Neil:Finish them at my place.
I peer down at Neil’s text to me after I texted him, frustrated that my oven is yet again acting up. He texted me just after I arrived back home from picking up all the necessary ingredients. And though my mind is still full of questions and doubts that I desperately try to forget, I’m glad to hear from him.
Me:Are you sure?
It doesn’t take him a full minute to respond with:
Neil:Never been more sure of anything in my life. You know the code. I’m going into a meeting. Text me if you need anything.
Sighing, I remove the paper with the passcode to Neil’s building from my refrigerator door, although I have it memorized. Knowing that I have a huge order and a limited amount of time to get it done, I don’t dwell on my doubts or anything else. I load up the ingredients into some shopping bags I keep in my kitchen and then place them in the pulley cart from my hall closet, and make my way down to my car.
“This would be so much easier if I had my own bakery,” I murmur to myself, thinking about the conversation I had with the owner of the building Neil recommended. I resolve to follow up with the guy the following week, after Christmas but before New Year’s.
It takes a while for me to get set up in Neil’s kitchen with all of my supplies, but once I do, I easily fall into a rhythm. Xavier Grant has ordered three different types of cookies, one hundred of them each.
The red velvet cookies will take the longest to finish, considering the cheesecake mixing inside, so I prepare the dough for those first. Next, I get started on the gingerbread cookies, ensuring each cookie cutter shape comes out perfect. And I leave my classic chocolate chip cookies for last, deciding I’m going to add a little something special to them for Mr. Grant’s generosity in doubling the payment amount.
At some point that afternoon, I come up for air to make the call to my delivery service, ensuring that they’ll be ready to pick up my order by tomorrow afternoon. I want to be entirely sure that the cookies will make it to Houston and into Xavier Grant’s hands by Christmas Eve.
Once those tasks are complete, I decide to take a breather and to fix myself something to eat. My growling stomach isn’t going to allow me to ignore its needs much longer.
As I begin peeling a banana from Neil’s fruit bowl, my phone rings.
“Look who the wind blew in. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Jackie sighs in response to my greeting. “I’m sorry for being MIA. Between work, Mama, and … other stuff, I got a little tied up in the holiday season.”
“Hmm. Well, it’s theother stuffthat had you tied up that interests me.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the phone.
“Hello?” I stand up from looking in the fridge. “I know you hear me. Don’t try to ignore me.”
Jackie sighs. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” I say even though I didn’t.
“No, you don’t. I got your text about that big order you have to get out by tomorrow. And I’m in between meetings right now. I just needed to check-in and to hear your voice.”
I push out a breath, sighing. “It’s good to hear your voice, too. Things have been such a whirlwind here. I miss you.”
“Miss you, too. How’s Neil?”
“He’s … great,” I answer while holding a can of tuna from his cabinet to the electric can opener. “I’ve got a question.”
“About what?”
“Neil.”
“Yeah, wait, hang on.”
I wait, hearing a muffled sound push through the phone.
“He said what?” she says.
There’s a male voice that responds, but I can’t quite make it out. Meanwhile, I finish making my tuna fish sandwich, taking a bite without even bothering to plate it properly.
“Sorry about that, Desi. What were you asking?”
