Love, Delivered (Love on Sundown #1)

Chapter 1

DAVE

“Pocketful of Sunshine” has got to be the catchiest song of the early two-thousands.

I hum to myself as I cruise the aisles of Target between study sessions.

It’s eleven at night on a Friday, and while some people unwind with a drink, I find comfort in leisurely browsing the aisles, letting my mind wander aimlessly.

Last semester, I decided to put my mindless strolling to good use and became a Dasher.

It was the best decision, I got to destress and make some extra cash.

Financial Independence, Retire Early life here I come.

I head to the refrigerated section, checking my phone for confirmation. I scan the milk selection a few times before messaging my customer.

Dave

Hi, this is Dave, your DoorDash shopper. Your oat milk is out of stock, but this brand has better ratings.

*sends picture of oat milk carton*

If you want, I can grab this one instead.

I pocket my phone and head toward the cereal aisle, contemplating if I overstepped.

I mean, I sent two messages about oat milk.

Usually, when an item is out of stock and the customer hasn’t provided a substitution, I’m supposed to mark it as unavailable and move on, but I can’t help it—it’s the people-pleaser in me.

I want to make sure the person on the receiving end is happy, even if it’s just a simple grocery delivery.

I’m browsing the cereal selection, double-checking my app to verify the right size, when I feel a tug on my jacket. I glance down to see chubby fingers tugging at a sticker stuck to the elbow of my jacket. I smile at the gesture and find innocent hazel eyes staring back at me.

His mom hasn’t noticed our interaction yet; she’s focused on deciding between Apple Jacks or Froot Loops, and I don’t blame her, it’s the Sophie’s Choice of cereal options.

Her blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing workout clothes paired with tennis shoes, which is practical for having a toddler.

You need to be quick and adaptable to catch them because they’re wildly unpredictable.

She reminds me of my sister, Eliana, who’s always multitasking.

I’d bet she’s the eldest daughter type—the one who wants to take care of everyone.

Eliana’s only six years older than me, but at thirty-three sometimes she feels more like a second mom than a sister.

She’s always calling to check in and make sure that I eat, or asking if I’m seeing anyone.

The toddler—maybe two—sitting in the cart’s baby seat, with an open box of animal crackers.

Ten bucks says he threw a tantrum and she caved.

Honestly, no judgment from me—I’ve opened a bag of chips while shopping more times than I can count.

If adults with twenty-plus years of life experience can snack mid-store, then toddlers who can’t even wipe their own asses definitely get a pass.

He reaches out trying to grab the sticker on my elbow again.

I take pity on him and pull it off, handing it over.

I’m rewarded with a wide grin. He reminds me of my nephew: same mischievous little smile, hazel eyes, blonde curls flopping over his forehead.

No doubt this sticker is from the last time I saw him.

I return the toddler’s smile, focusing back on my cereal selection, making a mental note to call my sister and offer to babysit my nephew one of these days.

I’m sure she and her husband, Josh, could use some time off from the little gremlin.

I’m rearranging the handheld basket to fit all four boxes of cereal when a message buzzes through.

Sara

Yes, that would work. Milk and cereal are a necessity—please substitute with whatever is available.

I glance down at the four boxes of cereal she has on her list: Corn Pops, Cap’n Crunch, Frosted Flakes, and Honey Bunches of Oats. A very solid—and very chaotic—variety.

Dave

I’m on it for the milk. As for the cereal, everything was in stock. Very wide range of options.

Sara

Perfect!! I need different ones for every mood. You never know what the night has in store.

The night? I pause, curious what she means, but I don’t want to come off weird. I’m here to do a job, not treat this like a dating app. Still… curiosity wins. Before I can lose my nerve, I fire off a quick message.

Dave

The night? What are you—some kind of astrology-coded moon gremlin powered by the tides?

Sara

Hahaha, ‘moon gremlin,’ I guess yes and no. I do believe when Mercury is in retrograde, I am at my worst, but the cereal consumption is not impacted by the moon. It’s more like… I need different types of sugar and crunch to keep my edge.

Her response raises at least a dozen questions, but I try not to be creepy, so I let the conversation die and move on to finding the rest of her order.

Twenty minutes later, I drive down a familiar street and pull up to the cute little cottage-style house catty-corner from mine. As I sit in front of the house, staring blankly, I start to wonder if fate is real.

If you’d told me when I became a Dasher that I’d be delivering groceries to the neighbor I’ve been crushing on for the last five years, I would’ve said you were lying. But in a weird twist of fate, here I am hovering outside her door with her groceries.

I grab my phone and step out of the car, her groceries balanced in my arms, and pause to take it all in. Her cottage radiates warmth before I even reach the porch—soft lights illuminating the pathway and a seasonal wreath on the door.

When I saw her name and address appear on the delivery app, it felt like kismet. I know it might sound strange, but having the safeguard of the delivery app made it easier to start anew and forget about the mistakes of the past.

It’s been five years since I first laid eyes on Sara, yet the memory is still fresh, as if it never left.

That summer had been hotter than the Devil’s balls.

I’ve lived in Eagleton, Oklahoma, my whole life, and when you’ve been here long enough, you learn to endure the heat and humidity—but she made it harder to ignore.

She wore jean shorts and a white tank top that showed off her dainty frame, wrought with curves in all the right places—places I wanted to sink my teeth into.

Literally. The kind of woman wet dreams are made of.

I spotted her beside the open moving truck, wrestling boxes into her arms with more determination than skill.

Her short black hair skimmed her shoulders, half pulled back into a loose, careless bun.

A few strands escaped, catching the light as she moved.

When her deep brown eyes lifted and met mine, it was like gravity locked me in place and I found myself transfixed by her beauty.

And then she rewarded me with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.

One that seemed to radiate from the inside out.

I swear my heart skipped a beat. I should’ve gone over and introduced myself, or offered to help with her boxes.

Instead, I stood there like an idiot, staring at a woman so far out of my league we weren’t even in the same galaxy.

A few weeks later, our neighborhood busybody, Sue, decided to host Sunrise on Sundown, a breakfast block party.

There was coffee, donuts, bagels, and more pastries than you could imagine.

Almost all of the block joined in, and Sue smiled to herself in victory for getting all the new neighbors to join.

This area is coveted for its quiet streets and optimal shade-to-sun ratio.

Most of the residents have been here for thirty-plus years.

I was lucky enough to inherit my house from my grandparents.

It’s rare that anyone new and young moves in, which was why Sara’s arrival was such a treat.

I remember the moment I saw her that day.

She’s standing with Mr. Vasquez by the coffee station, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

This girl wouldn’t last five minutes in a casino—she has zero poker face.

I could see her boredom from a mile away.

To be fair, Mr. Vasquez only has three topics of conversation, and all of them involve his chihuahua.

I make my way over, feigning urgency like I’ve been summoned.

“Hey,” I say, slipping beside Sara, close enough that my arm brushes hers. Electricity zips up my spine at the contact. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Her eyes flick to mine, confused for half a second—then something clicks. Relief softens her expression, and she plays along instantly. “Oh—thank God.” She sighs, a little breathless. “I mean—yes, here I am.”

“Sorry to interrupt.” I flash Mr. Vasquez a faux sympathetic smile. “Sue asked me to gather all the new neighbors’ contacts. You know how she is.” I wink.

Sara nods enthusiastically, clearly desperate to escape this conversation. “Oh yes, I need to get that to her soon so I can be added to the neighborhood watchlist. Wouldn’t want anyone taking the packages off my porch.”

Mr. Vasquez eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t say anything more before he turns to find his next victim. The moment he leaves, Sara exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours.

“You just saved my life,” she teases, resting her hand on my forearm for a fraction of a second. “I was three seconds away from faking a phone call.”

“Happy to be of service,” I reply. “Chihuahua stories are a dangerous sport.”

She laughs—really laughs—and something warm settles in my chest.

“Coffee?” I ask, nodding toward the machine.

She tilts her head, studying me, eyes bright. “Only if you promise to never leave me alone with Mr. Vasquez.”

“Deal, I’m Dave,” I say, giving her hand a firm shake. “You’re under my protection now.”

Sara and I were inseparable for the rest of the morning.

I shared insights about our neighbors with her—okay, we gossiped.

I told her about Mr. Bowman and Mrs. Sanders’ ongoing feud over the grass height.

Or how Sue’s cat, Socks—who roams the street during the day—acts as if he’s starving.

Lastly, I warned her about the HOA’s strict policy requiring trash cans be returned from the curb on the same day as pick-up.

We flirted, laughed, and maybe touched a bit more than friendly neighbors should.

By the end of Sunrise on Sundown, I could tell she was expecting me to ask for her number, but I was too chickenshit to do it.

I made up a fake excuse about getting a message from my sister and left before she could even say goodbye. I know—it was a cowardly move.

I set the reusable bags neatly in front of her door—but not close enough that it blocks it from opening—snap a picture for proof, and ring the doorbell.

I consider staying and reintroducing myself, but think better of it.

There’s only so much semi-creepy shit I can do in one day without actually being a creep.

I already overstepped with the oat milk and astrology questions.

I back away from her house, I make the incredibly long thirty-second drive across the street to my own place. As I step onto my porch, I tell myself not to, but I glance back anyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, only to find the groceries still untouched on her porch.