6. Landon #4
“What’s in it?”
“Brown-sugar custard, cinnamon-roasted pecans, caramel. It came from Nana’s Sunday desserts. We sold out at our first community market before noon.”
“And you?”
“I cried in the supply tent.”
I laughed. “Happy?”
“Terrified. Selling out meant people wanted more.”
“Fair.”
“You want some?”
“Hershey, I drove all this way. Feed me.”
She took me back toward the display case and grabbed a gold tasting spoon.
“One bite.”
“I’m a grown man. Don’t ration my joy.”
“You have a whole tour left.”
“I can multitask.”
“You’re difficult.”
“You invited me.”
She scooped the ice cream and came around the counter, holding the spoon toward me.
I tasted it.
Brown sugar first. Caramel after. Pecans roasted enough to keep the sweetness in check.
I nodded slowly.
“That’s good.” Her face fell a fraction. I smiled. “I’m messing with you. That tastes like somebody’s Sunday.”
That got her.
“Exactly.”
“Then you did what you meant to do.”
Before she could answer, the bell over the entrance rang several times. A family came in. Then another. Then a youth team with enough children to change the whole temperature of the shop.
Two employees moved toward the registers.
Mason hurried from the kitchen. “Kayla called. Her son’s sick.”
Nolani tied her apron tighter. “Move Tasha to register two. Micah can start another strawberry base. You handle specialty orders unless you hit something you can’t solve.”
He nodded and moved.
Nolani turned to me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hershey.”
“I know. Handle my business.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t want you standing around.”
“Give me somewhere useful to stand.”
Her eyes went toward Scoops & Stories, where several kids had already started arguing over a floor cushion.
“Our reader is late.”
“You got a book?”
“You read to children?”
“I coach children. Books require fewer whistles.”
Her laugh returned.
“Featured shelf. Fifteen minutes.”
“Bet.”
As I crossed toward the reading area, I glanced back.
Nolani was watching me.
Not accidentally either.
Tasha stood beside her, talking, but Hershey’s attention was on me.
I lifted one eyebrow.
She lifted hers right back, then took a slow sip of coffee like I hadn’t caught her appreciating me from twenty feet away.
Aight.
I liked this version of her.
I grabbed a picture book about a boy turning an abandoned lot into a neighborhood garden, and sat on the edge of the platform.
A boy in a Langston shirt spotted me first.
“You play football?”
“I coach.”
“At Langston?”
“Yep.”
His eyes widened.
The little girl with purple beads folded her arms. “Can we read?”
I looked at her. “Finally. Operational focus.”
The kids settled around me.
I held up the book.
“What y’all think this is about?”
“A garden.”
“That’s what the cover says. What else?”
Purple Beads studied it. “Maybe fixing something people gave up on.”
I nodded. “Now we talking.”
We read.
They interrupted constantly.
I let them.
One kid predicted the ending wrong and accused the author of cheating. Another volunteered information about his father’s failed tomato garden that I was pretty sure his father had not authorized for public distribution.
When the boy in the story got told he was too young to make a difference, I stopped.
“What would y’all tell him?”
The Langston kid raised his hand. “Start small.”
“Exactly. You don’t have to fix everything to improve something. Handle the piece in front of you.”
Across the shop, Nolani looked up from the register.
Our eyes met.
She had a scoop in one hand and a cup in the other, but she stayed right there for a second.
I smiled.
She smiled back.
The child beside my knee tugged at my leg.
“You skipped a page.”
I looked down.
Two pages had stuck together.
“Serious allegation.”
“You did.”
I flipped back. “Accountability matters. We correcting the record.”
The children laughed.
By the end, the garden was blooming, and the youth-team rush had dropped to something manageable. The Langston kid looked up at me.
“Can you come next Saturday?”
Nolani appeared beneath the arch before I answered. “He lives in Self Springs.”
Purple Beads frowned. “That’s far.”
Nolani looked at me. “Apparently distance doesn’t discourage him.”
I stood and returned the book to the shelf.
“Depends on who waiting.”
Every child old enough to recognize flirting made the same dramatic sound.
Nolani closed her eyes.
Purple Beads pointed between us. “Is she your girlfriend?”
Nyla appeared behind Nolani like mess had summoned her.
“Excellent question.”
“Nyla.”
“What?”
The children waited.
I looked at Nolani.
“She’s a woman I like.”
Purple Beads frowned. “That wasn’t the question.”
Smart kid.
I smiled. “Not yet.”
“Do you want her to be?”
Nolani put two fingers against her forehead.
I kept my eyes on her. “I’m working on it.”
The kids erupted.
One mother laughed into her cup.
Nyla lifted hers toward me. “Big Lando.”
Nolani pointed toward the hallway. “Go.”
“I support Black love.”
“You support aggravation.”
Nyla left laughing.
I moved closer to Hershey.
“You all right?”
“You just discussed our relationship status with elementary schoolers.”
“They asked direct questions.”
“You could’ve been vague.”
“I was.”
“That was vague to you?”
“Very.”
Her laugh slipped out despite herself.
A faint streak of strawberry sat near her cheek.
“You got something right here.”
She lifted her hand.
“May I?”
Her hand dropped.
“Okay.”
I brushed the strawberry away with my thumb.
Her eyes went to my mouth.
Mine went to hers.
Neither of us moved.
“You missed some,” she said.
“I don’t think I did.”
“Then why is your hand still there?”
I smiled. “’Cause I wanna kiss you, but we got an audience of minors, and your sister got the surveillance ethics of the federal government.”
Nolani leaned slightly into my palm.
“Sounds difficult.”
“You have no idea.”
The bell rang again.
She caught my fingers before stepping back.
“Come on. Test kitchen.”
“I thought I earned compensation.”
“You read one book.”
“I performed community service.”
“You enjoyed yourself.”
“Multiple truths can coexist.”
She laughed and pulled me toward the kitchen.
The doors swung shut behind us, and Nolani started gathering ingredients before I fully made it to the prep table. Dark chocolate base. Salted caramel. Roasted almonds. Chopped peanut candy.
I leaned against the counter.
“So this the part where you exploit my sophisticated palate for free labor?”
“Sophisticated?”
“I have range, love.”
“You eat peanut candy during football meetings.”
“Excellence requires fuel.”
“You keep Hershey bars with almonds in your desk.”
I looked at her.
“You remembered.”
Her spoon slowed.
“You mentioned it.”
“Once.”
“So?”
“So you been paying attention too.”
“I pay attention when it’s useful.”
I pushed away from the table. “Useful? Is that what we calling it?”
“Research.”
“I respect research.”
“I know.”
“Especially when the findings support my hypothesis.”
She looked up. “What hypothesis?”
“That you feeling me every bit as hard as I’m feeling you.”
The spoon tapped against the container.
She pointed toward the chocolate.
“Taste this.”
“Deflection ain’t a denial.”
“Open your mouth.” I raised an eyebrow. She heard herself. “Behave.”
“You issued the instruction.”
“Landon.”
“Proceed.” I opened my mouth.
She fed me the chocolate.
Rich. Smooth. Strong enough to carry itself.
I tried it again.
“It’s good.”
“That’s all?”
“You asked for honesty.”
“I did.”
“It already tastes finished. Whatever you add needs contrast, not competition.”
She leaned against the counter. “Okay, Professor Ice Cream. What would you add?”
“Salt. Almonds for texture. Peanut candy sparingly.”
“Sparingly?”
“I know. Sacrifice.”
“Look at you growing.”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
She slid the saucepan toward me. “Fine. Let’s test your theory.”
My attention moved toward the hook beside her.
A pale-pink apron waited.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You got another color?”
“No.”
“Black?”
“No.”
“Navy?”
“No.”
“Why your employee aprons conducting psychological warfare?”
Nolani laughed. “Put it on, Big Lando.”
I stared at her.
She froze.
Then smiled.
“Oh, we using it now?”
“It slipped.”
“Nah. Say it again.”
“Put on the apron, Landon.”
“Coward.”
“Apron.”
I pulled it over my head and reached behind myself for the straps.
Nolani stepped closer.
“Give me those.”
“You think I can’t tie an apron?”
“I think you’re stalling.”
Fair.
I handed them over.
She reached around my waist, her body brushing mine while she tied the knot.
Suddenly the apron had a strong business case.
When she came around, she flattened one side with her palm.
Right over my chest.
Her hand stayed there longer than necessary.
I looked down, then at her.
“Still crooked?”
“Very.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Don’t.”
“I ain’t said nothing.”
Her fingers smoothed the same perfectly flat spot again.
“Now it’s straight.”
“Thorough quality control.”
“You’re welcome.”
“If further inspection becomes necessary, I support rigorous standards.”
“Put the chocolate in the pot.”
“As instructed.”
We warmed the base and folded caramel through it while arguing over ratios. I added peanut candy.
Nolani removed some.
I put a little back.
She stared at me.
“I believe in abundance.”
“You believe in ruining ratios.”
“Strong ratios survive pressure.”
“That sentence has nothing to do with ice cream.”
“It got everything to do with me wanting more candy.”
She laughed.
Full.
Unmanaged.
I stopped stirring.
“What?” she asked.
“I like that laugh.”
Her expression shifted.
“I know.”
That answer hit me.
No denial. No scrambling to dodge the compliment.
She knew I liked something about her and let me.
Good.
I held the spoon toward her.
“Taste.”
“You made it.”
“We made it.”
“You mostly provided commentary.”
“Intellectual contribution remains contribution.”
She tasted it.
Chocolate stayed at the corner of her mouth.
“The salt helped. Almonds need another minute. And you were right about the candy.”
I put a hand over my chest. “Say that again.”
“No.”
“I need documentation.”
“Never happening again.”
I gestured toward my mouth. “You got chocolate right here.”
She wiped the wrong side.
“Other side.” Missed again. I stepped closer. “May I?”
Her hand lowered.
“Yes.”