Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
AUGUST
The sign in the front door of my shop is flipped the wrong way, announcing to the world that Land of Ice Cream and Snow is open.
Things are off to a bad start.
I sigh, trying not to let annoyance and the workload waiting for me put me in too much of a mood. The estimated lost earnings for this past week make my skin itch. A whole week of profit gone, and that doesn’t include the future ramifications.
Who knows how many people stopped by the shop, only to find it closed and decided to get their ice cream at another place down the road? What if they never come back?
I’d like to think my product is good enough to inspire loyalty, but what good is a delicious scoop of ice cream if no one knows when they can get it?
As I climb out of my car, a woman holding the hand of a little kid approaches the front door.
I’m about to jog up to meet them, hopefully convince them not to leave without first getting a coupon for a free cone in the future, but I stumble to a stop when she clasps the front handle and opens the door with ease.
The pair disappears inside, leaving me thunderstruck.
My brain tries to make sense of this situation.
I know how much ice cream was in the freezers when I left. Unless business took a massive nosedive, we should have run out a week ago, which is what Denise reported to me last we talked.
Land of Ice Cream and Snow is out of things to sell, yet somehow, people are still strolling on in.
“Shit.”
This is bad. Like, I’ll probably need to fire someone bad. Leaving the shop unlocked? I’ll be lucky if I haven’t been cleaned out. And not just the money. My equipment is pricey on its own. Took all my savings to purchase it.
Dread scrapes against the inside of my chest. If my equipment is missing, this whole endeavor will be over. Land of Ice Cream and Snow will be done before it really got a chance to start.
I’m already mentally planning my call to the insurance company when I walk in the door, which is why it takes me a moment to acknowledge the sight before me.
My shop is full. And not full of angry, confused people searching for someone working the register. There are families and teenagers and couples filling up all the seats, chattering away to each other and, most importantly, eating ice cream.
This doesn’t make sense.
The last time I talked to Denise, we had maybe two days left of stock. But here I am, a week after that conversation, watching the proof she was wrong.
Could her estimate really have been that far off?
My attention shifts, and my shock amplifies when I hear an overly charming, all-too-familiar voice at the front counter.
“This is our back-to-the-basics week, lovely. Simplified flavors and extraordinary taste. What can I get you a scoop of? Or would you like me to choose for you?”
Sammy is at the register. Sammy is wearing an apron. Sammy is leaning on the counter, flirting with a woman who must be pushing eighty.
Why is Sammy working at my shop?
I hover by the entrance, watching as my cousin scoops what looks to be a cup of chocolate ice cream and hands it off to the woman with a wink, cheerfully accepting her dollar bills. With the way clear, I move forward until I’m standing across from him, still not fully comprehending what I’m seeing.
“August! You’re back!” The Squid leans across the counter to clap me on the shoulder.
“What am I looking at right now?” I ask, drowning in confusion.
Maybe I fell asleep on the plane, and this is a weird dream.
My cousin hooks his thumbs in the straps of his apron, wearing his signature cocky grin. “You’re looking at your handsomest cashier to date.”
“My … what? What are you doing here?”
“Working, obviously.” Sammy acts as if this is the most normal thing in the world.
I think my brain is about to explode.
“You’re working in my shop? Behind my register?”
“Yeah, well, Marisol is too busy making ice cream to sell it. Plus, I think your customers like me more. Isn’t that right, ladies?”
His eyes land over my shoulder, and I turn to see a group of girls gathered behind me, all wearing tank tops with what seem to be sorority letters. They’re clearly waiting for their turn at the counter. At Sammy’s question, a few of them flush, and there are giggles all around.
And I’m still trying to figure out what alternate universe I’m in.
“Marisol is—”
“In the back. Making ice cream, like I said. Go see for yourself and let me get back to work.” He shakes his head, as if disappointed in me. “So unprofessional, Auggie.”
I don’t know whether to freeze his shoes to the floor or give him a hug. Walking away is the best choice until I figure out what’s going on.
When I enter the kitchen, I discover that Sammy wasn’t pulling some strange prank on me. Marisol stands in front of the stovetop, stirring a steaming pot, adding ingredients into the mixture as Damien reads them from one of my handwritten recipes.
“There. I think those measurements are correct. Now it needs to get to the right temperature. Fingers crossed this tastes halfway decent.” The young Squid adjusts her hairnet and reaches for a thermometer, only then catching sight of me.
“August! Oh, thank the gods.” Marisol grins, but then the expression morphs into wariness as her eyes bounce to the stove, then back to me. “So, I know this looks strange …”
“It looks like you’ve been making ice cream,” I point out.
“She’s been working her ass off, August.” Damien comes to his sister’s defense immediately, as if he thought I’d be mad about this discovery.
“I’m confused.” My eyes feel raw as I rub a palm over them. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on here?”
“We didn’t want your shop to close down, but we were running out of ice cream.
So, when we got to the end of what you had made, I took over.
” Marisol gives me a hopeful smile. “I’ve been doing the basics.
Ones you already showed me. Chocolate, vanilla, and coffee.
Today, I thought I’d give mint chocolate chip a go.
” Her hand gestures to the cooking pot she’s still stirring.
“That’s …” No words can describe the rush of gratefulness that infuses my entire being at this discovery. I settle for the closest I can get. “Incredible. You’re incredible.”
Marisol and Damien smile, the expressions revealing how similar their faces are. A small family that I suddenly feel a part of. Still, as my mind struggles to comprehend this enormous feat of friendship, more questions arise.
“But … ingredients. Supplies. Where …”
“Go check your office.” Marisol waves me away, her hesitation gone.
Looks like I might have a regular partner in my kitchen.
Check my office? The mystery of this story grows.
I leave the Squids running my shop, showing more confidence in them than I ever expected to. Which is a reflection on me and how little I’m willing to trust my friends.
I’m getting a lesson today.
A beam of light spills out across the hallway from the cracked office door. For some reason, I slow down, stepping quietly and pushing the door open with a careful movement. I want to see what is happening inside before my presence disturbs the scene.
There’s no wild mess waiting for me, as if someone tore through my records, trying to find helpful information. Instead, I walk in on what is now becoming one of my favorite scenes.
Quinn at work.
She’s behind my desk, and despite the fact that she’s slimmer and shorter than I am, I doubt I’ve ever looked so in command of the surface.
Her crimson hair sits piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
Little wisps curl out around her ears and glow in the lamp light.
Those sexy red-rimmed glasses have slid down to the tip of her nose as she splits her attention between a pile of receipts and the computer monitor.
The light from the screen illuminates her riot of freckles.
For a time, I watch her. When she originally came to my shop, back when all I could call her was a freelance employee, I wanted to sit in this room and admire her while she worked. But that would have been creepy and inappropriate. Now, finally, I get my wish, and I’m not ready to give it up.
But the decision isn’t up to me.
Something must have alerted her to my presence. Maybe the sudden drop of temperature in the room. Whatever it was, her head jerks up, and she lets out a gasp of shock, clutching her chest as she does.
“Goddess! August? You’re here?”
“I am.”
On the flight home, I wondered at what kind of reception I might receive. I never expected to show up at my shop and find my family and friends hard at work. And nothing could have warned me that I’d find Quinn in my office, balancing my receipts.
But that’s all business-related. How will she greet me?
I don’t have to wait long.
My lovely Pyro shoves herself up from her chair and sprints around the desk, all to crash into me.
Like that day beside the pool, she jumps and wraps limbs around my torso, our bodies pressed tight together in a way I hope will never end.
The main difference in this embrace is that she doesn’t try to cover my eyes.
Instead, she cups the back of my head and devours my mouth in a scalding kiss.
A groan spills from my chest without thought. My hands grab her ass, pulling her closer to me. I can’t get enough. She’s sweet and spicy, and I want to lick every inch of her.
But just as my pants start getting tight, Quinn rips her mouth from mine.
“Put me down. I need to get down. Now.”
Despite the intense urge to keep her close to me, I loosen my arms and let her go.
Quinn stumbles back until she collides with my heavy wooden desk. Her hands reach back to grip the oak, her knuckles turning white with the strength of her hold.
“Are you … is something wrong?” I plant my hands on my hips, trying to stop them from reaching for her.
Quinn’s chest rises and falls in rapid pants, and she has her eyes shut tight, as if guarding them against a glare.
“Too hot. You’re too gods-damn hot. This has only been working because you weren’t here. And I missed—” She cuts herself off with a shake of her head. “Give me a second.”
“Whatever you need.”
“No.”
Quinn’s growled response surprises me, and I once again earn her fiery gaze. Only now I might go so far as to say she appears angry with me.
“I’m sorry?”
Her sudden shifts are hard to keep up with, and I’m wondering how many more wrong steps I’ll make.
“I said no. Not whatever I need. You’re always doing what other people need.” The anger leaves her eyes as her arms relax down to her sides. “What do you need, August? That’s why we’re all here.” She waves behind me, as if to include the Squids in her point. “Because we want to help.”
“Yeah. My shop. You’re all helping run my shop.” For some reason, I think speaking the words out loud will make sense of this situation I came home to. But I’m still lost. “How did I not know this was going on?”
Quinn cringes. “That’s my fault. Or my decision.
I asked Marisol and Denise not to tell you.
I thought if you knew what we were trying, then you’d feel obligated to manage remotely.
Or that we’d make you feel guilty for being away.
I wanted to see if we could keep things going here while you gave all your headspace to helping your parents. ”
“That’s … but money. My bank accounts. You don’t—”
“No! No, I have no idea how to get into your accounts.” She turns, rifling through a few folders on the desk until she comes up with a blue one.
From it, she slips a piece of paper. “I used my money. Like a loan. I wrote this up. A contract for you to pay me back, as long as we didn’t ruin all the supplies we bought.
But Marisol has been doing a kick-ass job. ”
Quinn extends the contract to me, and I already know I’m going to sign it even if I find out all the supplies they bought caught on fire.
“This is … too much.” Now I’m positive this has to be a dream.
“Well, too bad. I already did it. And I’d do it again.
” The Pyro stands tall, hands on her hips, brows slanted in adorable determination.
“As long as we’re together, I’m going to take care of you as much as you take care of me.
What you need matters. And if you won’t ask for help, the people who care about you will still try to figure out a way to be there for you. ”
“Quinn …” Her words have my chest clenching with an onslaught of emotions. “This is what I need. You. My shop. This life I’ve started building here. That’s why I’m here now. My parents can manage. But if I lose all this, I’m not sure that I can. If I lose you …”
The idea has me panicking, and I step toward her.
She reaches a hand out to stop me. “Marisol has worked so hard. I don’t want to melt it all.”
“You won’t though.” Gods, she’s so amazing, and she doesn’t even know it. “Haven’t you realized yet?”
“Realized what?”
I take another deliberate step forward. “How much control you’ve gained.”
Quinn’s mouth pops open, as if to deny my claim, but then her gaze turns inward. I can bet she’s examining her power, trying to discover if I’m speaking the truth. After a moment, she frowns up at me.
“I still can’t tell.”
“That’s okay.” I shove my hands in my pockets and instruct myself to be satisfied with staring at her for the moment. “We can go somewhere else, and I’ll show you. Or better yet”—my voice deepens—“you’ll show me.”
“August!” The pale skin under her freckles is fading into the same shade as her hair. “You have a business to run.”
Damn it. She’s right.
“Fine. For the next few hours, I’ll be responsible. But the minute the shop closes, I want to take you somewhere you’re comfortable getting naked.”