A Sweet Kind Treat Gesture

Prowling around the sports lounge, Tabitha occupied counter space strategically opening her pocketbook wanting a big score. Taking a few pounds needing discarding from the fashionably designed wallet, a gaming donation took place.

“Here,” she handed the crumpled up in a ball colorful paper, “put this on 233 at minus,” Tabitha paused, “that won’t pay a great sum, maybe enough to enjoy a delectable delight.”

Not saying a word, the teller made the pounds take on healthier appearance, straightening the huge rectangular markers before punching a ticket.

“Nice doing business with you,” Tabitha expressed, “Cross Hill.”

Engaging the gambling venue revolving doors next the attractive tease, who treated God’s physical gift respectively, allowed her seductive eyes catch an Irishman, entering the European pub across the street. “Well, you are going to need some brew this afternoon.”

Deciding to perform selfish activities, shopping for herself, Tabitha browsed different department store window displays, finally coming across a nationwide electronic franchise, promoting a television set sale.

“I cannot believe they are having a hard time against Ireland,” a potential future customer proclaimed.

“What are they? Playing bombed?” Questioned another spectator.

A sweaty sensation engulfed Tabitha, seeing the score tied, final minutes ticking away, “this cannot end up level,” she whispered.

“Oh, the Irishman broke the rules,” monitored a patron.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Tabitha felt God, observing the successful penalty kick resulting in being wrapped up in nylon netting.

Leaving the loitering party carrying her surefire investment. Tabitha realized a cathedral trip may be the proper move.

Safely experiencing sanctuary, she peered around the gothic spiritual art work and saw a modern white light blinking above, “good someone is home,” Tabitha declared.

Sitting enclosed in the miniature cabinet structure the maturing innocent growing adult watched the small sliding window open, “my child,” a mysterious voice started, “you did not go on a diet dropping pounds playing the Irish? Did you?”

“No, Father,” Tabitha laughed, “in fact I gained more pounds, just a little not a lot, but it was fun,”

“That is why you have to do something nice for someone,” the priest demanded.

“What do you mean?”

“You see my dear guardian angel there is this Irishman who is down on his luck, could use a colorful rainbow and golden pot,”

Accepting her orders, Tabitha left the meeting, slipping out a side door, realizing blue skies no longer graced the heavens, instead an angry attitude dropped a hint.

“Looks like its going to rain,” she heard thunder rumble, and lightning strike unleashing a tearful outburst, drenching the young lady completing a mission.

Cleansed from any devilish activity, Tabitha found shelter discovering a café. Escaping Mother nature’s temper tantrum, the message subsided, and Tabitha resumed browsing tempting teases, waiting purchase.

Like magic the tables dried off instantly and the nickel dime player entertained the pastry chef’s arrangement, “shoot I forgot to cash out,”

“I will accept your winnings as a bartered trade,” the dessert designer said.

“Here,” Tabitha handed over the Cross Hill script.

Looking at the predicted information the employee disappeared into the back, returning a few seconds carrying two glazed icing temptations along with a tea kettle.

“This is what your soothsaying opportunity got you,” he told her, “now he is over there, alone.”

“Who?”

“The Irishman wanting a good fortune,” the chef paused, “and something sweet.”

With her hands full Tabitha, ventured outside and in an enthusiastically style introduced herself, “Tommy O’Boy is your name,” the pastry chef read her lips happily grinning.

Both enjoyed the sunsetting postcard presentation and did not notice the establishments lights brighten the evening atmosphere. As a nice gesture the pastry chef kept his business open, rewarded with extra money from grab and go quick buys.

Finally, Tabitha and Tommy departed dimming the scene, providing the pastry chef a resting reflective moment, staring into the starry night, “you know you really do work in mysterious ways” he commentated, counting the profits’ bottom line.