“That’s not enough visits for a usual.”
“It is at an ice cream shop.”
I looked up at the menu. “I’ll take something different.”
“You say that every time.”
“And?”
“You order the same thing.”
“I like consistency.”
“You like chocolate.”
“That too.”
She grabbed a waffle bowl. “I knew it.”
“I hate that.”
“No, you don’t.”
I leaned against the counter and watched her work.
Josie moved differently now than she had on opening day.
Less frantic.
More confident.
She still worked hard. Every time I came in, she was cleaning, organizing, or restocking something. But she wasn’t running on panic anymore.
The shop was becoming hers.
She scooped the ice cream with practiced motions.
Double chocolate fudge.
Extra fudge drizzle.
Chocolate shavings.
The exact same thing she’d given me the first day.
I pointed at the bowl. “You know I might want something else.”
“You don’t.”
“You seem awfully sure.”
She slid it across the counter. “You walked in and immediately looked at the sign.”
“I was reading.”
“You were making sure I still had it.”
I stared at her.
