Page 8 of Courage, Dear Heart

She reaches out and pats my hand. “You don’t suck. You’re one of the kindest, most caring people I know.”

“You have to say that.”

“No, I don’t. I’d tell you to your face if I thought you were being a jerk. Had it happened with a different woman, I bet she would have been all over you. Bad timing.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel better.” Not really, but I appreciate her attitude.

She taps the countertop. “I have a question. What was up with the kid trying to run you over?”

I chuckle. “Now, looking back, I think he was being protective of his mother.”

“Aww, that’s cute.”

“He’s a very cute boy. Quiet, though. I don’t think he said a word while I was there.”

Sabrina stands and rolls the stool under the bench again. Goes back to decorating the cupcakes while I watch her, and with a few more twists of her wrist, she’s done.

“They’re beautiful, Sabrina. Where do you keep the cards? I want to add a note to the box.”

“I’ll grab one for you. Let me wash my hands first.”

I admire my sister’s work. The array of colorful and beautifully decorated cupcakes. Almost too beautiful to eat. Almost.

“Here you go.” Sabrina hands me a card, an envelope, and a pen.

I think for a moment and then write. Show it to her.

She laughs. “That’s perfect. The real you.”

“Thank you, Sabrina. Don’t tell Elsa, but you’re my favorite sister.” I open my arms for a hug and she fits her small form into my embrace.

Stepping back, Sabrina taps her lip with her index finger. “You know, you may be on to something. I like this idea of apology cupcakes. I’m going to put a few cupcakes with ‘I’m sorry’ out in the display case and see what happens. Maybe some other messages too. Hmmm.”

Her wheels are turning. My sister, the business-minded baker.

“Yeah, sure, sis, glad I could help.”

She grins at me.

SIX

Jillian

The soundof a doorbell drags me out of sleep. The sunlight invading my room through the partially open curtains tells me it’s morning. Who’s ringing the bell on my only day off? The sign on the door clearly says we’re closed on Sundays. I find my slippers and drag myself downstairs, mentally cursing whoever dared to wake me up before 9:00 a.m.

The shape of a man is visible behind the glass door. He waves when he sees me. I tug at my T-shirt and fix the waist of my sweatpants. Point at the closed sign from behind the glass.

The man points at a box in his hand. “Delivery.” His voice comes clear, even with the door closed. The man waves at me and I disable the alarm and unlock the door. I rub my eyes, squinting in the light, half-asleep still. Before I can say anything, he pushes the white box in my direction.

I fold my arms. “I didn’t order anything.”

“You’re Jillian Heart, at Scent of Love, yes?” He looks up at the storefront sign.

I blink. “Yes, that’s me.”

“It’s yours then.” He holds the box up for me to inspect.

I look at it like I’m about to disarm a bomb. He pushes the box closer, and I have no choice but to take it from him.

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