“Good luck,” I said.
“I think we’ll be okay,” he said. “Must’ve been meant for me to find him. He wouldn’t have lasted long out here.” He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes seemingly searching mine for something. “I guess it was meant for me to find you, too.”
“To find me?” I said.
“Yes.” He relaxed his stare. “To remind me where I can buy the best ice cream in Cleveland. You still have the best, right?”
I nodded. “We do.”
“Then I’ll definitely be back.” And with that, he took off in the opposite direction of the police station. I turned to tell him he was going the wrong way, but ended up just watching him walk aimlessly down the street. He tucked the puppy under his coat and started to whistle as he walked. Maybe he had something else he needed to do first.
Yay! I thought. I’ll at least have one customer today.
“What am I saying?!” I flapped my arms. “We’re probably going to sell out!”
I hurried around to the side of the building, pulled off one of the gloves my mother had given me and dug down into my jeans pocket. I wrapped my fingers around the key ring, pulled it out and squeezed it tight.
Blessings abound for the home of a family . . .
My Grandma Kay’s words.
Kaylene Brewster Crewse was all about family and all about home. She even imbued others with that sentiment. Just like she had with the man I’d just met. And that was what she made the ice cream shop about, too. Those words were in my heart and mind from the moment PopPop gave me the keys and every minute after.
I walked around to the side of building, drew in a breath and, standing at the door, stuck the key in, turned the lock and pushed it open.
chapter
FOUR
Are we late?” Maisie rushed through the door, red-faced, words stumbling out, her arms laden with cloth bags and a book bag, and her red, usually curly hair still wet and droopy from what must’ve been a hasty morning shower. She looked wildly around the kitchen. “I couldn’t find my lucky socks, the ones with the ice cream cones on them.”
“No,” I said, and smiled. I brushed my hands down my apron and looked up at the wall-mounted clock. “You’re right on time.”
My help had arrived. Well, most of it. My never-on-time mother would be straggling in soon, I was sure. I had given them a start time an hour after mine. I wanted to meet my deliveries, spend time alone to take it all in and be able to create without any interruptions.
The three of them wouldn’t be my usual morning crew. Riya and Maisie had jobs: Riya was a resident at the hospital where my dad worked and Maisie was a waitress at Molta’s. I just wanted my besties to be there for my first day. My mother’s retirement was filled with dance, arts and crafts, and exercise classes. When I realized how late in the year we were opening, I’d hired two people to help, but they were scheduled to come in for the afternoon and evening shifts. When the true ice cream season came along, I knew I’d have to hire additional employees. It had been shop tradition that the family filled in vacancies, especially the younger members. But now it seemed that nearly everyone had grown up and moved on.
“She couldn’t find her head if it wasn’t attached,” Riya said, walking in the door behind Maisie. “I waited for her in the car for twenty minutes before having to go inside and drag her out. I’m missing my morning run for this.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You could have run the twenty minutes you were waiting for Maisie,” I said.
“Tell me about it,” Riya said, and held up a hand for an air high five. “I could’ve done my whole seven miles.”
Riya’s olive-colored skin was flushed with frustration. She had a hair-trigger temper. She’d started running and taking tae kwon do to channel her energy and keep a level head. But sometimes Maisie could test her nerves.
“Well, you should have. It would have given me more time.” Maisie dropped her bags on the table. “I mean she literally dragged me, Win. I’m probably bruised.” She rubbed her arm. “I could hardly finish getting my one foot into my galoshes. Wait . . . what’s the word for just one—goulash?”
“I think that’s a stew, Maisie.”
Riya, ignoring Maisie’s digression, shook her head and turned back to me. “Which begs the question,” she said, smacking her lips as she shrugged out of her coat, “why take time to put on special socks that no one will see?” Riya pointed down at the knee-high yellow plastic boots that Maisie donned.
“Well, I couldn’t let my feet get wet,” Maisie said. She hung her coat up on the rack by the door. “It’s getting bad out there. It’s like freezing rain. I could catch my death of cold.”
“She’s her grandmother’s child,” Riya said. She pushed up her sleeves and put her hands on her hips. “I’ve got rounds at the hospital in two hours. And like I said, I’m missing my usual morning run, so I’ve got a lot of pent-up tension to work off before I go. We need to get down to business.” She pulled her spare rubber tie off her wrist and, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, wrapped it around her thick, chin-length black hair. “No time for Maisie and her shenanigans.”
“I can stay all day,” Maisie said. Always chipper—a big grin on her face, her brown eyes sparkling—she never acknowledged Riya’s backhanded jibes and would do all she could to help the both of us. “And I came bearing gifts!” She reached into one of her cloth shopping bags and took out gallon-sized plastic bags filled with goodies for me. She shook one bag—“Vanilla”—then the other. “Cinnamon. All homegrown. All for you. And there’s more.” She nodded toward her bags. “If you need it.”
“Thank you, Maisie.” I walked over and took the bags and sniffed each. “Mmmm. Smells good,” I said. “Adding a greenhouse to your garden was a good idea.”
“Didn’t you say this place is all about farm fresh?”
“Yeah,” I chuckled. “But I didn’t quite envision the farm being a block away, with fresh-grown produce all year round and run by you.”
Maisie Solomon was my other best friend.
The three of us had been best friends ever since recess on the first day of kindergarten. After rushing over to pull Riya off Derrick Liefkuheler because he took the swing she wanted, we bonded. I had channeled my mother, rubbing my hands down Riya’s arms and making shushing sounds to try and calm her, while Maisie had taken her act from her grandmother’s playbook, trying to stuff her with food from her book bag. We’d gotten her to calm down and come play on the monkey bars with us.