businesswoman in me knew better. I had a chance to serve my customers and make a nice profit today. Emma stepped behind the counter with me, and George faded back to a chair by one of the windows so he’d be out of the way.
“Who’s first?” I asked as one of the dads approached. It was Harry Milner, married to one of my good customers, Terri. They had eight-year-old twin girls, and Terri and her friend Sandy often came by the donut shop after their children were in school. Sometimes on Saturday mornings, Harry came by to pick up breakfast for his still-sleeping family.
He slapped two brand-new, crisp one-hundred-dollar bills on the counter and said, “Breakfast is on me, for everybody and anybody who walks through that door. If you run out, let me know and I’ll settle up when I leave.”
There were protests from the crowd of parents, though I noticed none of the kids were complaining.
Harry smiled at them all and said, “I just had a bit of luck in the stock market, and I want to share it with my friends. Surely no one’s going to begrudge me that, are they?”
He was good. No one could protest, so Harry turned back to me. “As for me, I’ll take a cup of coffee and a bearclaw.” He hesitated, then said, “Cancel that. Make it hot chocolate.”
“Do you still want the bearclaw?” I asked.
He grinned. “What do you think?” He started to rejoin his friends when he stopped and asked, “Is there any chance we can get some Christmas music in here? All this snow has me in the holiday spirit.”
“Sure thing,” I said, tuning the radio to a station in Charlotte that started their holiday tunes around Labor Day. It wasn’t my usual background music for the donut shop, but then again, I didn’t normally get two hundred dollars in orders either, so it was a day for surprises.
I got Harry a hot chocolate in my biggest mug, then heard shouts from the children, and told Emma, “We need another gallon of hot chocolate. And fast.”
“I’m on it,” she said. Emma was what passed for barista at my place. I let her choose the daily coffee specials, order the products, and make the hot chocolate, though we never had a tremendous demand for it. I loved it myself, and was constantly asking Emma how she made hers so tasty, but so far, it was a secret she hadn’t been willing to share with me.
“It’ll be a few minutes for the hot chocolate,” I said.
There were disappointed groans all around, then I added, “but in the meantime, you can all pick our your donuts, and by then we should be ready to serve you drinks. Let’s see how many want hot chocolate? Raise your hands so I can get a count.”
Every hand in the place went up, except George’s. I asked, “Are you the lone holdout sticking with coffee?”
He nodded, and some of the kids gave him a look like he was crazy, which George chose to ignore. It was all I could do not to laugh, so I ducked back into the kitchen to give Emma the count.
She had an array of spices out on the counter, and it was pretty clear that I wasn’t welcome in my own kitchen.
“Was there something you needed?” Emma asked as she tried to hide the selection from my gaze.
“I just wanted to tell you that we need sixteen hot chocolates,” I said. “I had to be sure you made enough.”
“There will be plenty,” she said. “Don’t worry about that.”
“You know what? You’d better make it seventeen. I haven’t had your hot chocolate in a while, either.”
“I’ve got a feeling we’ll need more than that, so I’m making a triple batch. Now shoo.”
I hid my smile from her as I went back to the front.
“It’s on its way,” I said, and there were more whoops of delight, and not just from the children.
I loved the sounds and sights of people filling the shop. I had to find a special way to thank George for coming to get me. I wouldn’t have missed a day like today for the world.
* * *
By eleven-thirty, we were out of hot chocolate, despite
“Who’s first?” I asked as one of the dads approached. It was Harry Milner, married to one of my good customers, Terri. They had eight-year-old twin girls, and Terri and her friend Sandy often came by the donut shop after their children were in school. Sometimes on Saturday mornings, Harry came by to pick up breakfast for his still-sleeping family.
He slapped two brand-new, crisp one-hundred-dollar bills on the counter and said, “Breakfast is on me, for everybody and anybody who walks through that door. If you run out, let me know and I’ll settle up when I leave.”
There were protests from the crowd of parents, though I noticed none of the kids were complaining.
Harry smiled at them all and said, “I just had a bit of luck in the stock market, and I want to share it with my friends. Surely no one’s going to begrudge me that, are they?”
He was good. No one could protest, so Harry turned back to me. “As for me, I’ll take a cup of coffee and a bearclaw.” He hesitated, then said, “Cancel that. Make it hot chocolate.”
“Do you still want the bearclaw?” I asked.
He grinned. “What do you think?” He started to rejoin his friends when he stopped and asked, “Is there any chance we can get some Christmas music in here? All this snow has me in the holiday spirit.”
“Sure thing,” I said, tuning the radio to a station in Charlotte that started their holiday tunes around Labor Day. It wasn’t my usual background music for the donut shop, but then again, I didn’t normally get two hundred dollars in orders either, so it was a day for surprises.
I got Harry a hot chocolate in my biggest mug, then heard shouts from the children, and told Emma, “We need another gallon of hot chocolate. And fast.”
“I’m on it,” she said. Emma was what passed for barista at my place. I let her choose the daily coffee specials, order the products, and make the hot chocolate, though we never had a tremendous demand for it. I loved it myself, and was constantly asking Emma how she made hers so tasty, but so far, it was a secret she hadn’t been willing to share with me.
“It’ll be a few minutes for the hot chocolate,” I said.
There were disappointed groans all around, then I added, “but in the meantime, you can all pick our your donuts, and by then we should be ready to serve you drinks. Let’s see how many want hot chocolate? Raise your hands so I can get a count.”
Every hand in the place went up, except George’s. I asked, “Are you the lone holdout sticking with coffee?”
He nodded, and some of the kids gave him a look like he was crazy, which George chose to ignore. It was all I could do not to laugh, so I ducked back into the kitchen to give Emma the count.
She had an array of spices out on the counter, and it was pretty clear that I wasn’t welcome in my own kitchen.
“Was there something you needed?” Emma asked as she tried to hide the selection from my gaze.
“I just wanted to tell you that we need sixteen hot chocolates,” I said. “I had to be sure you made enough.”
“There will be plenty,” she said. “Don’t worry about that.”
“You know what? You’d better make it seventeen. I haven’t had your hot chocolate in a while, either.”
“I’ve got a feeling we’ll need more than that, so I’m making a triple batch. Now shoo.”
I hid my smile from her as I went back to the front.
“It’s on its way,” I said, and there were more whoops of delight, and not just from the children.
I loved the sounds and sights of people filling the shop. I had to find a special way to thank George for coming to get me. I wouldn’t have missed a day like today for the world.
* * *
By eleven-thirty, we were out of hot chocolate, despite
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