So I was halfway through my route, and finding that I seriously liked the job.
I was out and about, but I wasn’t working with anyone at all.
Meaning, I could listen to my audiobooks on my headphones the entire day, and no one cared.
I was halfway through a pretty spicy scene when I delivered to a gorgeous house that looked bigger than the White House.
The instructions for delivery provided a gate code, so I inputted the code and drove up the long, winding drive lined with pecan trees until I reached the circle turnaround at the front of their house.
Mr. A Winthrop.
Fancy name for a fancy house.
I put the truck in park and headed into the back to get the package.
I found it—it was very large—and pulled it out using the dolly.
When I got it to the front porch, I rang the doorbell, took my photo, and started back to my truck when I came to a standstill.
“Well, hello,” I said to the beast sitting in front of my truck. “Aren’t you beautiful.”
“He’s an Irish Wolfhound,” a man answered from behind me.
I looked over my shoulder to see an elderly man standing there looking at the package with dismay.
“He’s beautiful,” I said. “Can I help you get that package inside?”
His eyes lit. “Would you mind?”
“Of course not,” I said as I climbed the stairs again. “My sister raised me right. If she found out that I let some old man struggle to get a package inside his house, she’d beat the crap out of me.”
“Your sister sounds like a pleasant person,” the old man teased.
“She’s something,” I said. “Where do you want it?”
He opened the door wide and gestured toward the corner of the huge, vaulted ceiling entryway with his cane. “Just right there, if you please.”
I got it right where he wanted it and said, “All done.”
“Thank you.” He tilted his head. “Can I tip you?”
“Uhh.” I hesitated. “We’re highly encouraged not to accept tips.”
“What about a snack?”
I would never turn down a snack.
“Well, that would work really great.”
“I make cookies and send them all over the world,” he said. “I retired from my actual business this year, but I still had a few obligations to fulfill. I have way too many, because I’ve never cooked at home before. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out how the hell to get the quantities right in this new mixer.”
I walked into his kitchen and was assaulted by the smell of heaven.
“Ugggghhhh,” I groaned. “It smells amazing in here.”
He smiled. “Thanks. My bakery smelled like home, but this place is getting there, slowly but surely.”
He boxed up some cookies and handed them to me.
