Chapter 12
Gabe glances my way with that quiet smile of his but doesn’t say a word.
I swear on Hamilton’s Federalist Papers, I don’t find the curves of his mouth attractive.
His face just has nice symmetry and interesting bone structure.
It’s a scientific observation, that’s all.
In fact, I’ll ask Mom’s science adviser about it next time I see her.
I’ll also be asking how walking next to Gabe can somehow feel completely familiar and ridiculously exciting at the same time.
Is there a study on that? Because I have questions.
I try to focus on the cute store window displays we pass, making mental notes of where to buy gifts for my family.
I spy a quirky candle shop called the Wick and Whimsy.
Mom is a huge fan of scented candles. You can even tell her moods based on the scents—read extra hugs on eucalyptus days.
As we pass by, I admire a trendy retro diner that spills onto the sidewalk with outdoor seating and espresso-colored umbrellas. Gabe nods. “That’s Mike’s Biscuits n’ Burgers. It’s a popular hangout.” Based on how the air smells like buttery biscuits and salty fries, I can see why.
As Gabriel’s pace slows down, I recognize the green awning for Pat’s Famous Ice Cream.
Up close, I appreciate the lively window display with old-fashioned golden letters of the parlor’s name alongside paintings of towering sundaes.
A green Tripadvisor Certificate of Excellence sticker glints near the door, along with other top local ratings, and flyers sit behind a glass display.
An Official Founder’s Day Dance Sponsor flyer catches my eye with a cartoon sketch of the town square.
Another flyer promoting the “Fourth of July Jubilee” sits right beside it.
I exclaim, recognizing a photo of Mystic Hollow Inn surrounded by carnival booths and fanfare on the flyer.
“Does the inn host the jubilee?” I ask, pointing at the flyer.
Gabriel’s reflection appears in the glass beside me, his brows tight. “Yes,” he says with a clipped inhale. “It’s been a tradition for decades. My family’s hosted it since my grandparents bought the property.”
I squint at him. “It’s only a couple weeks away; why am I just hearing about this?”
He shrugs. “We had to remake the flyer after some changes to festival sponsors.”
Something in his voice makes me pause. I remember the hushed conversation between his mom and Tita Karra about bookings—or the lack of them.
Before I can press further, Gabriel brushes past me and swings open the parlor’s door. With a flourish he ushers me inside. I pause at the flyer, wanting to ask more, but it’s clear he’s ready to move on.
Inside, the sugary smell of ice cream makes my mouth water. The shop is tastefully designed in mint green and ivory, with charming paintings of ice cream cones adorning the gold-accented walls.
Nearby, a mother and son sit together enjoying a gleaming bowl of rainbow-colored ice cream, sprinkles, whipped cream—and gummy bears. My heart leaps. My dad would love the vibe of this place. He’s a certified ice cream fiend.
Toward the back of the parlor is something I wasn’t expecting: an open doorway to what looks like a diner, complete with red booths and a jukebox.
Gabriel must see my puzzled look because he explains Pat’s Famous Ice Cream is connected to Mike’s Biscuits n’ Burgers.
It’s Mystic Hollow’s version of a “food hall,” except the same family owns both establishments.
I nod, knowing my mom would love the entrepreneurial spirit of this shop.
A man with a soft face and wide grin wearing a white triangle cap talks to a couple in business attire.
He hands the woman a golden waffle cone decadently topped with scoops of vanilla, mint chocolate chip, and strawberry.
I grin. Now that cone is speaking my language.
I spin around, taking in the scene. Despite the chill in the air, the shop makes me feel warm and cozy like a childhood memory I never want to forget.
The click of Gabriel’s camera draws my attention. My brows lift as I glance at him.
He flushes. “Sorry. The look of quiet joy on your face—I wanted to capture that.” He holds up his camera in explanation.
I gasp, unable to recall anyone ever wanting to take “quiet” pictures of me.
It’s usually me doing something official—or unofficial and not flattering.
#Pineapplegate. I’m glad to give him material for his portfolio, and bonus, this is the perfect summer memory for me.
I smile and pretend to turn up my nose. “You have a gift, Jack. You see people.” Gabe laughs at my Titanic reference. I’m glad he understood it.
A loud cooing noise interrupts us. “If it isn’t Gabriel Calabrese and his significant other.
” The ice cream attendant approaches and leans over a frosted ice cream case as he winks at us.
Despite the chill in the air, I practically sizzle from embarrassment.
Did he get “significant other” vibes from us?
Meanwhile, Gabriel lowers his camera, his face and ears a crimson red. “Pat. No,” he says. His eyes dart to mine; he’s clearly mortified and wishing he could teleport himself to a deserted island.
“I was talking about Gabe’s camera,” Pat says with a hearty guffaw. He grins at me, his eyes full of amusement as he ribs him. “He doesn’t go anywhere without that thing.”
Gabe sighs. “Abby, this is Pat. He’s famous for his ice cream—not his jokes.” He jerks a thumb in his direction.
Smiling, I reach out, and he wraps my hand in a firm but friendly handshake.
I hold my breath, waiting for the recognition in his eyes, but the twinkle in his gaze never changes.
I sigh with relief—it feels incredible not to be recognized.
But then, I’m sure the idea that the First Daughter would be at his ice cream parlor on a random weekday wearing a NASA baseball cap would never occur to Pat.
It would’ve never occurred to me, if it weren’t for Gabe helping me escape.
The warm chime of bells jingles as the parlor’s door swings open.
Pat waves a friendly goodbye at the couple with the triple-scoop ice cream cone. Their forced grins—like their suits—feel out of place. It might’ve been a chilly exit, except for the unexpected hop in their step as they moved aside to avoid a feisty-looking older woman entering the parlor.
She flashes them a glare that’s the very definition of looking down your nose. The couple scurry away.
The woman huffs as she marches toward us. Her dress is as loud as her energy—head-to-toe florals, bright lipstick, and bangles that jingle with every step.
Gabe and Pat shoot each other a look as the woman waggles a finger at Pat. “I can’t believe you gave them ice cream,” she exclaims.
Pat bristles. “I assume you understand the concept of giving customers what they pay for?”
The woman guffaws. “You also have the right to refuse service.”
Pat throws his hands up. As the two bicker about rules, Gabe leans close to my ear. “Marge is the president of our town’s small business advisory board council and the Main Street Council, and one of the town’s busiest entrepreneurs,” he says.
“I’m all about female entrepreneurs. I was raised by one,” I whisper back. “I even like her fashion sense.” And it’s true. I live in a world of neutrals back in DC, so Marge’s bright colors are refreshing.
Gabe continues with a glint in his eyes. “The fact that she’s dating Mayor Lee is also the town’s worst-kept secret.”
I cover my mouth. “Oh no, it’s a scandal?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all. Mayor Lee has been a widower for over a decade. Most folks think Marge doesn’t like mixing business with pleasure. I prefer to think she’s a self-made woman and doesn’t want her relationship with the mayor to distract people from her own success.”
“I can respect that,” I whisper back.
Gabe nods. “Me too. But her connections make her one of the town’s busybodies,” he warns, “so be careful.”
My response is cut short, as Marge and Pat abruptly go silent. Their attention focuses on Gabriel. “Tell him, or I will,” Marge says, hands on hips.
I exchange glances with Gabe. This doesn’t sound good.
With a heavy sigh, Pat meets Gabriel’s expectant gaze. “Those two customers are from the resort.” He says the word resort like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
Gabriel’s eyes narrow. “I guess they’re part of this town now.”
“I was going to give your mom a call,” Marge says as an apologetic look crosses her face. “They stopped by my shop to ask if I’d bring my boba tea truck to their property for the Fourth.”
“And they wanted my ice cream cart,” Pat admits.
Gabriel does a double take. “You’re joking.”
Marge shakes her head. “Wish I was. They said they were going to hold some festivities that day.”
Gabriel frowns. “What festivities? Mystic Hollow Inn holds the town’s annual Fourth of July Jubilee.”
Pat nods vigorously. “That’s what I said. I told ’em, nope, Pat’s Famous Ice Cream is booked. But thought you would want to know. They might be asking other businesses to work their event.”
Gabriel’s knuckles are practically white as he grips his camera. Marge gives him a heartfelt smile. “Your mom’s inn has been a special topic at our council meetings. We’re all rooting for you.”
Pat looks at Gabriel and then me. “Come on. Ice cream always makes things better.”
Marge huffs. “I think these two need something extra special. Give him the Pike.”
Pat’s eyes widen, then he gives a small salute. “You got it.” He opens a back door and shouts an order to folks in the kitchen.
Marge sighs. “I swear you can hear Pat on the other side of town.” Gabe and I exchange a look.
The woman turns her attention onto me. I stiffen as she gives me a once-over.
“Look at me prattling away all rude-like. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” The twinkle in her eyes is genuine and kind.