"Drive-Thru! How can I take your order?" a voice crackles through the aging speaker that I've just pulled up beside. I'm in the process of rolling down my window. Cool air drifts inside the car.

"Yeah hi, can I get two Fripps please?" I hurry to say, flashing my eyes to my phone to make sure I haven't missed any calls or texts while driving.

"Sorry sir, we've run out for the night. Can I interest you in one of our danishes?"

I run my hands through my hair and jolt in my seat. "I don't want a freaking danish! I need a goddam fripp!"

"Well sir, like I've said, we don't have any left."

"Look!" I muffle my scream. "There is a woman in labour, demanding that I bring her a Fripp as soon as humanly possible. She's in a lot of pain, and she won't have the epidural, which might end up saving the sanity of half the people in the hospital, until she has this fucking apple concoction. If I drive another twenty minutes to your next location, I might miss the birth of my son. All because you ran out of a fucking farmers pastry that on any other day of the year, would be sitting stale in your plastic trays. So is there any possible way that you can help me out and whip up a batch of this shit in the next ten seconds before I storm in there and do it myself?"

It's quiet for a moment. "Sir. My name is Fred. It's my second week on this job, and I don't really know how to do anything other than greet people really politely. It's just me and Krissy back here. If you don't have a problem with a hair net, I'd actually prefer your help."

I groan, tossing my head against the back of my seat. "Hi Fred. I'm Ricky. I'll be right in."

"There you are!" George shouts at me, getting up from a chair in the waiting room. "That took almost an hour! She's about to kill someone!"

"Sorry. Things got complicated…" I reply.

"I know it's a Fripp, but how complicated could it get?" He stares at me for a second. "Is that flour on your face?"

I pull my lips into a tight line. "Like I said. Complicated."

"…Right."

"Is she in her room?" I ask, not really waiting for an answer. I walk towards Amy's room. The door is slightly ajar. Through the opening, I can see her pacing. Her mom sits on the couch with one leg crossed over the other, mumbling something. I tap on the door with my knuckle and push it open.

"I come bearing gifts."

"Oh finally!" Anne cries. "I've had to pee for the last half hour. Amy, I'll be back soon okay. You're in good hands. Thanks Ricky." She pats my arm as she walks out.

"Mom!" Amy calls, grunting as she leans against her mattress for support.

"Here. Let me." I sit the bag of pastries onto the bed and ease Amy into her pile of pillows. "Sorry it took so long," I say, as I reach inside the bag for a Fripp.

Amy accepts the dessert and takes a bite. I can see her trying to hide her happiness.

"Better?" I ask, slipping out of my jacket.

All she can do is nod. A drop of goo dribbles down her chin.

"You have a little… here." I wipe it away with my thumb, purposefully catching her bottom lip twice in the process. She stops mid bite to look at me.

"Thanks…" she mumbles shyly.

"No problem…" I mumble back.

Her expression changes. "Is that flour on your nose?"

I chuckle. "Yeah. It is. It's a long story though. I'll have to save it for a bed time story one day."

Amy grimaces. "Speaking of bedtime stories, can you go get my mom? I think it's time…."

"Really?" I say breathlessly. "We're going to meet our son?"

Amy's hand finds mine out of pain. "We're going to meet our son."