A Two O’Clock Routine
Edward lifted the tall glass of ice-cold lemonade, condensation sliding down the smooth surface onto his fingertips as footsteps sounded along the walkway.
Mark stepped onto the wooden steps of the front porch, adjusting the leather strap of his mailbag over his uniform jacket.
“Two o’clock on the dot, Mr. Edward,” Mark said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Right on schedule.”
Edward nodded toward the empty wooden seat beside him on the swing and extended the second glass.
“Ice-cold lemonade is waiting, Mark. Take a load off.”
The carrier set his satchel down against the porch railing and took the cold glass, wrapping both hands around the sides.
Unexpected News On The Porch
They sat side by side, their shoulders rocking slightly as the metal chains of the swing swayed back and forth in rhythm.
“You have no idea how much this five-minute break saves my life in this summer heat,” Mark murmured, taking a long sip.
Edward smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his black-rimmed glasses. “You keep this whole neighborhood moving, son.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Mark said, his gaze dropping to the floorboards.
He paused, his thumb tracing the rim of the glass as the ice shifted inside.
“I got my transfer news today,” Mark said softly, his voice dropping lower. “Next Friday is my last route here.”
Edward’s head turned slowly, the small grin fading from his mouth.
He looked out across the sunny yard, his grip tightening around the tumbler in his lap.
“Oh,” Edward replied, his chin pulling back slightly. “I’m really going to miss our afternoon chats, my friend.”
Mark leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees. “I’m making sure my final day on this route is one to remember, sir.”
A Final Special Delivery
When the following Friday arrived, the familiar delivery truck pulled up to the curb and the engine switched off.
Edward walked out to the edge of the porch, watching as Mark slid open the rear roll-up door of the vehicle.
Instead of reaching for letters or a standard package, Mark bent low and lifted a padded blue blanket off a large wooden frame.
He hoisted a handcrafted bench out of the cargo bay, bracing the weight against his torso as he carried it toward the steps.
Edward gripped the porch railing with both hands, his mouth parting in surprise.
“Mark? What in the world do you have in the back of your truck?” Edward asked, walking down the steps to meet him.
“One last special delivery, Mr. Edward,” Mark said, setting the four sturdy legs onto the porch boards. “Straight from my garage workshop.”
Edward stepped forward and lightly brushed his fingers across the curved backrest.
Chiseled into the oak grain were the words: ‘To My Favorite 5 Minutes.’
Edward placed both palms flat against the polished wood, his chin trembling slightly as he stared down at the carving.
“Mark, this is incredible,” he whispered.
“You weren’t just a stop, Edward,” Mark replied, looking directly at him. “You became family.”
Edward reached forward and pulled the carrier into a tight hug, patting him firmly on the back of his jacket.
“Promise me you’ll stop by whenever you’re back in town, son.”
Mark nodded, pulling back with a grin. “Every single time, Edward. The lemonade’s on me next time.”
Two tall glasses sat side by side on the carved wooden slats, lemon wedges resting against half-melted ice as the late afternoon sunlight cast long amber rays across the empty bench.
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