Page 30 of Desserts for Stressed People

On the Road

“Seatbelt on?”Shane asks, and when I confirm it is, he starts the engine, hurrying out of the parking lot in his dark silver Mercedes-Benz. “We should be there in about forty-five minutes.”

“Yes, great.” Gripping onto the light brown leather seat, I keep my eyes on the road, but my pocket is almost burning. Inside is my phone with his message to Nevaeh.

He clears his voice. “So, how’s—” His phone rings, and with a sigh, he presses a button on the steering wheel. “Hi, Dan.”

Dan, whoever he is, starts bombarding Shane with information until his fists tighten around the steering wheel, his chest slowly rising and falling. Dan is clearly flustered—apparently, there’s a problem with a sponsorship event—and Shane’s hand keeps reaching for his neck.

This man doesn’t have a moment of peace, does he? I guess one day that could be my job, and I think about that saying,Be careful what you wish for.

“Why don’t you move the products into the other storage room?” Shane asks, and Dan informs him that it’s been rented out and isn’t available anymore. The one they have, however, is completely unusable after it flooded overnight because of some faulty pipes.

Shane and Dan swap suggestions, and each time, they discard them. I’m thinking about it too. I can’t help it—it’s the project manager in me. And I think I have a solution, but I keep my mouth shut and let them figure it out themselves. I’ll be part of the team for less than two months, so it’s not my place to intervene.

Fifteen minutes into the conversation, Shane is leaning with his elbow to the window and rubbing his chin. He’s really frustrated, and if there’s something I can do to help, then I probably should. When I clear my voice, his eyes find mine for a second. “Yes?”

“I—I have a solution.”

The left corner of his lips curves in a curious smile as he studies me. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

I straighten in my seat. “We have a storage room for the Devòn event. The sponsorship will be over long before it starts. So...use it.”

“And where do we put the stuff for our event?”

“There isn’t any. There was a problem with transportation, and it’ll be delivered tomorrow.” I sent him an email about it yesterday and received a swoon-worthy “Ok.” response.

Shane sighs. “Yes, but the sponsorship is tonight. There won’t be time to get everything packed and out of the warehouse before our stuff is delivered.”

My chest flutters every time he says “our event” and “our stuff.” Like the Devòn event isourbaby, something that he and I share. Ignoring the jittery feeling in my stomach, I shrug. “There is enough time for everything. It comes down to hiring enough people and spending some money. Dan, how are you doing with the budget?”

Dan seems hesitant as he says, “We’re good. About five percent below.”

My palms face up. “Sounds like an excellent investment to me. And you won’t have to pay for the storage space, because we already did. Use that five percent to find some movers who’ll work through the night.”

When Shane turns to me a third time, I point at the road. I don’t want to scold him in front of his employee, but I’m not trying to die either.

“Mr. Hassholm? What do you think?” crackles out of the car speaker, and the thumps of my heart quicken dangerously.

Shane takes an entire minute to answer, and I can almost hear the cogs in his brain rolling and mincing. “I can’t see a problem with it.”

I beam, a fuzzy feeling of satisfaction warming up my insides. I bet he’ll remember me now. Heaven, the project manager who saved the day. Heaven, who could find a solution when he couldn’t. Heaven, theawesomewoman who came to his rescue.

Dan releases a long-awaited breath. “Great. God, thank you...whoever you are, thank you!”

Shane rests one elbow to the car door, his finger rubbing his bottom lip. “Heaven. Her name’s Heaven.”

“Thank you, Heaven, then.”

I barely notice Dan’s chuckle. I’m too intent on staring at Shane, and I still can’t tell whether his sudden obsession with my name is due to him genuinely being sorry, or if he’s messing with me.

“Keep me updated,” Shane says, and as Dan says goodbye, he hangs up. How rude. I lightly shake my head, but if he notices, he says nothing.

He drives for a few minutes, eerily silent, my heart in my throat as I sit still beside him. Before Dan called, he was about to ask me something, and I desperately want him to do it. Whatever it is, just ask.Ask me, ask me, ask me.

“What were you saying?”

The words come out of me when my chest finally feels like it’s going to explode, and his eyes dance to me for a second. “Excuse me?”

---