Kerry paused. It was nearly nineA.M. now. She didn’t dare wake Murphy to ask him to watch the stand while she made a trek to the wholesale flower market. And he’d pitch a fit if she closed up the stand on a Saturday morning, which should be their best day of business.
“I really wish I could,” she told the customer. “But I’m working alone this morning.”
The woman frowned and fidgeted with a lock of her hair. “I really, really need that wreath. The brunch starts at eleven.”
“I don’t know. The wholesale flower market closes at noon today…”
“Then forget it,” the redhead snapped. “Just cancel out the transaction. I’ll find someone else—”
“Wait,” Kerry said. She couldn’t just let a sale this big walk away. “I’ll figure it out. White berries, dried flowers. Purple ribbon, right? What size wreath?”
“The biggest one you have,” the woman said.
“That’s a twenty-eight-inch wreath,” Kerry said. She took a deep breath. “It’ll probably cost around one twenty-five.”
The woman waved her hand carelessly. “Whatever. In the meantime, you deliver, right? I’m in the neighborhood. Just a few blocks over.”
“Uh, my brother does the deliveries, but he’s not here right now…”
“He’ll be back soon, right? My assistant is coming at noon to start decorating.”
Kerry glanced nervously at the trailer, where she could hear Murphy’s muffled snores.
“I’ll take care of it,” Kerry said, handing her the receipt book. “Just write your name and address on the top here, and your phone number.”
“I’m Susannah,” the redhead said. “Don’t forget. Noon.”
The morning passed in a blur. The weather cleared, the sun came out, but she estimated that the temperature hovered in the twenties. People streamed in and out of Anna’s, coffees in hand, ready to pick out their tree. Customers arrived by cab and by bus. Most took their trees with them, but at least half a dozen were added to the pile for Murphy to deliver. She chatted with neighbors asking about Jock and her brother, and she assured them that her father was on the mend, and Murphy was only napping.
At ten, Patrick and Austin joined the crowd.
“Here,” Austin said, handing her a foil-wrapped package. “We made this for you.”
Patrick’s lips twitched with a barely suppressed smile.
Kerry peeled back the foil and peered at the contents. A fat, roundish brown blob inside oozed a thick red fluid.
“It’s a pancake and strawberry jelly sandwich!” Austin announced, unable to contain his excitement.
“With low-sodium turkey bacon,” his father added. “Super healthy, right?”
“Oh. Wow. That’s so… thoughtful.”
“Try it!” Austin urged.
Patrick handed her a foam cup of steaming coffee. She took a sip, then lifted the sandwich to her mouth and took a small bite.
The pancake was tough on the outside and undercooked on the inside. But the contrast of the sweet, fruity jam and the salty, crunchy bacon was, she decided, a pleasant surprise. She chewed and swallowed, then beamed at her young friend.
“This is the best pancake sandwich I’ve ever tasted. Even better than my mom makes.”
Father and son were dressed for the outdoors. Austin wore his blue puffer jacket, corduroy pants, red snow boots, and a red knit ski cap. Patrick had on jeans and a quilted flannel jacket. He was bareheaded. Both wore waterproof gloves.
“Where are you two headed?” she asked. “Hiking?”
“Nooo,” Austin said. “We came to help you sell trees.”
“I tried to talk him into going ice skating in Central Park, or to the puppet show at the children’s museum, or something outdoorsy, but he insisted on coming down here.”
