1
The first cupcake arrived the day after Asa left. It was delivered in pristine condition in a clear plastic box designed to resemble a diamond. I wholeheartedly ignored any symbolism associated with its packaging and devoured the double dark chocolate treat, savoring its rich cherry cordial center and candied cherry frosting.
Two cupcakes arrived the next day, both s’mores, with an incredible charred marshmallow fluff topping.
Three came the day after that, all silky lemon chiffon with tart icing and candied lemon peel curls.
Then came four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine…
Once I accepted, deep in my black heart, that I couldn’t eat that many cupcakes alone, I thrifted a plastic stool, taped a sign that read “free cupcakes” to its front, and set it on the sidewalk in front of my shop. As a thank you for the town’s continued support, I began leaving the extra treats out for everyone to enjoy.
AfterI sampled the day’s flavor. I mean, they were gifts. It would be rude of me not to eat one.
And just like that, I was back to thinking about Asa when I had a billion other things to do.
Credit where credit was due. His daily deliveries ensured I couldn’t forget about him while he was gone.
Not like I had a hope of that with the bracelet he’d made for me snugging my wrist.
“Horsefly.”
Jerked from my sugary thoughts, I located Arden waving her arms over her head like spaghetti noodles.
“I got it.” Camber palmed the flyswatter, stalked her prey with measured steps, then swung. “Splat.”
“You saved me.” Arden picked the bug up with a fistful of paper towels between it and her fingers. “How can I ever repay you?” Her voice carried as she went to flush it down the staff toilet. “Name your price.”
“You’re broke.” Camber tossed her the sample bottle of our hand sanitizing gel, made from an aloe vera base with peppermint, witch hazel, manuka honey, onion and garlic extracts, rosemary and tea tree oils. “How about you do my laundry for a month? Or wash the dishes for a week? Or just stop being a baby?”
“I’ll take option two.” Arden slathered her hands. “Option three ain’t happening.”
The horsefly infestation was more symbolism I was ignoring. Their appearance was a wake-up call that an unpleasant task was dive-bombing into my life, and it was time to stop running and face up to it. Except I had stopped running, and I had faced up to it. I had a home here in Samford, and I was Black Hat again.
What more did the persistent pests want from me? The spaghetti noodle dance?
Sweat dripped into my eyes as I finished painting the trim on the shelves that held our tinctures and teas selection. November in Alabama was warm. November in Alabama in a shop with an AC unit on the fritz, well, I had sat in cooler saunas.
That was before you factored in the manual labor of sanding the wood trim, priming it, then painting it to restore the shop to its minimalist aesthetic prior to David Taylor’s efforts to redesign the space using black magic to demo everything the girls and I had labored so hard to achieve with Hollis Apothecary.
Stepping back from the wall to admire our handiwork, I scratched under my parting gift from Asa for the umpteenth time. The persistent tickle was as constant a reminder of his absence as the cupcakes.
“Stop picking at it.” Camber swatted my hand. “Your boyfriend worked hard on that.”
Never in a million years should I have told them the truth when they asked where I got my jewelry.
“He might have asked for a list of her allergies first,” Arden countered. “Look how irritated her skin is.”
From a box in the office, she retrieved a small tube of our popular itch relief cream. Most folks used it on mosquito bites or chigger bites in summer, but it also soothed poison oak, poison ivy, and poison sumac.