Chapter Nine
BRYNN
I quickly discoveredthere was a world of difference between working in an ice cream shop and owning one. Well, almost owning one. I was waiting on pins and needles for the final loan approval. I knew the muscle memory of it—the flick of the wrist for the perfect scoop, the constant war with rainbow sprinkles—but the sense of it was entirely new. Now, I got to walk into a place every morning that smelled like hope, birthday cake, andmine.
I wore the evidence of it all on my apron, which looked less retro soda fountain and more like I’d lost a food fight with a unicorn. But this was my place now. My future, with a cherry on top.
The weeks after I signed the letter of intent were a blur of checklists and caffeine, Atlanta style. There were calls with a lawyer Doris recommended, a final, bittersweet goodbye with my principal, and the surprisingly simple act of packing my life into six boxes. My month-to-month lease in Atlanta had been a safety net. Ending it felt less likecutting a cord and more like realizing there was nothing holding me in the first place. And now here I was.
I was on a stepladder, wrestling with a paint tarp in what would become the new stockroom, when my phone buzzed. It was Gloria from the bank.
“Brynn.” Gloria’s voice was warm and professional. “Just wanted to let you know the underwriters just gave the final sign-off. The loan is officially approved. The closing paperwork is ready when you are.”
My knees went weak. I gripped the ladder, the phone pressed to my ear. “It’s… it’s really happening?”
“It’s really happening,” Gloria confirmed. “Congratulations. You’re a business owner.”
I hung up, my hand trembling, and slid down the ladder. I found Doris in the main shop, meticulously cleaning the nozzles on the old slush machine. I didn’t know what to say, so the only thing that came out was a choked, “My loan was approved. Thank you.” The two words seemed so inadequate.
She turned, wiping her hands on her apron, her expression softening when she saw my face. “For what? The loan was all you, kid. You earned it.”
“For everything,” I said, tears finally spilling over. “For trusting me. For seeing something in me I didn’t see in myself.”
Doris got a little misty-eyed, but she just pulled me into a rough, one-armed hug that smelled like sugar and Windex. “Don’t get sappy on me. You still have to learn how to defrost the walk-in freezer without flooding the stockroom. Now, are you going to stand there crying, or are you going to help pick a new paint color?”
The Corner Scoop was mid-metamorphosis. Paint tarps were wadded in the corner, and at least three half-assembledfreezer shelves half-blocked the path from back to front. The walls were a punchy seafoam that looked ridiculous on the paint chip but somehow perfect in the early light, especially with the salt-stained floors and the sun-fadedHomemade Since 1962sign I’d convinced Doris not to touch. The whole shop vibrated with the kind of energy that comes from starting over. Every scuff and misaligned shelf was undeniable proof I wasn’t utterly unambitious.
The first day I had keys to the place, I’d come in after midnight, lights off, just to run my hands along the Formica counter and convince myself it wasn’t a dream. I could still feel the shiver of it. The way the hum of the old refrigeration units vibrated up through my palms. I could almost see Dean perched on one of the stools, arms crossed, making a deadpan joke about food safety or the tragic plight of the lactose intolerant. Sometimes I’d catch myself laughing at one of those ghostly jokes and had to pretend it was the radio.
It had been nearly a month since I’d last seen him. A month since he walked out of my bed, my life, and the entire state of Florida. He left nothing behind except a single button from his shirt, which I found on the floor and kept in my desk drawer because I am the world’s softest mark. Just a few apologetic texts, but nothing that showed he was willing to stand up for what he wanted. Stand up for me.
I missed him so much it made my teeth hurt.
Maybe he was back in Atlanta, ruling his high-rise kingdom with the same ruthless efficiency he’d used to break my heart. Maybe he was already on to the next girl who thought she could melt him. The ache of missing him never really faded. It just disguised itself as other things. Most days, it wore the face of ambition. Sometimes it washunger or the tightness in my chest when I wiped down the counter at closing and remembered his hands on my skin.
I shook myself and focused on organizing the sprinkles. Rainbow, chocolate, silver nonpareils for the wedding crowd, and those weird rock candy nuggets Doris bought on closeout. I would not be reordering those.
I caught my reflection in the curved surface of the cooler. My hair was twisted up in a bandana, my arms sticky with residue from the morning’s lemon custard trial run. I looked like someone who belonged here. Maybe for the first time ever. So why did I feel like something was missing?
Doris stomped in from the rear of the store, red-faced but triumphant. “I’m gonna send out for breakfast sandwiches unless you plan on surviving on sugar today.”
“Sugar is technically a food group,” I said, but I smiled. “Bacon and egg, please.”
She nodded and took her phone out, thumbs dancing across the screen. Then she looked up, all pretense of gruffness stripped away. “You’re doing good, Brynn. This place is better for having you.”
I blinked, surprised at the sting behind my eyes. “Thanks, Doris.”
I returned to the sprinkles, but my hands were steadier now. Maybe that was all it took—one person believing in you, even when you couldn’t quite believe in yourself. Maybe the leftover ache from Dean was just the price I had to pay for wanting something so badly it made me stupid with hope. I finished arranging the shelf and ran my fingers along the counter, right where I imagined Dean would rest his folded arms. The surface was cool and reassuring under my palm.
By noon, the shop was a pastel blur of cones,napkins, and toddler shrieks. The regulars trickled in, each with their predictable orders, and I found comfort in the monotony. Every vanilla swirl and double-scoop cookie dough was another brick in the foundation of my new life. It was working, mostly. It was healing, allegedly.
A stubborn canister of Mermaid Shimmer resisted my attempts to stack it, and I let out a sigh that echoed through the empty front. Doris, perched on a stool behind the register with a battered clipboard, looked up and raised her eyebrows. She set down the pen and propped her chin on her hands.
“Still thinking about that city boy, aren’t you?” Her voice was as dry as plain oat bran.
I startled, nearly dropping the container. “Is it that obvious?”
“Honey, you’ve got the face of a woman who’s either in love or has a particularly tenacious foot fungus.” Doris’s smile was gentle, her eyes sharper than ever. “You’re lucky it’s the first one.”
