Page 22 of The Angel and the Agent

“What is happening?” she exclaimed to no one in particular, startling an old woman beside her so badly she smacked Amelia on the arm with her newspaper. Wincing, Amelia made a beeline for work, feeling almost paranoid and suspicious of everyone she encountered, wondering if they were going to hand her a flower.

She emerged from the Metro station and bypassed her favorite bakery, almost shading her eyes as she went by. When she first started her job, stopping at the bakery had been a fun part of her routine. But the daily pastries and coffees were putting a major dent in her efforts to be a responsible adult, the kind who has enough money in the bank for emergencies. The kind who realizes croissant and latte cravings do not count as emergencies.

The owner of the bakery knocked on the window and Amelia stopped short, causing the person behind her to also stop short and yell, “Hey, watch it.” She moved closer to the window and pressed her face to the glass. The owner beckoned her inside. Amelia pointed to her chest. He nodded.Yes, you.

Tentatively, she opened the door and stepped inside. The smell of warm sugar and butter filled her nostrils, reminding her of exactly what her attempt at financial discipline was costing her.

“Amelia, I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” the baker, Michael, commented.

“I know, and it’s been miserable. But I’ve been trying to be good. You have no idea how many times I’ve almost broken and bought out your entire supply,” Amelia said.

“Your sister’s done that twice,” Michael said. Maggie was the one who had introduced her to the shop. She had an eye for those sorts of things.

“I’m sorry,” Amelia replied, feeling she owed him an apology of some kind, although he probably wasn’t going to go under without her six dollar daily habit.

“You’ll come back when you can,” Michael said, waving her apology away. “But today I have something for you.”

Amelia tensed. “You do?”

He nodded and lifted a plate onto the counter. It held a croissant, cut into four pieces. “I tried putting hazelnut spread in the croissants this morning, and I need an expert opinion. Care for a sample?”

“Do squirrels fly? You know I do,” she said, eagerly reaching for a sample.

“Dosquirrels fly?” he asked, tilting his head at her in question.

“I have no idea. It’s something my mother says. She’s from the south and she says a lot of things none of us can figureout. We’ve learned to nod and smile a lot,” Amelia explained, downing the croissant and resisting the desire to lick her fingers. “That was amazing, I mean, true inspiration. I think you might be on to something here. Best-seller status, for sure.”

“So that’s a yes then,” he said, smiling.

“That’s a for the sake of humanity never stop making them,” she said, and he laughed.

“Thanks.”

“No, thank you,” she said. She gathered her flowers and turned to go, but he hailed her back.

“Oh, one more thing.”

She turned to him, dearly hoping for more croissant, when he handed her a flower. “You sneaky devil. Were the croissants a ploy?”

“Yes, but after your over-the-top support, I’m going to make some more, see if they sell,” he said.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me who set this up?” she asked, holding her flower aloft.

“I think you’ll find out soon enough,” he said.

“Cryptic, Michael,” she said, shaking her head.

He laughed. “See you.”

She wanted to tell him she’d be back after she reached her first savings milestone, that his pastries and coffee and friendly service would be the one splurge she’d allow, at least for one day. But she could only imagine his expression if she unloaded so many personal details on him. So she merely smiled and waved, picking up the pace even more to make it to work on time.

The best part of Amelia’s walk was the dog park. She was from a family of dog lovers and had always envisioned herself immediately getting a puppy upon graduation. But of course that was when she was still a kid, six months ago. Now she understood not every apartment allowed animals—hers didn’t. And even if she could miraculously find an apartment in herprice range that did, she’d have to pay more for a monthly pet allowance. Then there was the monthly cost of ownership—food, vet bills, possibly even a dog sitter to check in on the days Amelia worked long hours and couldn’t get home. Plus she’d have to take the dog out, first thing in the morning, late at night, as soon as she got home from work after being on her feet for ten hours. Much as she hated to admit it, she wasn’t ready for a dog. She would content herself living vicariously through Maggie’s new puppy, the same way she would probably someday content herself with being an aunt until she was ready for children of her own.

The farther she delved into adulthood, the more she realized it wasn’t as fun and shiny as she’d always hoped it would be, her finances and the lack of a dog being her biggest struggles at the moment. But the dog park never failed to bring a smile or brighten her day. When she had time, she paused by the gate and watched all the dogs frolic happily with their owners. If she was lucky, someone would take pity on her, or possibly a dog would sense her need, and she’d get the chance to pet a few furry heads, scratch a few ears. Those days were the best, even though she often feared she was turning into a creepy dog stalker. She hadn’t yet reached the stage of dog desperation where she carried treats in her pocket and tried to lure strays into her car, but the longer she went without a dog, the closer she got.

But today she had no time to linger by the gate and hope for a pity cuddle. Today she would barely make it on time, thanks to the string of unprecedented flower deliveries. So she hurried past the park, not intending to stop, when she heard little paws scraping behind her. She turned to look and saw a dog, a red rose dangling from its mouth.

“Seriously?” she said, kneeling to take the rose and pat the dog. The dog had other ideas and tackled her, bowling herbackwards so she sprawled on her back, all the flowers scattering askew on the sidewalk, along with her purse.

---