Chapter 40
FORTY
QUINN
“You are strong. You are a badass. You have amazing control. You will not melt anything.”
My reflection in the rearview mirror shows a determined glare without an ounce of doubt.
If only my insides agreed. Anxiety roils in my gut.
My plane landed fine late last night, and after waking up with a hangover, I decided to procrastinate on work and come here.
To August’s pride and joy.
“Well, he’s not inside,” I reason out loud.
As much as I hate that fact, I silently admit it means I’m likely safe to enter. No fuel for my fire waiting behind the counter in a shirt that hugs him tight.
After pulling the key from the ignition, I shore up my gumption, leave my Jeep, and step through the doors.
A heavy, delicious scent surrounds me.
Waffle cones.
“Damn the gods.”
My muttered curse earns me a giggle from a little girl standing at the nearby trash can. When I catch her eye, she sprints off, running up to another kid and whispering in their ear. The pair laughs, and I know I’ve solidified my role as a corrupting force.
Oh well. It was bound to happen at some point. And keeping my language clean is not a priority at the moment.
With the sugary smell in my nose, I’m transported back to Alaska. To that claw-foot bathtub. My internal fire responds to the direction of my thoughts. With a deep breath, I clear my mind and smother the heat. I need to focus on what’s really important.
Balance once more restored, I walk farther into the shop.
Land of Ice Cream and Snow is as busy as I’ve ever seen it, which makes my heart happy. I half expected to stroll into a ghost town.
I wait until Marisol gets done serving everyone in line before I approach the counter.
Before I can open my mouth, she’s already glaring at me.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Alaska with August.”
Grinding my teeth to keep a snarky retort at bay, I wonder if the young Squid will ever get over her dislike toward me.
Once I can relax my jaw, I answer, “I was, but I got back to town yesterday.”
“August is back? Thank the gods. We’re almost out.” She sighs heavy, as if unloading a large weight from her shoulders.
“You’re almost out of what?”
Marisol waves behind her. “Everything. Is he on his way over? We need him to get to making more ice cream, pronto. I doubt we’ll last through half of tomorrow’s shift if we don’t restock.”
Goddess-damn it. Anxiety returns full force, buzzing like flies in my veins.
“Does August know about this?”
The teenager shrugs. “Denise—the weekend manager—has been keeping him updated when she comes. But he knew this would happen. He told us to close the shop if we ran out before he got back.”
“Where is Denise now?”
“Probably at her other job. She’s not full-time here.”
I want to groan in frustration, but instead, I step to the side to let an elderly couple put in their ice cream order. As Marisol serves customers, I take the time to brainstorm what to do next.
Should I call August? Ask him if he knows how close his shop is to running out of product? Tell him to come back south or risk losing his business?
He’s helping his injured mother.
And like Marisol said, he probably already knows.
If I call him, no doubt I’ll sound like I’m judging his choice.
Making him feel guilty for whatever decision he makes.
Despite my lack of experience as a girlfriend, I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to make him feel even shittier about a bad situation.
Damn it. Damn this whole crappy turn of events. He shouldn’t have to choose between his passion and helping his family.
After meeting the Nords, I can’t even pretend that they’re horrible parents, demanding too much from their son.
I know now that they’re loving and supportive and likely just as torn up about this as August is.
As far as I’m aware, they didn’t even ask him to help.
He just did because that’s the kind of man he is.
He’s setting himself on fire to keep others warm.
But I refuse to let August’s dream go up in smoke.
Admittedly, part of my conviction is based on my own self-interest. If August decides to move back to Alaska, then that’s his choice. But I want it to be a choice. Not because his business failed and he has no other option.
My mind rifles through possible solutions until my eyes snag on Marisol, scooping a cone for the couple, a kind smile on the girl’s face.
The Squid can be sweet when she wants to be.
And from what August has said, she’s smart and determined despite her young age.
Those sound like the perfect qualities in an ally.
When the customers have their treats and walk away, I step back up to the counter.
“August didn’t come back with me. He’s still in Alaska.” No use in hiding the truth from her.
Marisol’s eyes round with shock and, if I’m guessing right, a healthy bit of worry.
“He’s not back? What—shit. We’re going to have to close. Tomorrow.” The Squid worries her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Maybe not.”
Her stare focuses on me, sharp and suspicious. “What do you mean?”
“You love August.”
The girl jerks back as if I slapped her. “Um, you’re crazy. I never said that.” Then she plants her fists on the counter, leaning toward me with narrowed eyes, as if contemplating going for my throat. “Don’t even think of saying that to him, or I swear—”
“Goddess! Pause with the teenage drama for a second. I wasn’t talking romantically, although maybe you love him that way too. But that doesn’t matter right now. What I’m trying to get at is that you care about August, right?”
“Of course I do. I did before you even knew him.” She glares at me, arms crossed over her ice cream–smeared apron. “And he trusts me. August made me acting manager when he left.”
She’s so sassy when handing me that fact that I’m tempted to smile. But that would likely just piss her off, and I need this conversation to be productive.
“This isn’t a contest. It’s a consensus.”
“What?” The Squid is the living embodiment of distrust.
This is why I never in my life had any interest in being a teacher. Or a babysitter. Or any of the other multitude of jobs that require interacting with kids and teens. I can’t talk to people under the age of eighteen. Plus, reining in my cursing is an impossible task.
“I’m starting this conversation over,” I declare. “Okay. Here we go. Do you want to help August?”
She scowls, all suspicion. “You know I do.”
“Okay. Good. So do I. Right now, we can’t do anything about his mom. But with him in Alaska and the stock running out here, Land of Ice Cream and Snow is at risk. His shop. His dream.” His reason to come back to our desert home.
“I know that. But what can we do?” Marisol fiddles with the ball cap she wears to keep her wavy hair tamped down. “This only works for so long without him.”
“Normally, yes. But I think, together—and maybe with a little more help—we can give him another week. Possibly more.”
After studying me for a long moment, Marisol offers a hesitant nod. “What do you have in mind?”
The next part of this plan all rides on one important hope. Needing to hear the right answer, I send a prayer to my patron Goddess of Fire, cc’ing the God of Ice in on the message.
“You don’t only work the front counter, do you? August mentioned he’s been teaching you how to make the ice cream too.” Please tell me I didn’t mishear him because I was too distracted by the sexy way his jaw tensed when he chewed his food.
“Well, yeah.” The Squid shrugs. “But only the basics. I can’t do anything fancy like he does. And I don’t know all of his flavor combinations.”
My heart rate speeds up, excitement and hope blending in a nerve-rattling mixture.
“That’s all I’m asking for. What do you say? Want to save August’s ass?” That fine, delicious ass.
There’s only a moment of hesitation before the teenager gives me a conspiratorial smile.