And okay—maybe my bank account is also doing a little heavy lifting in the “this was a great decision” category.
Because between the nest egg I built for myself and what Aunt Agatha left me, I am not hurting.
Which means, oh yeah, it is time for a little retail therapy.
And not the sad kind.
The fun kind.
Tommy’s got the shop today, which normally would make me twitchy—because Agatha’s Ice Cream is my baby—but I’ve learned to let go a little.
A little.
Okay, a tiny bit.
But I didn’t leave him on his own. No way.
I hired his older brother, Jack, as assistant manager for the summer, and honestly?
Another rockin’ decision I’ve made since moving here.
Jack’s home from college—tall, easy smile, business brain—and apparently majoring in marketing.
The second he found out I owned the shop, his eyes lit up like I’d handed him a final project wrapped in a bow.
“Let me run your socials,” he said. “I can make you go viral.”
I laughed right in his face.
“Kid, I sell ice cream, not scandal.”
He just grinned.
“Even better.”
And then he showed me a few ideas—quick videos, behind-the-scenes clips, “day in the life of a small-town ice cream shop owner,” whatever that means—and I’ll admit, it didn’t sound terrible.
Actually, it sounded kind of genius.
So I told him, “Fine. You want to play marketing guru? Go for it. But the shop stays clean, the customers stay happy, and nothing catches on fire.”
Jack gave me this mock salute like I’d just knighted him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tommy, of course, rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.
But between the two of them, Agatha’s Ice Cream is in good hands.
Tommy’s steady, reliable, and he knows the regulars by name.
Jack’s the ideas guy, already talking about themed days and signature flavors and something called “Bear Bites” that I’m pretty sure is just mini scoops but somehow sounds cuter when he says it.
And me?
For the first time in a long time, I can step away for a few hours without feeling like everything’s going to fall apart.
Which is exactly how I ended up here.
