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She said, “How about a Scandinavian fried cookie? It’s called Fatigman. Yummy. You’ll love it since you’re a donut guy.”
I was happy to wait. To watch her at work. She pulled a bowl of ready dough out of the walk-in refrigerator. Rolling out the dough and cutting it, dropping it in the hot oil. Sprinkling fine, fine powdered sugar on it as it drained on the rack and cooled.
It was delicious. I did love it. I imagined I was tasting … her.
Finally, she held out a hand to shake her thanks, “Baking beckons. Come back later?”
Yes!
But I asked, “How about I buy you dinner tonight? You owe me that for letting me repair your equipment.”
She looked at me with her lips slightly parted, her eyes crinkled in amusement. She shook her head, but decided, “I close the shop at 4:30. But since I get up so early, I also turn in really early. Is 4:30 too soon to eat?”
I had no idea. I agreed anyway. I promised to be at her front shop door at closing.
For the rest of the morning and all afternoon—very unlike me—I couldn't focus on my work. All I could think about all day was her voice. Like wind chimes. And then how gorgeous she looked.
When had that ever happened?
At 4:28 I was downstairs again, as planned, to pick up the lovely Samantha of the crystalline soprano voice.
Samantha
Watching him leave my kitchen, I just stood there.
My head was … empty. Empty of everything but sensation. My kitchen was swirling around me. I felt like I was floating, my feet inches off the floor. I kept blinking but couldn't bring anything into focus.
Amy nonchalantly peeked back into the kitchen a minute or two later, saying without even looking at me, “What did you do to Mr. Peterson? He looked like a windstorm hit him right between the eyes.”
Huh? I guess planetary motion stopped for us both.
Amy asked, “So you’re having dinner with him?”
Ahh. So it was true. I did that. Not dreaming it.
Leighton Peterson had made a date with me. In exchange forhimrepairingmyfryer, I’mlettinghim buymedinner this afternoon.
I shook my head and laughed. His dinner invitation was upside down.
I could hardly wait.
Leighton
As I came up from the bakery after the repair, Fielding flagged me down.
“Here are your messages, Mr. Peterson. Nothing looked urgent except that I did give one thing to McManus. He’s been the one talking to the client, anyway.”
I must’ve stared at Fielding as if I didn’t recognize her.
She asked, “Are you feeling okay, Mr. P?”
I just mmm’ed her and floated to my office.
Fielding, though I didn’t notice, picked up her set, dialed, and said, “Miz P? Could you go see Mr. P? He doesn’t look like himself. Not atall.”
What I had a sense of right now was the luck I had in meeting the beautiful Samantha of the Baker’s Dozen & More shop. I had been a customer of her shop from the first week it opened. When Amy told me we could order by phone to pick things up, that was when I started getting not only Amy on the phone but the beautiful voice of Samantha.
But I never ran into her in the front. I didn't know how mesmerizing she was then, did I?
