“Why are you in Jeremy’s bakery when you need to be looking for Rosco’s shipment?” Uncle Tommy asked.
“Rosco?” Aunt Shirley said in surprise. “That’s your secret? You’re running a shipment of finches for Nathan Rosco? What in the world would Nathan Rosco want with a truckload of birds? He’s strictly a pool man.”
“Pool man?” Carla asked. “Do I want to know?”
“Hot tubs, whirlpools, the occasional stand-alone Jacuzzi procured under questionable circumstances,” Jeremy provided.
“Rosco called you?” Harry asked Uncle Tommy.
“No,” Uncle Tommy said, his lips tight. “Half the city called me when every dispatch in the tri-state area reported a truckload of finches jackknifed on the interstate bypass. Apparently the semi was abandoned, and finches were flying out the back door. Two men in cheap suits were seen fleeing the scene. It really wasn’t a stretch to figure out who would abandon a truckload of birds during a snowstorm.”
“I told you we should have stayed with the truck,” Charlie said under his breath.
“And take the rap for a shipment of birds?” Harry said. “No way. How embarrassing. I’d rather face Rosco.”
“Well, you’re facing me first,” Uncle Tommy said.
“Excuse me,” Carla said. “Is that a finch at the window?”
Everyone turned to look at the set of small windows looking out at the back alley. A bright yellow finch sat on the windowsill with its head cocked, peering inside.
As they watched, two more finches landed on the ledge.
“Just how many finches were on that truck?” Jeremy asked.
“Quite a few,” Charlie answered with a pained expression. “They were going to be a surprise gift from Rosco to his fiancé Lola.”
“Charlie!” Harry exclaimed. “That was supposed to be a secret.”
“I don’t think it really matters now,” Charlie said. “Rosco was going to propose to Lola today. Something about the romance of Valentine’s Day. Blah, blah, blah. Someone else was going to release a thousand red balloons and we were going to release the birds as he proposed. Apparently the goldfinch is her favorite bird.”
“And when was this supposed to happen?” Aunt Shirley asked.
“Ten o’clock,” Charlie said.
They all looked at the cupcake-shaped clock over the counter. It read 10:35.
“You’re right, I don’t think it matters anymore,” Harry said, his face a sad mask. Both he and Charlie jumped when Uncle Tommy’s cell phone chirped in his pocket.
Uncle Tommy answered, then looked at Charlie and Harry. “Yes, they’re with me,” he said. He listened for a long time, thanked the caller, said goodbye, and disconnected.
“Was that Rosco?” Charlie said in a hushed voice.
Uncle Tommy nodded.
“Oh, crap,” Harry said. “We’re goners. I knew this wasn’t a good idea. Done in by a bunch of finches. What a way to go.”
“I feel faint,” Charlie said, leaning on the counter. “Rosco’s going to flip his lid. If Uncle Tommy doesn’t do us in first. Tommy, have mercy.”
“Relax,” Uncle Tommy said, buttoning up his coat. Nobody’s going to flip anyone. Rosco’s fine.”
“What?” Charlie and Harry asked in surprised unison.
“There are goldfinches all over town. Apparently the balloon guys had problems too, and all one thousand balloons were released early as Rosco was driving Lola to the park. She interpreted it as an omen that something good was going to happen. As they were driving, they saw goldfinches at every corner. She also took it as a good sign. Rosco proposed on schedule, she said yes, and they’re both happy. End of story.”
“Oh, good Lord,” Charlie said, fanning himself. “Thank you.”
Another two finches landed on the window sill, cocked their heads, then flew away.
Uncle Tommy wrapped his scarf around his neck and moved to the back door. He nodded towards the line of canned cranberries on the counter. “Getting back into the cranberry business?” he asked.
“Nope,” Jeremy said. “Aunt Shirley was kind enough to see if I wanted to incorporate them into a cupcake. I regretfully declined.”
“Good idea,” Uncle Tommy said.
“Would you like to try a regular cupcake?” Jeremy asked.
“Rain check,” Uncle Tommy said, stepping out into the cold. “I’ve got to see a man about a horse.”
“A man about a horse, that’s funny,” Charlie snickered.
“It’s probably the truth, you moron,” Harry said, punching Charlie in the arm.
Carla stepped in and gave a small white box to Charlie, then Harry. Each was tied with a bright red ribbon. “Thank you for stopping by,” she said.
“Cupcakes? For us?” Harry asked. “How thoughtful.”
“Cupcakes for you,” Carla responded, opening the door for them, She ushered them out. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” they yelled from the alley. “Have fun with your icing!”
“Well, that’s my cue,” Aunt Shirley said, taking her coat from the wall and pulling it tightly around her. She slipped the plastic hair bonnet over her head. “Feel free to keep the cranberries. If cupcaking doesn’t work out, you’ve always got a fallback business.”
She put a hand on Carla’s shoulder.
“Welcome to the family, dear,” she said quietly, then left. A gust of snow blew in, covering the floor near the door, quickly melting in the kitchen’s warmth.
“And do you think it’s a sign?” Jeremy said, walking towards Carla, pulling her close.
Carla gave him a quizzical look, and he pointed to the goldfinches still sitting on the windowsill, looking inside.
“A sign of something good happening?”
“It’s certainly a sign of something,” she responded with a smile.
“Still think you can never have enough frosting on a cupcake?” Jeremy asked.
“Just as long as you don’t forget the meat and potatoes,” Carla said, leaning in for a kiss.
“How could I ever forget the icing? Or the icer, for that matter.”
“Sweet,” Carla said with conviction, the cupcakes forgotten.
“Sweet,” Jeremy agreed.
A Mobster's Recipe for Cupcakes: A Valentine's Day Story Page 2