Debbie Macomber: Call Me Mrs. Miracle

“No,” he muttered. His head throbbed, reminding him of his craving for caffeine.

“It seems quiet here at the moment. Why don’t you take your break?” she suggested. “The other sales associate and I can handle anything that comes along.”

Jake hesitated.

“Go on,” she urged. “Everyone needs their morning coffee.”

“You go,” he said. He was, after all, the department manager, so he should be the last to leave.

“Oh, heavens, no. I just finished a cup.” Looking around, she gestured toward the empty aisles. “It’s slow right now but it’s sure to pick up later, don’t you think?”

She was right. In another half hour or so, he might not get a chance. His gaze rested on the robots and he pointed in their direction. “Do what you can to interest shoppers in those.”

“Telly the SuperRobot?” she said. Not waiting for his reply, she added, “You won’t have any worries there. They’re going to be the hottest item this Christmas.”

Jake felt a surge of excitement. “You heard that?”

“No…” she answered thoughtfully.

“Then you must’ve seen a news report.” Jake had been waiting for exactly this kind of confirmation. He’d played a hunch, taken a chance, and in his heart of hearts felt it had been a good decision. But he had four hundred and ninety-seven of these robots on his hands. If his projections didn’t pan out, it would take a long time-like maybe forever-to live it down.

“Coffee,” Mrs. Miracle said, without explaining why she was so sure of the robot’s success.

Jake checked his watch, then nodded. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Take whatever time you need.”

Jake thanked her and hurriedly left, stopping by HR on his way out. The head of the department, Gloria Palmer, glanced up when Jake entered the office. “I’ve got a new woman on the floor this morning. Emily Miracle,” he said.

Gloria frowned. “Miracle?” She tapped some keys on her computer and looked back at Jake. “I don’t show anyone with that name working in your department.”

Jake remembered that Emily Miracle had said there’d been an error on her name tag. He rubbed his hand across his forehead, momentarily closing his eyes as he tried to remember the name she’d mentioned. “It starts with an M -McKinsey, Merk, something like that.”

Gloria’s phone rang and she reached for it, holding it between her shoulder and ear as her fingers flew across the keyboard. She tried to divide her attention between Jake and the person on the line. Catching Jake’s eye, she motioned toward the computer screen, shrugged and shook her head.

Jake raised his hand and mouthed, “I’ll catch you later.”

Gloria nodded and returned her attention to the caller. Clearly she had more pressing issues to attend to just then. Jake would seek her out later that afternoon and suggest Mrs. Miracle be switched to another department. A less demanding one.

As he rushed out the door onto Thirty-fourth and headed into the still-falling snow, he decided it would be only fair to give the older woman a chance. If she managed to sell one of the robots while he collected his morning cup of java, he’d consider keeping her. And if she managed to sell two, she’d be living up to her name!

Friday morning, and Holly Larson was right on schedule-even a few minutes ahead. This was a vast improvement over the past two months, ever since her eight-year-old nephew, Gabe, had come to live with her. It’d taken effort on both their parts to make this arrangement work. Mickey, Holly’s brother, had been called up by the National Guard and sent to Afghanistan for the next fifteen months. He was a widower, and with her parents doing volunteer medical work in Haiti, the only option for Gabe was to move in with Holly, who lived in a small Brooklyn apartment. Fortunately, she’d been able to turn her minuscule home office into a bedroom for Gabe.

They were doing okay, but it hadn’t been easy. Never having spent much time with children Gabe’s age, the biggest adjustment had been Holly’s-in her opinion, anyway.

Gabe might not agree, however. He didn’t think sun-dried tomatoes with fresh mozzarella cheese was a special dinner. He turned up his nose and refused even one bite. So she was learning. Boxed macaroni and cheese suited him just fine, although she couldn’t tolerate the stuff. At least it was cheap. Adding food for a growing boy to her already strained budget had been a challenge. Mickey, who was the manager of a large grocery store in his civilian life, sent what he could but he had his own financial difficulties; she knew he was still paying off his wife’s medical bills and funeral expenses. And he had a mortgage to maintain on his Trenton, New Jersey, home. Poor Gabe. The little boy had lost his mother when he was an infant. Now his father was gone, too. Holly considered herself a poor replacement for either parent, let alone both, although she was giving it her best shot.

Since she had a few minutes to spare before she was due at the office, she hurried into Starbucks to reward herself with her favorite latte. It’d been two weeks since she’d had one. A hot, freshly brewed latte was an extravagance these days, so she only bought them occasionally.

Getting Gabe to school and then hurrying to the office was as difficult as collecting him from the after-school facility at the end of the day. Lindy Lee, her boss, hadn’t taken kindly to Holly’s rushing out the instant the clock struck five. But the child-care center at Gabe’s school charged by the minute when she was late. By the minute.

Stepping out of the cold into the warmth of the coffee shop, Holly breathed in the pungent scent of fresh coffee. A cheery evergreen swag was draped across the display case. She dared not look because she had a weakness for cranberry scones. She missed her morning ritual of a latte and a scone almost as much as she did her independence. But giving it up was a small sacrifice if it meant she could help her brother and Gabe. Not only that, she’d come to adore her young nephew and, despite everything, knew she’d miss him when her brother returned.

The line moved quickly, and she placed her order for a skinny latte with vanilla flavoring. The man behind her ordered a large coffee. He smiled at her and Holly smiled back. She’d seen him in this Starbucks before, although they’d never spoken.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

“Same to you.”

The girl at the cash register told Holly her total and she opened her purse to pay. That was when she remembered-she’d given the last of her cash to Gabe for lunch money. It seemed ridiculous to use a credit card for such a small amount, but she didn’t have any choice. She took out her card and handed it to the barista. The young woman slid it through the machine, then leaned forward and whispered, “It’s been declined.”

Hot embarrassment reddened her face. She’d maxed out her card the month before but thought her payment would’ve been credited by now. Scrambling, she searched for coins in the bottom of her purse. It didn’t take her long to realize she didn’t have nearly enough change to cover the latte. “I have a debit card in here someplace,” she muttered, grabbing her card case again.

“Excuse me.” The good-looking man behind her pulled his wallet from his hip pocket.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. This was embarrassing, humiliating, downright mortifying.

“Allow me to pay for your latte,” he said.

Holly sent him a shocked look. “You don’t need to do that.”

The woman standing behind him frowned impatiently at Holly. “If I’m going to get to work on time, he does.”