I first met him. I told anyone who would listen just how much a bother he was.” She smiles wistfully. “Even the most beautiful of flowers can appear to be just a weed at first.”
I clear my throat, unsure what knowledge she’s trying to impart, and give a curt bob of my chin.
With her knowing smile following me, I rush back out the door to where Holly waits in the van. She gives me an appraising glance when I climb up into the front seat before gazing out the window. The GPS has already been updated to show our next and final location, a restaurant that I recognize. It’s one that I frequent quite often for work lunches.