Chapter 6
Instead of telling her where he was going and why he was going there, Enzo told his mother he’d made plans with Rocco—it was a little white lie but the way he saw it, a necessary one, because he didn’t need to encourage her to build her castle in the sky any taller than it already was.
He walked down the darkening street, noticing a number of people carrying ice cream cones and cups emblazoned with the Cherry’s bright pink logo as he headed closer to his destination.
When he reached the corner the ice cream parlor sat at, with its big blank wall, he stood there for a long minute, staring at it. Imagining various different images splashed across it.
And even though he didn’t really want to do it, in fact telling his mind that he didn’t want to envision the story told by his paintbrush, he did anyway.
He could see it, clear as day, bright and undeniable, the outcropping hill rising on one side, Eliza standing on top of it, her dark hair streaming behind her in the wind as she faced the open ocean, waiting for the man she loved.
There was a boat too, drifting on the waves at the far end, and the tiny figure of a man staring down the storm as he tried, desperately, to get home.
Enzo took a deep breath.
He still didn’t want to paint this, but he couldn’t deny it was an arresting image.
Rounding the corner, he pulled open the door to Cherry’s, not surprised to see it half-full, but most of the people already sitting at tables, and only one person in line currently.
He slipped in behind them, eyeing Will behind the counter, his big body moving gracefully from one task to another, scooping ice cream and mixing milkshakes and swirling dollops of bright white whipped cream on top of dishes, all topped with . . .what else but cherries?
The white T-shirt and bright pink apron he was wearing were mostly clean, a single stripe of chocolate across his pectoral muscle, and a smear of something almost as pink as the apron across its front.
He was smiling at something his employee had said, and his eyes were so blue, his teeth so white, against his tanned face, and something inside Enzo clenched.
He hadn’t come back here to start anything with anyone. Certainly not the kind-eyed man with all the muscles and the ice cream shop.
He’d come home because his mother had made him such a good offer he hadn’t been able to resist.
But he’d never imagined that the man would be as alluring as the blank wall he owned.
The woman in front of Enzo finished ordering and he watched as Will easily slid in front of the register instead of his employee who’d been there before.
Enzo wondered if it was because of him.
That thing inside him clenched harder.
“Hey,” Will said, giving him an even deeper, sweeter smile. “How’s it going?”
“Good. You?”
“Oh, we’ve been busy, but like I expected, it’s been slowing down.” The smile deepened even further, like nothing could have delighted Will more.
Enzo was helpless to smile back, even though there were probably half a dozen people in the shop who were going to report back to his mother—and to anyone else who would listen—that he and the newbie in town had been flirting over ice cream.
“Lucky for me,” Enzo murmured. “I don’t know what I want, so you’d better suggest something for me to try.”
“I got you,” Will said confidently, conspiratorially. “You like chocolate?”
Enzo shot him a look. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“You’d be surprised. But I’m not surprised you do.” Will’s voice lowered and leaned in, right over the counter. “Your eyes are like the best Valrhona in my storeroom.”
Enzo knew he had the Moretti good looks but it was still one of the best compliments he’d ever received. “I’d say thank you, but I didn’t have much to do with them.”
Will nodded, once, decisively. “I’m gonna make you my tuxedo milkshake. You good with that?”
“I trust you,” Enzo said and realized, to his own surprise, that he didn’t necessarily distrust Will.
“Go ahead and take a seat and I’ll bring it out. Joy’s already out there, and I’ve told her what I’m hoping for. She’s very excited,” Will said, waving towards the seating area.
Enzo wanted to warn him that he hadn’t made any promises, but it was hard to burst the happy bubble that seemed to envelop him.
“Alright,” Enzo said.
When Enzo turned around, sure enough there was an empty chair, right next to Joy Billings, who appeared to be halfway through her dish of ice cream.
“Hi, Joy,” Enzo said, sliding into the chair after giving her a quick embrace. “It’s good to see you.”
“Oh, Enzo. Welcome home.” There’d been a time when Joy’s voice had been downright chilly, back when he’d resented Oliver for the failure of their date, but so much had changed.
He’d changed, and then he’d done everything he could—save move home to Indigo Bay—to make it right with both the mother and the son.
“I see you’ve discovered how delicious the ice cream is here,” he said as she scooped up a bite of ice cream the exact color of coffee with cream.
“Ugh, it’s so good,” Joy said, making a face. “It’s become my favorite new way to procrastinate when a book’s giving me trouble.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, if you do me a favor.”
She raised an eyebrow, gone mostly gray. Unlike her hair, she didn’t dye those. Today her short wavy locks were a sweet shade of lavender. “Is this the same favor Will asked me for?” she asked.
Enzo nodded.
An excited gleam appeared in her hazel eyes. “Are you really going to paint the story?”
“I’m thinking about it,” Enzo said. “Will wants me to. But that’s not normally how I do things. I’m . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’m trying to make an exception considering how my mom didn’t even ask him if it was okay.”
Joy nodded solemnly. “I told her she should have.”
“And you didn’t do it yourself?” It was a fair question.
“Ah, well, she said she would.” Joy shrugged. “I assumed she would.”
“She probably meant to—after I’d already started it.” Enzo made an irritated noise.
“Probably. I know you have every right to be frustrated, but I know she did it because she loves you, and she wants you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” Enzo grumbled.
“I know,” she said sympathetically and reached out, patting his arm. “So why are you hesitating to paint the story?”
Enzo was trying to find a nicer way to tell her he thought it was a load of bullshit when she continued. “Let me guess, you think the story’s silly and heavily embroidered with fiction to sell tickets to the festival.”
“Maybe a little?” Enzo winced. “Though I can’t blame you guys for doing it, because it’s brought a lot of tourism to the town.” Tourism the town needed. Enzo wasn’t stupid enough to believe Indigo Bay would survive without it, especially during the offseason.
“It has,” she agreed.
“But you’re right, I . . .I’m afraid I’ve never really understood it. And how can I paint something I don’t understand?”
“Not everyone does,” Joy admitted. “Will said he hoped that I might be able to convince you, and I’m not against trying to do that.
But I think it’s more than that. Art is more than that.
You know that, and so do I. Maybe I’m not painting with colors but with words, but you have to care about it, and I can’t make you do that. ”
That was not what Enzo had expected her to say. He’d expected her to drag out every good reason, every tourist-centered, every leader-of-the-town reason. But she hadn’t.
“Oh. Well.”
Joy smiled mischievously. “Do you still want me to tell the story again?”
She scraped the last of her ice cream. It was coffee—he could smell it now, in the air. And it smelled fucking delicious. He kind of hoped that maybe Will’s suggestion of chocolate might include that particular flavor.
Enzo glanced behind the counter, where Will was bent over the glass case, arm muscles bunching as he effortlessly scooped out ice cream.
He wanted to paint a mural on his wall, but even more than that, he wanted to make it right. And what if Will’s theory was spot-on, and he’d just never been particularly receptive to the story before because he’d been too young and too pissed-off?
“I do,” Enzo said.
Joy nodded. “I hoped you might. We’ll wait for Will, because he loves it so much.”
“I hear you’re remodeling the Inn,” Enzo said.
“I am. Your mom’s helping me out. She’s got a ton of antique dealer contacts in Charleston, from when she moved there.”
Giana had only spent a year or so in Charleston, before coming back to Indigo Bay.
Enzo hadn’t been particularly surprised when she’d returned to the small town—he’d been fairly certain she’d only moved because he was moving, and she was trying to distract herself from the inevitable loneliness after he’d left.
“I’m glad she’s got more friends in town,” Enzo said.
“Me too. It’s too bad we didn’t connect earlier,” Joy admitted. She shot him a little smile. “You Morettis can be a prickly lot.”
It was only the truth. Hard to take offense, when he’d certainly thought it himself a dozen or a hundred or even a thousand times. “We can be,” Enzo agreed.
Joy patted him on the arm again. “But you generally mean well,” she added.
“Thanks,” Enzo said dryly. “I’m not sure you’re right, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
Joy laughed. “It’s good to have you home.”
“I’m glad someone besides my mother thinks so.”
Before Joy could answer that one, Will walked over, Enzo’s attention suddenly riveted by the unbelievable creation he was setting in front of him.
It was streaked in an intoxicating swirl with deep, dark chocolate, but the milkshake itself was white, flecked with tiny little black specks.
Vanilla bean, Enzo realized. And, like a crown on the top, was a swirl of whipped cream, and nestled into it was a triangle of deep, rich-looking brownie, partially dipped in white chocolate, a little bow tie drawn on with more dark chocolate, and like the jewel in the crown was a bright red cherry.
“This looks amazing,” Enzo said, not even sure where he should start.