Chapter One
Ever
The blender roared in my hands, drowning out the low hum of the Dairy Bar and the country song drifting from the back.I held the lid down and watched chocolate syrup twist through vanilla ice cream, turning it into thick, glossy ribbons.
There was something satisfying about making a milkshake.Simple.Sweet.
The kind of thing that didn’t ask much from me—just get the ratio right and don’t spill it all over the counter.Which, judging by the drip already running down the side of the metal blender cup, I had failed at.
The blender sputtered once, then smoothed out.I let it go another few seconds before snapping it off.I peeled the lid off and tipped the thick chocolate milkshake into a tall plastic cup.It poured slower than I wanted, which probably meant I’d made it too thick, but I wasn’t about to apologize for that.A milkshake was supposed to be thick.If someone wanted chocolate milk, they could go buy it at the gas station.
A thick blob slopped over the rim and landed on the counter.“Damn it,” I muttered.
Lark laughed under her breath.“I swear, Ever, you’re the only person I know who can make the same thing six hundred times and still spill it.”
I grabbed the rag tucked into the back of my apron and wiped up the mess before it could drip off the edge.“It adds character.”
“It adds stickiness.”
I ignored her and topped the milkshake with whipped cream, a drizzle of chocolate syrup, and a cherry.When I slid it across the counter, the guy waiting for it grinned.“Perfect,” he said, taking it from me.
“Better be,” I said.“You practically order the same thing every time.”
“That’s because I know what I like.”
I watched him go, then looked down at the fresh smear of chocolate I’d somehow missed.
“See?”Lark said, wiping it up.“Sticky.Maybe if you made less of a mess—”
“Maybe if you minded your own business…” I cut in.
Lark snorted and bumped my shoulder with hers.“I work here, so that makes this my business.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling.
That was the thing about Lark.She could be annoying as hell, but she made closing shifts go faster.Or at least feel less miserable.
It was half past nine at night, which meant we still had thirty minutes before we could lock the doors, turn the sign off, and start the part of the night neither of us wanted to do.
Closing.
Cleaning the ice cream machines.Mopping.Wiping down every sticky surface in the place.Doing dishes until my fingers smelled like sanitizer no matter how much soap I used after.
I tossed the rag onto the counter and leaned back against it, stretching my lower back until it popped.“I hate closing.”
Lark copied me, leaning beside me with a dramatic groan.“Same.It should be illegal to make people clean after ten at night.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.”
We stood shoulder to shoulder behind the counter, both staring out over the Dairy Bar like it had personally offended us.
The place looked good.Warm.Familiar.The red booths had been here longer than I had.The black-and-white tile floor had been redone when I was in middle school, but the rest of the place still looked almost exactly the same as it had when my parents first bought it.Neon signs glowed in the front windows.The dessert case near the register was half full.Two high school boys sat near the jukebox splitting a basket of cheese curds, and an older couple in the corner booth shared a banana split like they were reenacting a memory.
The Dairy Bar wasn’t fancy.It wasn’t trendy.It wasn’t one of those places people took pictures of to post online.
It was just ours.
“Well,” Lark said, dragging the word out, “at least your parents own the place, so you should be able to get out of closing.”
