“For you.” He hands me the bag, and Diane is right—it smells amazing. I look down and see the Mama Mabel’s logo. “Oh, yum,” I murmur.
“There’s writing on this side,” Diane points out.
I turn the bag around and see his handwritten note:
M—Ihope you’ll forgive me. But I’ll wait.
Until then, I wanted to make sure you had some comfort food. Sam
Takingthe bag into the back room, I pop open the stapled top and peer in. There’s a small round Styrofoam container and something wrapped in foil. I take out both and pop open the lid on the round container. “Mmm, mac ’n’ cheese.” I dip my finger into the gooey cheese and taste. “So, so good.”
I unfurl the foil package and see three chicken strips. Diane steps behind me, whining, “Damn it, I’m so jealous.”
I grab two plastic spoons from the little kitchen area that Theresa has set up for us. “Here, I’ll share.”
Diane grabs the spoon and the round container. “I love you so much, Mac. Have I told you that before?”
“No. I don’t think you have.” I giggle. She has. Numerous times.
We eat the food in record time. I wipe my mouth, close my eyes, and smile. Comfort food is the best thing ever.
On Wednesday,I half expected—no, I fully expected—something delivered by lunchtime. Walking the dogs was a nightmare, and apparently that stupid groundhogwasright. We were enjoying a lovely February blizzard. The dogs hated it, too. By the time we had walked a block, all three of them had done their business. I hustled them back into the warmth of their building. “Thanks for doing your stuff so fast, pups.”
Walking back to work, I do my best to keep the snow that’s pelting my face from blinding me. I grab the front of my coat and wrap it around me tightly. “Brrrr, cold.” I shiver. Back at the store, I look around hopefully. Maybe Sam sent Thai food today.
I’m terrible. This is ridiculous; I shouldn’t be looking forward to a delivery. I should want the deliveries to stop. When there’s nothing waiting for me, I’m disappointed.
By one o’clock, the mall is dead. Every smart person in Chicago has gone home or avoided trudging out into the snow altogether. There are reports that businesses around the River North/Michigan Avenue area are closing early. Waterplace Mall won’t close. It never does. If she were here, Theresa may have decided to close early, but she’s in New York until Friday at an international art fair. She’s hoping to discover the next great jewelry star. I guess that’s not me. I refuse to feel sorry for myself, though. The woman who called on Monday stopped in this morning. She looked at my new things and browsed the other works, but she didn’t buy. Not yet, anyway. She did say she’d be back, but that’s what a lot of people say when theydon’t buy. It’s like they think they have to keep our spirits up or something. In my case, it worked. I’m keeping my hopes up.
At five o’clock, Theresa calls to say we can close up early. Diane called her to tell her about the weather and that the mall was deserted. Even the toy store closed. As soon as we’re ready to close up, I grab my coat and purse and take the escalator down. I hesitate before walking out, because the weather is worse than it was at lunch. A taxi is going to be impossible to get right now. In this weather, everyone wants to take a cab. I’ll have to cross my fingers I can squeeze onto a bus. I pull the collar up on my coat, put my head down, and march out of the building. As I approach the corner, I look up in time to step around a snow-covered object that I think is a planter, and see a man in a black coat holding up a sign that reads MACKENZIE PARKER.Huh?I walk up to the guy. “I’m MacKenzie Parker.”
He turns and walks up to a black limo. He opens the back door and gestures for me to enter the back seat. “What’s going on?” I ask, shivering.
“I’ve been instructed to drive you home, miss.”
“By whom? Wait. Don’t answer that. I know who did it.” If I had any pride, I’d just keep walking, but in this freezing blizzard, I’m as weak as a newborn. I walk past him and slide into the luxurious warmth. I take in the leather interior and minibar. The heat is blasting, thank God. The car feels like I’m in a warm cocoon. There’s a tall Thermos cup in the cup holder next to me.
When the driver slides into his seat, he leans back and says, “Miss, there’s hot chocolate with whipped cream in the cup for you to enjoy.”
“Oh, my God,” I whisper. That man is something else. I pick up the cup and take a sip. “It’s still hot.”
“Yes, miss,” he says with such formality, I feel like a princess.
I sit back in my seat and watch everyone outside struggle to get around. I feel a little self-conscious and a lot guilty. So manypeople are out there cold and wet, and I’m in here all warm and dry. It takes over an hour, but when he finally pulls up to my house, I’ve finished the remainder of my hot chocolate. The driver starts to step out, but I stop him. “No. Please. I can get out by myself. Stay warm.”
“Very well, miss.”
“Thank you very much. Drive safe.”
“I will, and you’re very welcome, miss. Have a wonderful night,” he says, smiling.
I grab my purse and open the door. The snow seems to be slowing down a little bit. I clomp back to my door and race inside. Tossing my coat and purse down, the first thing I do is turn up my furnace. I do my best to keep my utility bills down, but on days like this, I’ve got to splurge.
After brewing myself a cup of tea, I search my cupboards for something to cook. “Shoot.” If I’d known we were going to get hit with this stupid snow, I’d have gone to the store. “I’m sure no one is delivering on a night like this.” I wouldn’t want to ask someone to deliver anyway.
I pull out an old box of pancake mix. “I’ve got peanut butter. Pancakes with peanut butter would be good.” I mix up a small batch of pancakes and turn on my little gas stove. I cook up three pancakes and slather them with chunky peanut butter. Biting into the soft, warm pancakes, I moan in appreciation at the taste. This meal was a great idea for a snowy night.
As I eat, I ponder what to do for the rest of my night. I could work, but I decide it’s the perfect weather to crawl into bed and read a good book. I take a quick shower to get the rest of the chill out of my bones, dress in my warmest flannels, and hop into bed. I plug my old phone into the charger and grab my book. Tonight, I’m reading a book about a funny detective named Stephanie Plum. I love the series. It always makes me laugh.
