“I have a little princess, this high,” he says with an accompanying hand gesture, “who’s expecting me to bring her cupcakes. It's been a challenging task because nothing opens before nine, hence, why I was so relieved when I noticed the line in front of your shop. Of course, after waiting in line for twenty minutes, it's now past nine o'clock. But there's a problem.”
“Other than the fact we don't sell cupcakes?”
“There's another problem.”
“Which is?”
“Now that I've tasted a morsel of your Oreo cookie cream filling, I'm not sure I can walk out of here empty-handed.”
“You liked it?”
“It’s the best donut I’ve had in a long time. It leaves everything I’ve had in LA in the dust. I think it even beats my favorite place in New York.”
I beam at the compliment.
“Oh, stop it,” I say.
“I’m not kidding. You guys know what you’re doing.”
“We aim to please.”
“And you do it well. That said, stuffed donuts might not be ideal for my audience.”
I lean against the counter.
He does the same.
Oh, this is way too close for comfort.
“How old is this little princess?”
“She's four.”
“Will she be eating the donuts alone or will she be sharing with friends?” I ask.
“She has a class full of friends. Eighteen to be precise.”
“I think I might be able to help.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously!”
“I'm all ears,” he says.
“Stuffed donuts and four-year-olds don't mix. There will be more filling on the tables, chairs, walls and in their hair than in their mouths. I don’t even want to think of the messy clothing.”
“Exactly. So, what's your solution?”
I quickly tell him about Mrs. Dillard.
“All that to say, I have four dozen sprinkled donuts with glitter in an array of colors—pink, purple, gold, silver and blue. All glazed. No filling—aka, princess-friendly,” I smile.
“I reckon those have my name all over them. It's a little more than what I need, but I'll take them all.”
“Oh no, if you only need two dozen, don't feel obligated to buy more than you need.”
“Everly, you have no idea how much this little princess loves anything that sparkles. They will do perfectly. I'll take them all,” he repeats.
“Excellent! They’re on the house.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
We stare at each other in a battle of the wills.
“I insist,” he adds with a wide smile.
“Mrs. Dillard has already paid for them,” I tell him.
“Bless Mrs. Dillard, but I'll pay for them again. Your client paid you for your time and the inconvenience. I'm paying you because you’re about to make a princess very happy.”
“All right,” I concede. “That's very gentlemanly of you.”
“Thank you, but it's the only way. It's the American way.”
I can't help but laugh.
“I see you serve coffee?”
“We do.”
“Italian?”
“Imported straight from the motherland,” I joke.
“You and I might become best friends,” he laughs.
Well, if there isn't a baby mama involved, I'd love to be more.
“I'm walking around un-caffeinated.”
“That's just wrong.”
“I had a little accident this morning. Long story.”
“Our coffee isn’t an afterthought. It's on par with the best coffee shops in the city. The guy over there wouldn't have it any other way,” I say, pointing to Callum.
“In that case, I'll have a large latte. A double shot of espresso, please.”
“So, it will be four dozen glitter donuts and a little dark goodness for you?”
“You got it,” he smiles.
“I'll be right back,” I tell him.
I rush to the kitchen.
When I walk through the doors, I’m practically attacked by my staff. Without even getting a chance to think, they bombard me with questions.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I tell them. “What's all this about?”
“Someone was flirting hard,” Virginia says.
“I'm just being courteous and attentive to a customer. Nothing more,” I defend.
Damn him. If Holt weren’t so drool-worthy, this wouldn’t sound like a blatant lie.
“Right,” Virginia winks.
“Don’t you have something to do?” I ask.
“I get it,” she says, lifting her hands up in the air in capitulation.
“And for the rest of you, I don't have time to answer questions. Back to work! Our customers await,” I tell the group of eager souls practically salivating for details.
“Thandie, can you get me a double shot of espresso latte? A large, please.”
“I'm on it,” she says.
“Please bring it to me out front. Oh, can you use one of our promotional mugs?”
“Consider it done.”
I zoom to the back, grab the boxes of donuts and return to the front of the shop. As I place the boxes in plastic bags, Thandie strides towards me with a travel mug in hand.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
“It's my pleasure,” she stresses.
She gives me an, Are you kidding me? look before walking back to the kitchen.
It takes all my will not to burst out laughing.
I ring Holt’s order through and hand him the change.
“For your fabulous fanny pack,” he says, slipping two ten-dollar bills into the tip jar. “More power to it,” a grin cracks his face open.
Now he’s mocking me.
“No you don't,” I reprimand.
“I insist, Everly.”
“Holt, you’ve already been more than generous.”
He tilts his head and strokes his dusted jaw with his hand. “Hmmm. I think we just had a debate and I won. We can go at it again, but, fair warning, I'm a pretty persuasive guy.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “You win.” I grab the money from the jar and stuff it in my fanny pack. “Thank you.”
It's his turn to laugh.
I grab the order I had dropped behind me, turn to face him and place his bags and mug on the counter.
I thank my lucky stars and feel the sparks all over again when his hand brushes against mine.
“What's this?” he asks, looking down at the tall stainless-steel mug engraved with our logo and catchphrase, ‘Get Your Sugar Fix On!’
“You said you had an accident this morning. I want to make sure it doesn't happen twice. A morning without coffee is a tragedy.”
“You're a good woman,” he laughs.
“I do what I can,” I beam.
“Well, I’m on delivery service. The little princess is waiting.”
“Little princesses can be so demanding,” I say.
“Tell me about it,” he says, suddenly looking glum. “I hope she’s not too disappointed at my failure to track down cupcakes.”