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He simply broke it off, which gave him a wonderful shiver of joy, and offered it to the boatman, who was now back at the wheel, leaning on it for support.“Thank you, friend,” said the boatman. I shall suck this and think of you when next I have need of your smiling comfort. But see, we are already on the Candied Ocean.”The Gingerbread man looked down into what had been caramel waves, but was now a rolling sea of blue and green sugar strands.“And yonder, see? There are the Islands of Marvellous Sweets! We are headed for the first, and largest, past the Crunchy Crumb Rocks, to Honeycomb Harbour. The Fairy Gingermother’s house is just up the road from there, Honeypuff Palace.”The Gingerbread Man was so excited that his candy buttons popped off again. Gathering them up, he danced a little dance Puddingtonians called The Happy Dance. For happy he was, that Gingerbread Man, who had journeyed so far to find his spice for life.And so it came to pass, that they sailed into Honeycomb Harbour.. Ben had, what? I guess it was a voice of confidence. There were those forearms. Strong arms poking out of the rolled up French cuffs straining against the crowbar, forcing the machine he designed into place and commanding Bill and Diego what to do. I find myself blushing at the thought when I realize the men in this room fall short. Whatever, I tell myself. After this, I’ll call and politely cancel our date. Back in my car, I pull out Ben Sheppard’s card again and pull out my phone. The private cell number is written precisely. The ten numbers look as if they’ve been printed out. They maintain the same bottom line and are of equal height and spaced evenly. I put the card to my nose. I don’t know why I expected it to smell of something—Old Spice or Musk—one of those man scents that’s not really pleasant but not bad either. Nothing. It’s just ordinary scentless paper. My car’s clock says it’s a quarter to two. I remember my two o’clock underwriters meeting and put the card and phone.
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