“So letme get this straight. You are making fun ofmycaramel core ice cream because it’s too gooey, and you’re eatingthat?”
He smiles before licking his, I kid you not, bubblegum ice cream.
“I was not making fun of you.”
“Oh no? Then what do you call scrunching up your nose like I ordered poison?”
He shakes his head, rolling his shoulders back. “It might as well be.”
“And radioactive blue ice cream is not?”
Holden holds open the door of the small ice cream shop, allowing me to step through first while he licks his triple scoop. He’s going to make a mess; good thing we picked up extra napkins.
The late July heat presses against my skin as soon as we step outside. Even in the shade of the faded blue umbrellas outside the ice cream shop, everything is warm, even at seven o’clock.
We sit to enjoy our ice cream in the most perfect spot in all of Baker Oaks for people watching.
When Bella was younger, I used to bring her here every week. Back then, I was a kid pretending to be an adult, trying to hold it together while Nick left for college and I tried to raise a daughter I wasn’t ready for but loved before I ever knew what love really meant.
People watching was our ritual. We’d sit, our elbows sticking to the cheap metal table, and watch strangers move through the sleepy streets. I’d describe each one to her—little stories I made up on the spot. We did that for years, even after Nick came back. When she started preschool, I’d find myself pacing the house, missing my tiny shadow and our people watching routine.
A lot of people think they want kids. They don’t understand whatraisingthem actually takes. They just want to pass down a name or check a box. They want to do what their parents did or fit into the mold society gave them.
I was like that once. Pregnant at seventeen, finishing high school by the skin of my teeth before Bella arrived. But I learned quickly—I loved being a mother. I loved her and who I became. Ienjoyedbeing a mother.
For a long time, it was only me and her. Nick was gone, and so were my parents. They moved out of Baker when Bella was two. My friends also left, all off to college, living their carefree lives. In the meantime, I chose a quieter one. Online courses, diving into books and our kid. Parenting books, stories, anything that helped me feel less alone. Because if I listened to every random person who thought they knew how to parent, I would’ve collapsed under the noise.
“Hey,” he says beside me in that soft, teasing tone he uses without thinking. “Where’d you go?”
His mouth is stained blue from his ice cream, and, as ridiculous as it looks, it makes me smile.
“Nowhere. Sorry. I was thinking…remembering.”
“Care to share?” he asks, and a while ago, I might have brushed it off, but in reality, I do kind of want to share.
“My oldest, Bella, and I used to people watch too. This used to be one of our favorite spots. I was reminiscing, that’s all.”
“You enjoy spending time with her,” he says quietly, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to cast judgement on a girl he doesn’t know. But he’s right. I do. I always have.
“I do,” I admit. “However, I wish I had more time with them. But…I have to do what I have to do to keep food on the table. They only have me.”
I sigh. “I love the bookstore. I do. But one day, I’d love to have weekends free. Maybe hire someone.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“For starters, I can’t figure out how to scale the business to have enough funds to hire someone else. It’s hard to find someone in a small town who wants to work weekend shifts too. It’s like hunting a unicorn, especially with the wine. I’ve thought about removing it, but we shall see.”
He lowers his head in understanding. “You know, if you ever want to talk about business strategies and investors, I’m happy to. That’s my wheelhouse.”
I consider him but don’t answer. He’s already helping me a lot; this would be too much. “Do you have kids?” I ask, shifting the topic away from the business.
He shakes his head. “No. I like them enough. Just never been in the plan.”
I study him. His broad shoulders would be perfect to carry a little one on them, and the quiet steadiness he exudes would bethe best presence for when big feelings take over little bodies. “Do you want kids someday?”
He thinks for a beat. “Yeah, if life lines up that way. I’m thirty-six, though. Feels like the clock is louder these days.”
“There’s no perfect age,” I say. He licks blue ice cream from the corner of his mouth, and for one, strange moment, I forget how to breathe. I can’t even look him in the eye, and I know I am one hundred percent two hundred shades of red.
