I grinned. “The village was established around that waterfall, named after it, and our store sits right on top of it. Why not showcase it?” I got up, reached for two cups out of the cabinet and poured us both coffee.
“It was a really good idea,” he said. “Wish I’d thought of it.”
“Well,” I said, setting the cups on the table and going to the fridge for milk, “I like your idea of having a vintage soda fountain.”
“That was a good idea, wasn’t it?” Another smile escaping his lips, he poured the milk into his coffee—he’d never liked cream—and stirred it. “We make a good team.”
“Yeah we do,” I said, and took a sip of mine.
We sat silent for a few moments, no words passing between us as we sipped our brew. I felt so comfortable with my granddad. Like my dad, he had a calm about him that made everything seem okay.
“I got something for you,” my grandfather said after a short while. “Something I’ve been saving for the right person to have.”
“Something for me?” I asked, a smile beaming across my face.
“Don’t get too excited,” he said. “It’s just some little old thing I wanted you to have.” He got up and went to the cabinet next to the sink. I stood and followed behind him, excited about what it might be. Taking out a stack of bowls, he reached back into the corner of the cupboard and pulled out a box.
“Oh!” I said, my hand going up to cover my mouth, my eyes wide. “It’s Grandma Kay’s recipe box!”
“It sure is, and I think—no—I know, she’d want you to have it.”
I looked up into the cupboard and back down at the pale green tin box with citrus fruit and leaves painted across the top and spilling over the rim of the container.
“Has that been there all the time?” I pointed up. Everyone over the years had been trying to find it. “All this time? You said you didn’t know where it was. Aunt Jack had to use the copies we had.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I said I hadn’t seen it in years. There’s a difference.”
“You hadn’t seen it?”
“Right.” He nodded. “I had put it away. Your grandmother toiled over those recipes to make them just right, and she’d only want someone who would do right by them to have them.”
“And that’s me?” I said.
“I think so,” he said, and pushed the box toward me. A loud giggle busted out as I reached for it, but he pulled it away. “I know that you’ve come up with your own flavors and you’ve got the photocopies already of some of your grandmother’s recipes.” He tapped the top of the box. “And these aren’t one of a kind anymore. I’ve seen lots of people using her flavor combinations over the years, and the shop will do just fine without them.”
“But hers are special,” I said, letting him know I understood. “And even if I don’t need them, I want them.”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Her recipes were special. Just like she was.”
“Thank you, PopPop!” I wrapped one hand around the box and the other around his neck and gave him a big kiss. “I’m going to start a Kaylene line of ice cream. All Grandma Kay’s recipes.”
“I knew you’d do the right thing with them,” he said. “Now, don’t you lose that.” He nodded at it. “That little box has been around longer than your father.”
“I won’t let it out of my sight. Ever. Promise.” I opened up my knapsack and pushed it down into a corner—couldn’t chance it falling out.
“Now,” PopPop said, sitting back down in his chair. “How about grabbing a couple of those eggs out of the icebox?” He nodded toward the refrigerator. “You got time to scramble up a couple for me? I’m starving.” He grabbed his cup of coffee and took a sip.
“I always make sure I have time for you, PopPop.”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling. He pointed to the plate I’d brought over. “And you can eat that thing your father cooked.”
chapter
THREE
For each step I took toward North Main Street, where Crewse Creamery sat, another goose bump rose up on my arm. I could hardly swallow and there was a smile plastered on my face that may have been stuck because of the cold, but I couldn’t be sure.
I had made scrambled eggs for my PopPop before I left, but no matter how much he had insisted, I couldn’t eat anything. Everything inside of me was in a knot. I was drenched, through and through, with anticipation.
The store wasn’t opening for another four hours and I had a lot to do to get ready. But I couldn’t be sure that even my prep work could drain all the nervous energy I had bouncing around inside of me.
I’d made a list mapping out the chores for the day—flavors I wanted to offer, the order I’d make them in and the ingredients needed for each—making sure I didn’t miss anything. It was time to rebuild the Crewse brand. Time to spread the word that we were back in the business of making ice cream the old-fashioned, wholesome, natural way. It was time to cultivate a love, like the one my family shared for what we did, that was evident to everyone who walked through our doors. But most importantly, it was time to show the place I’d created, where, I hoped, people would line up out the door, no matter the season, to see and taste what we had to offer.
I patted the side of my knapsack and smiled. Probably all my planning was going out the window. That just seemed the way things had gone lately. But this time it would be a good thing—I’d be including my Grandma Kay’s recipes in today’s batches. A deviation made with love.
Hopefully I had the right ingredients in-house for at least one of my grandma’s recipes. I couldn’t wait to take a look at them. My mother was going to be so surprised to see them after they’d been AWOL all these years, and just as excited as I was. She had spent so much time side-by-side with my grandparents in our little shop, even helping my grandmother conjure up those recipes—at least some of them. Grandma Kay could be very secretive when it came to her Crewse Creamery flavors.
I spied the store as I turned the corner off Carriage Hill Lane. The golden glow from the bronze wall-mounted lanterns I’d had installed on either side of the front door made the new yellow-and-baby-blue-striped Crewse Creamery awning shimmer. Everything all shiny and new. Everything except for the old wrought-iron bench my grandfather had placed out front for Grandma Kay.
After Grandma Kay had gotten sick, she’d sit there for hours, everyone taking turns spending time with her while she reminisced. She couldn’t remember what she’d had for breakfast, or sometimes how to get back home after she’d wandered off, but she could relay, down to the last detail, something that had happened in 1958.