I always start from the back of the store, then slowly make my way forward, because that’s the easiest path— direct, predictable, easy to know what’s in front of you. But lately i’ve found myself, rather than starting in the back for convince, gunning straight for the cinnamon rolls. These cinnamon rolls, just pillsbury dough, used to be maybe a bi-weekly, bi-monthly, even bi-annual purchase. A treat, a something-special. As I make my way directly to the back of the store, reach my hand out with the purpose of getting this one item, the most important thing on my list, the third time i’ve made this purchase within a single month, I come to the realization that the cinnamon roll is no longer the something special; he is.

When we had first been introduced to each other through mutual friends, he, like the cinnamon rolls, was nothing more than a bi-weekly, bi-monthly, bi-annual treat. We would meet in groups of friends, exchange smiles, maybe speak a few words to each other, and move on.

About a month ago I had had a bad day, and I found myself in the back of the store, typical, but compelled to get myself a something-special. It was late, and there was only one tube left. My tired eyes fixated on the prize before me, i reached out to grab it, and instead collided with another hand. A duet of “Oop, i’m sorry,” as our hands retracted, and i locked eyes with my competitor. I was too tired to register what was happening, until the man grinned unmistakably and burst out, “Allison?!”

I blinked, then regained focus and smiled. “Harry!”

Harry being Harry, he reached down and hugged me as if we had been best friends for decades. After the courteous small-talk, Harry got right down to it. “So what do you think you’re doing, trying to steal my cinnamon rolls from me?” He challenged with a faux grimace.

“Oh, your cinnamon rolls?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Yes, ma’am. They’re my favorite. I get them every week.”

I couldn’t tell how serious he was being, but i liked his answer. “Well you see, I’ve had a particularly rough day. My car broke down so i had to spend some hard earned cash on an overpriced Uber to get here, and my AC unit in my apartment completely broke. I could use a something-special.”

His charade faded. “A something-special?” He smiled, seeming to like my terminology. “I’ll tell you what. You can have those cinnamon rolls, on a few conditions.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“I give you a ride home and take a look at your AC. I’ve fixed a few in my time.”

I was shocked. “No, you really don’t have to, that’s so kind of you to offer but—“

“No, please, it’s my pleasure. What else are friends for? I’ll just get myself some cinnamon rolls next week, what’s one week without them?”

I couldn’t contain a smile. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll get these cinnamon rolls this week as a something-special, but make them for the both of us. As your own something-special for doing this for me.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

That was the first time I had bought him cinnamon rolls, the first time he had been in my apartment, the first time he and I hung out without other people.

And so he fixed my AC, and i made him and I the cinnamon rolls we had fought over. He told me that his mom used to make these on special days as a kid, and into adulthood it became the comfort food of choice. We got along unexpectedly well.

“Well I cant thank you enough for everything tonight,” i said to him as he began making his way out. “Seriously, if there is more I can do for you, let me know. I feel like cinnamon rolls won’t do it justice.”

“Hey, you’re totally fine. I love doing things for others. My love language is acts of service, and the service of letting me have some of your something-special was more than enough for me.”

I loved that he said this. Unexpectedly, I caught myself telling him that I was having a few friends over on Thursday after work, and told him he should join us. “There might be more something-specials there just for you.”

He smiled, and I never wanted him to stop.