‘It’s like, I think I might have forgiven him. If it had just been sex. If only it had been something as simple as that. But it wasn’t. It was love, and that is what I think hurts the most. Men, for the most part, you know they think with the head down south.’ Jodi grimaced and rolled her eyes. ‘And I’m not excusing a cheater. Not in a million years. But I think that if Frank would just have admitted, “Jodi, honey, it was just a roll in the sack. It was a mistake,” and then promise me it would never happen again – after I had kicked his ass, of course – I might have been able to move on.’
Squeezing Jodi’s hand, Beth whispered, ‘I’m so sorry, Jodi. You are so wonderful and Frank’s an idiot for not realising it. I know what you’re saying and yes, you might call me silly, but I truly do believe that everything along the way happens for a reason. Maybe Frank isn’t the love of your life, and was never supposed to be the one you end up with.’
Jodi chortled. ‘Quit it, Pollyanna.’
Beth had to smile, realising she did indeed sound a bit Pollyannaish. But she truly believed what she was saying; it was how the world made the most sense for her: the idea that all the various plot strands in life eventually put you exactly where you were supposed to be. While Jodi, given her recent experience, was perhaps right to be cynical, at least for the moment, Beth wasn’t going to give up on that idea for anyone. And she knew all the way to her core that things would work out for Jodi. There was a Hollywood ending in store for her friend. She would bet on it.
‘Anyway, speaking of happy endings – or lack thereof – you promise me you will think about this? About what I said about Danny? And how life isn’t like the movies?’
Beth gave a little nod – a reluctant affirmation of agreement, at least for the moment.
‘OK. Good.’ Jodi grabbed the bottle of wine and filled both her glass and Beth’s. She picked the glass up, took a drink and then pointed the remote control at the TV. ‘And now for our next lesson of the evening. Why men and women who are attracted to each othercannotbe friends. If you want a movie example about your love life, Beth Harper, watch this.When Harry Met Sally. Hopefully, this one will drive the message home.’
Chapter 7
The following morning seemed to crawl by for Beth. Jodi was off today and the sales floor was quiet. The weather was cloudless, sunny and relatively mild, resulting in many of their potential customers taking advantage of the welcome break in the winter chill to spend time at the ice rinks, outdoor Christmas markets and other festive activities rather than at the department stores. Undoubtedly, the rush would pick up again once the weather turned, but for now it was peaceful.
She was planning on taking a walk herself at lunchtime and wondered if Danny would get the opportunity to sample the beautiful day. He certainly needed a little Vitamin D, she thought, realizing how rundown he was looking lately. All that time cooped up inside the office wasn’t good for anyone, though she understood how desperate he was to hold on to his job.
Her thoughts were interrupted by two people walking into the department at the same time. One was dressed in the low-key, slackerish garb of a bike messenger with a delivery, and the other was Marley Dempsey, teenage hotel heiress, evidently back from her recent jaunt to Europe.
‘’Tis either a feast or a famine’ was a favourite expression of Beth’s grandmother, and that was certainly true of today.
Beth waved a hello and indicated to Marley that she wouldn’t be long – it seemed that the bike messenger would need a signature.
The young man, who looked to be in his early twenties, had a messenger bag slung over his chest and was carrying a cup of coffee. As he approached, he started to search through the bag.
‘Hi, there, can I help you?’ Beth enquired with a smile.
The guy popped his gum and returned her smile, albeit with less enthusiasm. ‘Yeah, I have a delivery for Beth Harper?’
She perked up. ‘Well, that’s me,’ she said, her smile growing, wondering what had been sent to her. She had never received a delivery at work via bike messenger specifically for her.
‘Awesome,’ the guy said as if this was the end of some long and drawn-out quest. He extracted a clipboard from his bag and handed it to her, along with a pen. ‘If you could just sign here,’ he indicated, pointing to an area on the clipboard. ‘This isn’t like, a traditional delivery, I guess you would say.’
Curious, Beth signed her name and looked back up at the young man. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, handing the pad and pen back to him and expecting the usual envelope or package.
‘It means, here you go.’ With that he handed her the generic coffee cup he’d been carrying in his hand. ‘I’m assuming this is how you take your coffee. I was told triple shot grande white mocha. With whip?’
Perplexed, Beth automatically reached out for the coffee cup. A bike messenger for a coffee delivery? ‘I don’t understand…’
The guy shrugged. ‘I don’t know either, but it’s not the weirdest thing I have seen, that’s for sure. One time, I had a woman send her husband another woman’s underwear to his office. I’m guessing she’d found them in her bedroom or something. That was awkward.’
Beth shook her head, the messenger’s story of marital infidelity completely going over her head as she considered the mysterious cup she now held in her hand. This was much more interesting to her. And yes, it was indeed her coffee of choice, but why on earth would anyone send her a drink via bike messenger? And at work, too?
‘Well, do you have the sender’s name?’ Beth asked.
The messenger shook his head, and looked uncomfortable as he checked his clipboard. ‘No, the sender asked to keep that private. Sorry.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I don’t understand, why would someone send me a coffee anonymously?’ What a weird, but kind thing to do. And she couldn’t deny it was intriguing. Sort of like something from a…
‘Actually there’s something else too.’ Now the guy looked discomfited, as if whatever he was about to do was definitelynotpart of his job description. ‘I am supposed to say, “Best enjoyed with a box of Cracker Jack.”’
‘Come again?’
The messenger rolled his eyes and repeated, ‘“Best enjoyed with a box of Cracker Jack.”’ He said it faster this time, as if he was eager to get all of this out of the way as quickly as possible.
Beth looked from the bike messenger to the cup of coffee in her hand. ‘I’m sorry, I really don’t understand. I’m supposed to drink this with Cracker Jacks? Isn’t there anything else—’
